I grabbed the metal dumpster, turned it to its widest side, and pushed it toward my assailants. Using those precious seconds of cover, I ran to the end of the alley onto the street and turned right.
No wheels of my own and I hadn’t a clue who the hell lived in the area anymore, who might help me out. Used to be a great vodou shop in someone’s home above the diner on Third, but—
An engine purred as a car came barreling down the street toward me. More unkillable foes? Maybe. I tensed, prepared to dart down another alley. Instead, the car slowed and pulled up beside me. The passenger window powered down, the interior light flashed on, and Nate O’Connor leaned over from the driver’s seat. “Get in.”
Damn, was I ever glad he forgot that I’d been sent to kill him earlier.
I jumped in the silver Jaguar and Nate hit the accelerator. He started to make a turn down the next block, which would lead to Mishka’s now-burning apartment building.
“Not that way!” I grabbed the steering wheel. The car squealed in protest of the sudden action and we nearly ran straight into a brick wall before Nate corrected our course.
“I’ve got to get Mish—”
“Mishka’s dead,” I said flatly.
His lips parted in a gasp and his face paled as he turned to look at me. “You’re seri—”
A huge ball of fire sailed past the car, crashing into the side of a building to the left. Bricks and burning debris rained down; Nate swerved to the right to miss it.
“Compartmentalize, lover boy—we’ve got shit to deal with.”
“What the hell—”
Oh please don’t let me be stuck with a pretty rich boy who can’t face creatures from beyond. “When a demon comes from the fiery depths of hell, he generally likes to bring a bit of that flamey goodness along with him.”
“Why aren’t they trying to blow up the car?”
“Because they want me alive.”
Gunshots ensued, bullets shattering the back window. We both ducked as several more followed.
“Guns seem a little unnecessary when they can throw fireballs,” Nate said.
“Well, it is the twenty-first century,” I said. “And variety adds a bit of spice to life. Why don’t you have bullet-proof glass?”
“This isn’t the Pope-Mobile.”
Touché. “Maybe you should invest in one after this.” I pushed my hair from my face and glanced around the back of the seat to see the guys trailing us in an SUV. “I don’t suppose you can throw a spell at them?”
“It’s rather difficult to concentrate while I’m driving.” His gaze flickered from me back to the road and he sank down in his seat, trying to keep an eye on the street while ducking the bullets that continued to whiz over our heads. He reached over and unlatched the glove compartment door to reveal a lovely Desert Eagle. Hadn’t played with one of those in a while.
“.357, nine rounds,” he said.
The gun was smooth and heavy in my hands; I looked past it but didn’t see any extra ammo. “Another magazine?”
“I don’t exactly get in a lot of gunfights, so no,” he said.
Stupid rich pretty boy. Totally useless. Okay then—nine rounds. I’d better make them count.
I checked the position of the vehicle behind us. A black SUV—gotta be fucking kidding me. Nothing good came from a black SUV; they should arrest anyone buying one ’cause I only ever ran into criminals, demons, and yuppies who drove them. Never someone you want to deal with. The driver kept the SUV in a straight line, probably figuring if we had a gun, we would have already used it. No need to swerve.
“When I start firing, keep the car steady.” I waited until Nate was about to turn a corner, and then swung my upper body out the open side window.
Just as the car moved around the building, I fired two bullets—one into our pursuer’s vehicle, then another at the man hanging out the passenger window shooting at us. The first one cracked the front window but didn’t shatter it. The second missed the gunner by a few inches.
A fiery orb crashed into another building ahead of us. Nate veered to the left; I lost my balance and pitched forward.
Before I could fall, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back.
“Shit,” I muttered, ducking back in the car.
“Sorry, the—”
“I know—just let me think.” I paused to gather my bearings, then resumed my position partially out the window.
Hair whipped around my shoulders, over my face, but I held still and aimed. Of the next three bullets I fired, two hit their mark. The first one barely grazed the gunner’s shoulder, which I counted as a miss. The next flattened one of the front tires, and the third went straight through the driver’s side of the windshield. The SUV swerved back and forth on the narrow road, screeching as the rim of the flat tire scraped on the cement.
“You’re a good shot,” Nate said.
“Well, I’ve had a few years to practice.”
He glanced in the rear-view mirror. “I think that stopped them.”
“And with four rounds to spare. Hey, I am pretty good.”
Silence reined, with just the purr of the engine playing in my ears. I popped the passenger window back up; my hair settled around my shoulders and I decided not to think about what kind of knots I was facing. No matter how much conditioner I applied ahead of time, a gunfight while hanging out a car window always led to major tangle-age.
Nate swung around the next block, driving toward Mishka’s building. Smoke puffed gray and thick in the air and orange light lit the sky. I opened my mouth to make an “I told you so” comment, then closed it again. He had to see for himself—I got that.
Sirens blared in the distance. Nate slowed the car and peered up at the remnants of the building. Anyone on Mish’s floor and above likely didn’t survive. She definitely wouldn’t have.
He drove again. Several blocks from Mishka’s apartment, when the dank smell of the harbor seeped into the car, Nate pulled the Jag off to the side by the docks. He left the engine running, headlights cutting through the night outside, and stared over the dash and out the windshield.
Please don’t cry. Then I might have to stake myself.
Nate shifted, pointedly not looking at me, hands squeezing the wheel. He lifted his head and I studied his profile, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed tightly. “You’re sure—”
“Even if she survived them shooting her, the apartment exploding would have killed her. You saw it.”
He didn’t say anything for the next long while. I didn’t see the big deal—she had, after all, tried to have him killed. But I didn’t point that out. He could brood while I did some thinking; I’d rather that over him turning into a weeping mess.
There was a strange sort of tightening in my chest while I looked at him. Betrayed...it gave me an uncomfortable pang, even when I wasn’t the victim of it.
Maybe I just ate something bad at the party, though.
Nate blinked a few times but didn’t cry. Thank god. “Anywhere in particular you want to go?” He gestured to my midsection. “Don’t you need to have that looked at?”
Yes. In another country where I can lie on a beach at night and drink a lot of cocktails. “Not right now. Do you know where the Thierings live?”
“Yeah.”
“Then head there.” Mishka had originally said Heaven wanted O’Connor taken out, so she might have some answers. Of course there was a good chance that once I showed up at her house, she and Jeffrey would have me staked on sight, but I was willing to take the risk.
The more I learned about what was going on, the better I could prepare to handle it.
Chapter Eleven
Attack
We reached the Thiering residence a half hour later. I don’t think anything we said in the meantime could have passed for a conversation. He obviously wasn’t ready to talk about Mishka and I wasn’t going to press for any answers yet, just in case he cried and made me uncomfortable. I mean, his stoic silence didn’t
look like he was gonna cry, but I hadn’t ruled it out. Plus when I was getting information from someone, it tended to involve bone-breaking. I recognized it probably wasn’t the best time for an interrogation when my target was driving.
He slowed the Jag on the long road that led up to the high stone walls surrounding Heaven and Jeffrey’s place.
“If you give me a few minutes to hop over the fence, I can be in and out in no time,” I suggested.
“Just wait.” Nate pulled the car up to the security booth next to the sealed front gate. A guard dressed in dark blue with linebacker shoulders stepped out and crouched before the driver’s side window, taking up the whole space.
“It’s awfully late, sir—” he began.
“I’m Nathan O’Connor.” Nate’s voice went deep, formal, and chilling. This change in him caught my attention at once: I had no idea that he could command such respect in just three words. That was a helpful skill to have. “I need to speak with the Thierings. Now.”
The guard nodded and went back to his post to speak into the telephone there. A few seconds later, the gate swung open and he gestured for us to continue.
“My way would have been more stylish,” I muttered.
“Well, the next time we drive to the home of a coven that doesn’t like me very well, you can break in.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
He cut the engine once we were directly in front of the house. I got out of the car, ran up the front stone steps to stand in the spill of light at the top, and without waiting for him to catch up, I yanked open the front door.
A butler met me before I was one step inside, dressed in navy and with calm eyes that didn’t betray any concern about the intrusion. I swear, the help in these fucking places came from Stepford. “Can I help you—”
Nate brushed past me. “Jeffrey and Heaven—where are they?”
“In the study, I believe,” the butler replied. “If you follow—”
“I know the way,” I interrupted him, and Nate and I strode through the foyer.
The warlock kept up, but then I wasn’t moving vampirey fast—not with my gut screaming as I walked. We probably looked quite the picture to the staff: me with my torn and bloodstained dress, tangled hair, and various scratches and wounds; Nate in his black clothes from the party with nary a mark or speck of dust on them, not-quite-shoulder-length hair gleaming and swinging.
Stupid pretty boy and his...stupid prettiness. Next time he could get in the actual gunfight. See how he fared after that.
We both walked with purpose, so I assumed he knew the place fairly well. How he knew it well when his family and the Thierings had a blood feud was beyond me—I didn’t think Mish would’ve brought him over for tea.
The study was what you’d expect in a mansion big enough to have a study. Fireplace, furniture almost as old as I was, rows of bookcases. The crackling fire and several sconces lit the place, giving it a dignified glow. We found Jeffrey seated at a desk, while Heaven sat on one of her antique sofas. Mishka got most of her physical looks from Heaven—the blonde hair, green eyes, and delicate stature. Though in her late forties, Heaven looked at least ten years younger, and it was clear that had Mish survived past her mid-twenties, she would have aged well. The only qualities I found she had in common with her father were her quick temper and ability to hold a grudge. Speaking of which, Jeff looked less than thrilled to have me and Nate in his home.
“Vampire,” he said, glowering at me.
“Warlock,” I returned in a mock-ominous voice, and wiggled my fingers in the air for good measure.
“And now that we’ve established what races we’re from,” Heaven interrupted coolly, “why don’t you tell us what you’re doing here bleeding on my carpet, Miss Lain?”
“Well, I was in the neighborhood.” I casually ran my hand along the back of the couch as I walked around the room. “And I was just wondering if either of you have hired any hits through your daughter lately.”
“No, thanks to you we—” Jeffrey snapped as he rose from his chair and started toward me.
“Hush, dear.” Heaven cast a glare in his direction, which silenced her husband. She turned back to me, tucking stray strands of hair back in the French twist holding the rest. The gesture was very Mishka-ish, and I wondered if it gave Nate a little tightening in his gut as it did for me. “Neither of us have had any contact with her for almost two years now.”
“Really? You sure you didn’t maybe tell her to hire me to kill Nate’s father?”
The room went silent. Still. The fire popped, snapping as if offended by the silence, and spat sparks.
“No.” Heaven eyed Nate for a moment, then her gaze smoothly slid back to me. “We heard someone else was taking care of that, so there hardly seemed any point.”
“And yet the large sum of money in my bank account tells another story,” I said.
“She’s telling the truth,” Nate spoke up. “That was Mishka and me.”
Jeffrey let out a bitter bark of a laugh—the type that got my hackles up. Douchebag laughter. I kind of wanted to punch him. “Haven’t you grown up? Putting a contract out on your pops like that—I didn’t think you had the balls anymore, boy.”
“Don’t be so crude,” Heaven shot at him.
My gaze slid between each of them, weighing the situation. I’d have to brush up on my politics after all—this was more than blood feud mocking. Didn’t have the balls “anymore”? And what kind of bad blood was between the elder O’Connor and youngest son?
Heaven smoothed her dove gray pencil skirt, another habit that mirrored Mishka. “Nathan, would you care for a drink?”
“Actually, I have to make a few phone calls.” His blue gaze went to mine, a familiarity there I wasn’t expecting. “I’ll be out in the hall if you need me.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll count the moments until you return.”
And he nearly rolled his eyes in reply—it was close—and gave a small shake of his head. Was probably this close to slapping me magically if he could get the words out without me snapping his neck. Nate disappeared into the hall.
I decided to lounge on the loveseat across from Heaven. “Hey, I’ll take a drink, Jeff.”
“Sorry, we’re not stocked to feed your kind here.”
“Sure you are—just roll up your sleeve, slit your wrist, and put some in a glass for me. Maybe add one of those cute little umbrellas while you’re at it.”
He blanched. I stifled laughter—couldn’t believe the jerk-off fell for that.
“Just kidding,” I said. “I’ll take a glass of sherry.”
“How is Mishka?” Heaven asked as Jeffrey went to the bar. Her eyes lit up at the mere mention of her daughter’s name, and I knew the information I had to impart to her should be explained delicately.
“Mishka’s dead.” Delicacy really isn’t my forte.
The glass in Jeffrey’s hand shattered as it hit the floor. Heaven went pure ashen, her bottom lip beginning to quiver.
Shit. Should’ve asked my questions before I dropped that on them. Now they’d probably cry or something. I was still smarting from the bullet in my gut and didn’t want to suffer an hour of awkward moping.
Heaven shook her head. “Goddess, no, she can’t be...”
“You bitch!” Jeffrey spat. “This is your fault!”
“Hardly,” I replied. “I got my ass handed to me while trying to save her.”
Heaven closed her eyes and bowed her head, burying her face in her hands as she started to silently sob.
Yep. Awkward crying. God help me, this was pure fucking torture. “Do you have, like, a therapist on call? Someone I can phone in to drug you or something long enough for me to get some answers? It’s been a long night—I don’t have a lot of patience for grief.”
More silence. Jeff was almost as pale as I was. Shit, I might be sitting there awhile.
When Heaven looked up at me, anger blazed in her emerald eyes. I tensed, swallowed dryly. Hoped s
he didn’t throw a fireball at me.
Her voice came out dark and deceptively steady. “When?”
“Oh, about forty-five minutes ago,” I said. “Three masked men, who seem to be the strongest half-demons I’ve come across, shot her and blew up her apartment.”
“They had explosives?”
“No, just the ability to summon rather large balls of fire at will. Sound like anyone you know?”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about them?” The pain in her voice was overshadowed by fury. Never would’ve pegged Heaven for the Momma-Bear type, but then she loved her daughter. And love made people angry.
“They drove a black SUV and there was the matter of one of them not dying when I broke his neck. Ringing any proverbial bells yet?”
“Is that all you know?”
Jeez, a bit of gratitude would be nice—it was still more than she knew thirty seconds ago. “For some reason they weren’t interested in killing me. One of them had a stun gun.”
“So it was your fault!” Jeffrey shouted. “They must have been after you—”
“Silence,” Heaven hissed, and her husband shrank back toward the bar.
Nice trick. If I had that kind of power over him, I probably would never let him out in public.
Heaven returned her attention to me. “You don’t know why they were there for her?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be here to find out what you know,” I answered.
The door opened, near silent on well-oiled hinges, and Nate walked in. “We need to go. Now.”
“S’cuse me, but I seem to recall this is my—” I began.
“Everyone—we’re all leaving now,” he interrupted. Worry stretched across his face, in the depths of his serious blue eyes and the straight line of his lips. Mushy, kissable lips I’d first thought upon seeing his photo. Now I realized they were broody lips, more for frowning. Nate took a deep breath, raked one hand back through his hair. The action didn’t really seem to relax him, but some of his former, authoritative self returned. “Someone has wiped out four of the eight main covens on this continent, and my father’s entire house was just blown up.”
Bloodlines (Demons of Oblivion) Page 8
