Evangelina

by MaryJanice Davidson

  Lue settled down next to one older agent who had suffered obvious blunt trauma to the throat. It took Mercy some time to realize who it was. The bruises on Jorstad's face were fist-sized.

  "Art . . ." He trailed off, and looked to Mercy. "I wish I could say for sure that he had no choice."

  Mercy wiped her face on her sleeve. "Who cares about his choices anymore? It doesn't matter. We keep chasing them. We'll find them."

  Lue looked around. "Maybe we should help some of these . . ."

  "No." Mercy pointed through the shattered plate glass walls, to the streets of Minneapolis. Sirens from beyond joined the internal whine, gathering and nearing. "Let them do their job. We have ours." That's what Mom would say, right?

  "Are you seriously still trying to stop them? Agent March, they made it out. They could be anywhere in the city! At least two of them can fly!"

  Mercy pointed at the floor. "Blood trail. Check it out."

  "That could be anyone's . . ."

  "Heading outside?" Mercy stormed out of the foyer, through the empty panes that faced the courtyard outside, and down the cement path that led alongside the building. Lue followed her reluctantly. The trail led around the corner, away from the sounds of sirens.

  "It's an odd path for a wounded FBI agent to take."

  "If Evangelina, or her sister, is bleeding this badly, maybe flight's not an option after all. Where could they be headed?"

  "My guess is the river. It's only three blocks away, gets them off the roads, and leads out of town."

  "Very logical. We could investigate, certainly. Or we could do the sane thing, which would be to lie down quietly and wait to be ministered to by angels disguised as EMTs and waving sphygmomanometers."

  She lurched ahead of him, in the general direction of the river, and he sighed and caught up with her. "EMTs? Who needs medical attention? Surely not we." He slung an arm around her waist. "That sound you hear? Aside from my vertebrae smashing together, that was my career imploding."

  "Left up here," was her grunted answer, and he obligingly helped her lurch in the right direction.

  This part of Minneapolis was the old mill district, with multiple four-to-seven-story buildings renovated for commercial and residential use. The structures were tall, the corners tight, and the alleys narrow. Staggering as much as tracking, Lue and Mercy followed the drops and spatters as they kept to those alleys and narrow spaces, crossing streets at low traffic points, and inexorably heading toward the river.

  It was in an alley a mere block from the river, just north of Washington Street, where they finally caught up.

  There they are! The blonde was limping dramatically, holding her shoulder. The other two were moving only slightly faster.

  Mercy drew her Beretta and aimed it at the back of the shadow monster's head.

  "FREEZE!"

  CHAPTER 43

  Niffer calmly turned. Her left hand pressed into a bullet wound in her right shoulder, her face was covered in ash, and blood trickled down her left thigh.

  Beyond her, Art seemed winded as he pressed his palms against his knees. His corduroy jacket had been incinerated, his shirt was blackened and torn, and he bore a nasty burn across his right side. Multiple quarter-sized bruises marked his forehead and chin--bullets, Mercy guessed--and his eyes were bloodshot.

  Evangelina remained in monster form, and her shroud hid any damage she may have sustained.

  Niffer was the first to speak. "Agent March. What is your intention?"

  Mercy opened her mouth, but could not find the words. Even Lue was looking at her hopefully, as though she was saving an inspiring, Churchill-esque speech for this moment.

  Well. What did she want, now that she had them? Evangelina she had already captured once, to no end but disaster. Surely her sister would be an even more potent curse. And Art . . .

  Niffer watched her gaze. "Ah. I see. You're not here to arrest us. You're here for him."

  Beyond her, Art straightened, and Evangelina stirred. Mercy tried to still the gun in her hand, tried to show she was in control, even though she knew she would not fire. She took a tentative step forward. Lue, who had drawn alongside her, kept pace with his own piece steady, and the gesture meant everything to her.

  I'm not crazy to be here. I'm not alone. Surely he must see that I'm right.

  Evangelina's voice echoed in their minds, tinged with irony and bitterness.

  Here to win him, or to kill him?

  "Either way, Vange, it looks like you're in for one more fight," Niffer observed. "Unless, of course, you wish to keep Arthur well and truly dumped. That would seem churlish, at least on the day he rescued you."

  "Eldest. Evangelina." Art was finally catching his breath. "Let me handle this."

  Neither sister moved. Art came back toward Mercy and Lue, a small hitch in his stride. When he was ten yards away, he stopped. He looked at Lue first, and gave him a grim nod.

  "You've been a good partner."

  "Thanks. You, too."

  "It ends here."

  Lue bit his lip. His gun came down slightly, and he glanced at Mercy for advice. She had none to give.

  "You lied to us," Lue said after another long pause.

  "Only to lead you to the truth."

  Lue's gun lowered further. "How Zen. Where are you going?"

  Art closed his eyes. "To finish a chapter."

  "That makes no sense."

  "It doesn't matter. You can't follow."

  Mercy watched the struggle on Lue's face. He wanted to go, she could tell. Someone could be waiting for him there, she suddenly realized.

  She knew how he felt.

  "Why not?" she asked.

  Art faced her, and she caught her breath. She had thought he would be hard and simple, like he had been with Lue. Now, his face said so much more. There was tenderness there again, and possibly even desire.

  The words spilled out before she could stop them. "I know this is crazy, Art. I know this has only been a few days. I know you have every reason to despise me. I don't think you do. I see you standing next to her, and I understand now you loved her once. I don't think you love her anymore, Art. I think you've evolved past her. That's what you do, right? You evolve? You're next to her, but I can see it. Even now, after all this, I can see it. I can see you care for me, that you see the part of me that can live up to my word, that you want to give us a chance . . ."

  He reached into his holster, drew his sidearm, and shot her twice.

  "FUCK!" She collapsed, holding her leg. One shot had blasted her patella, and the other had hit somewhere even worse.

  "Art!" Lue raised his gun again. "This may cause me to think you are an asshole!"

  Art dropped his weapon, held out his hands, and motioned to Mercy. "She needs medical attention, Lue."

  Cursing, Lue dropped to his knee next to Mercy, holstered his gun, and checked her leg. "Aw, cripes, Art. You hit the femoral artery . . ." He whipped off his jacket and wrapped the sleeves around her thigh, fastening as tight a knot as he could manage. "You monosyllabic jerk! What were you thinking?"

  "Good-bye."

  Detective Art McMahon turned and followed the sisters down the alley, ripping off his tattered and scorched shirt as he went.

  "I never liked you!" Lue yowled, but even Mercy could see he didn't mean it.

  CHAPTER 44

  Mercy gritted her teeth as Lue searched himself frantically for a radio. He finally came up with a cell phone, but she batted it out of his hands and it clattered onto the alley pavement.

  "Ow! And what are you doing? Keep your hands on the wound, and let me call for help!"

  "I don't need help."

  "What a joke. He shot your femoral . . ."

  "I know what that bastard shot." Something inside Mercy broke, and she began to sob. The choking groans filled the alley, and she knew how pathetic she sounded. She also knew Art and his dragon-bitches were still close enough to hear her. She didn't care.

  It's not fair. I've tr
ied so hard. For so long. I was supposed to win. Dad promised I would win. He promised!

  Lue kept one hand on hers and used the other to pull off his tie. "I am sorry, Agent March."

  It was impossible to stop, as humiliating as this was. "He wasn't chasing her because he wanted to stop her . . . He was chasing her because he was obsessed with her!"

  "Apparently." Lue wrapped the tie around her leg above the wound and began to knot it. "I admit I only figured it all out when I saw he was bulletproof, down in C-3. Until then I thought the same that you did: that he hated Evangelina."

  "He didn't hate her . . . He hated me. Because I lied to him."

  She sensed his careful gaze. "We all lied to each other, Agent March. Art was quite taken with you . . ."

  "Yeah, I could tell how taken he was with me from the way he shot me in front of his girlfriend!"

  "Twice."

  "Shut up!"

  "That was a mixed signal," Lue allowed dryly, tightening the tourniquet.

  "I can't believe he did that." Why would he want to leave with her? His sister said she dumped him. Ugh, this is so high school. It has all the hideous, petty elements: jealousy, dumping, gunplay.

  Lue's hands went back to her wound, checking to see if the blood was coming more slowly now. "So this is about more than being fooled by Art, right? You were hoping for . . . what? A date? A boyfriend? A fairy tale?"

  She gained control of her sobs. "I know how this sounds. I know we only knew each other for a few days. I felt . . . I don't know if I was even expecting a relationship, just . . . anything but this."

  The three refugees were still within sight, about thirty yards down the alley. Evangelina had finally turned back out of her monster form; her slender hand squeezed Art's muscled arm. The three of them were seeking a pace and style that would blend in, no doubt.

  Mercy hissed bitterly after them, "Why would he do this?"

  Lue didn't look at her face, instead focusing on the bleeding wound. "He may not even know what he wants right now. The guy has spent, what? Years among us, alone? Part of that time with a girlfriend, helping her on a secret mission, falling in love. They save a lot of people together, face danger together. It would have all been very romantic, until she ended it.

  "If Evangelina dumped Art like the elder Scales said, it would have been so trying for him--abandoned by his life mate, his mission in doubt, trying to follow the cases to protect her as law enforcement closed in . . ."

  "You're not convincing me that he was right to shoot me, you ass."

  "Oh! Well. Yeah, that was wrong. Very absolutely wrong. Again, I am sorry. I only want you to see what I see: just because he did what he thought he had to do here, does not mean he was right. Give him time to see that."

  Lue's reasonable tone made her feel worse. Anger resurged within her. "I'll give him more than time . . ." She pulled one hand off her femoral wound and picked her Beretta up off the pavement. She tried to focus the muzzle on one of their heads . . . any of their heads would do . . .

  Lue pressed her arm down. "Could we fix one bullet wound before opening up another?"

  "I don't need fixing!" She shook off his hand, raised the Beretta, and then lowered and holstered it, cursing as Art and the others rounded the corner and vanished.

  She tried bending the knee, but quickly stopped. It wasn't time yet. This wasn't like slipping on a pickle slice at a formal dinner party as a child, before the withering laughter of her parents and their gathered peers--an event that had wrenched her leg, bruised bone, and unintentionally revealed a unique feature about her body.

  Lue picked up his cell phone from the ground, where she had knocked it out of his hands, and hesitated. "I will try again. The hospital is nearly a mile away. Do you have a better idea than calling for an ambulance? Please do not say: ride Lue like a pony."

  Sniffling, she pushed his hand holding the cell down again. "I'll be okay. Give me a second."

  "Mercy." It was the first time he had used her first name. "Look. At. Your. Leg. You must go to a hospital, or you will bleed out and die. Think of the paperwork!"

  "That's not going to happen. You look at it." She took her other hand off the femoral wound, and took some satisfaction from Lue's expression. "We all have our secrets, Detective."

  "Impossible," was all he could say.

  "Not at all. Some beaststalkers have interesting mutations of their own, you know."

  "Whuh--"

  "Perhaps nothing as impressive as being bulletproof, or standing on their hind legs and acting like a BCA agent for several years without barking, but still."

  He wiped his hand over her inner thigh in disbelief, his nose inches from her bloodied flesh.

  "Detective. You're getting a little fresh."

  He blushed and almost snickered. His eyes went down her leg. "What about the knee?"

  "Bones don't heal as fast."

  He looked up. The alley was empty. "They are getting away."

  "I can see that."

  "If we called for backup, we could at least get a vehicle . . ."

  She stood up and pushed him back a step. "Screw that. I am Regiment. I am the best in the Regiment. Even if they don't live up to their own principles, I will. Unfailing courage, everlasting honor, swift justice. The suspect is here, right now. We wait for a car, we lose him--lose them. No one else can do this."

  After two tentative steps, she felt the flesh in her thigh start to pull together. The knee was reknitting bone, which felt like army ants moving sand under her skin. Uncomfortable, to be sure: but in a moment, she would be able to run.

  She pricked her ears--yes, she could still hear them. Their footsteps on the asphalt were fading.

  "You need help?"

  "Does it look like I need help?"

  "I mean you, Agent March. Not your leg. I would like to go with you."

  She began to nod grimly, until she thought of her mother and managed a smile as well. "I'd love the company, Lue. You up for a race?"

  "I could always use the practice for next month's 5K."

  "You know who we're pursuing."

  "Whom. Yes. We are pursuing Evangelina Scales and her associates, all persons wanted for questioning regarding the murders of Pamela Pride, David Webber, Amanda Coolidge, and several other civilians and federal employees."

  "Real questioning, Lue. Not what we saw in there." She pointed vaguely to the building with Room C-3. "Questioning that sees daylight. That reveals what's happening out there. No more secrets, Lue."

  "Right. Okay, my ex-wife is a dragon."

  "Good for you, Lue. I hope she makes it through."

  "I do, too." He straightened. "I thought I was done seeing the incredible today, Agent March. But you look ready to run. Maybe even run faster than I can."

  "Almost."

  "Almost faster?"

  "Almost ready." She crouched and closed her eyes. Her leg felt fine. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she reached down with her other hand and felt the comfort of her Beretta in its holster.

  She wondered whether she would use it or not, when she caught up with them. Then she wondered if it was right to try to catch them at all.

  She exhaled. Count to ten. One, two . . .

  "They are getting away. Did you want that?"

  . . . three, four . . .

  "Agent March?"

  . . . five, six, seven . . .

  "Mercy?"

  Her eyes popped open, and she sprang forward. "Let's get 'em."

  Click here for more books by this author

  Titles by MaryJanice Davidson and Anthony Alongi

  Jennifer Scales and the Ancient Furnace

  Jennifer Scales and the Messenger of Light

  The Silver Moon Elm: A Jennifer Scales Novel

  Seraph of Sorrow: A Jennifer Scales Novel

  Rise of the Poison Moon: A Jennifer Scales Novel

  Evangelina: A Jennifer Scales Novel

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