Jamie shrugged. “Widowhood...I don’t see the big deal—all my wives are dead, and you don’t see me brooding about it.”
Had to agree with him there. “My sentiments exactly. However, that has little to do with why you’re here, so start explaining.”
Jamie’s formerly charming lopsided grin was starting to really annoy me, and now it was plastered across his face. “You both just told me to shut up. I guess I shouldn’t—”
“Tell me what you’re doing here, or I’ll throw you out another window.” Nothing that could be misconstrued as a joke entered my voice.
He gave us a petulant sigh. “Fine. Last night I was taken to a hospital because of my injuries,” he sent an unconvincing glare my way, “where they removed my bullets and the stake. After feeding on an adorable young nurse, I decided to return to my employers, and you’ll never guess what I found.”
“They were all dead,” I said, already bored with his story.
“You’re quick. Yes, they were dead, and their house burned to the ground, which is something I’ve been hearing about a lot lately. I thought the lovely Miss Lain might know what’s going on.”
“Well, I don’t,” I said. “Not yet.”
“Perhaps you will when I’m finished, then,” he said. “I was on my way home around three or four in the morning when a group of masked men and rather strong people attacked me. One of them had a stun gun.”
Nate and I exchanged glances. Why was someone murdering witches and trying to capture vampires?
“Anyway, I was actually concerned for you, Zara,” Jamie said, suddenly all serious. He ran a hand through his short blond hair and shook his head, brows furrowed in frustration. “In over a hundred years I’ve never heard of anything like this. Sure, there’s warring among the races, but never have multiple groups been hit en masse like this.”
“Do you have some contacts you can hit up for information?” I asked.
He thought for a moment, then nodded. “No one seems to be talking, but there are still a few places I can go.”
“Good—do that tonight and we’ll meet up tomorrow.”
Jamie agreed, stood, and started for the elevator.
“And don’t be coming through my window anymore,” I reminded him.
“Will you be okay?” he asked just as he stepped into the elevator. He gestured at Nate. “The kid there hardly looks up to the job of protector.”
Nate muttered a few words and a split second later the cage door flew shut—nearly catching Jamie’s foot—and the elevator rumbled as it descended.
“Considering I kicked your ass, I think it’s your own protection you should be worried about,” I called as Jamie disappeared. Shit. Vampire hearing or not, he probably didn’t hear me. I hated not getting my snarky remarks in.
“I don’t like him,” Nate said.
Surprise of the fucking century. “I don’t think he likes you either.” I popped open one of the boxes Nate had brought in with him, plucked the shoulder harness and belt off the top, and started loading up. A couple of guns on either side—Desert Eagles were on my list, since I could handle them and I knew Nate was a fan—and I strapped another to my boot. I had an array of knives, too, which I stowed in various spots on my person. Magazines into various pockets. It weighed me down a bit, but I was pretty much good to go.
“Is all this necessary?” Nate asked as he followed suit.
I slipped on my black, knee-length coat. “I’m not going anywhere unprepared again”
He looked me up and down. Still not checking me out except to survey my weapons, probably. The bastard. “Nice jacket.”
“You won’t believe where I got it...”
Chapter Sixteen
The Missing Demonologist
Nate explained a bit about his contact on the way out of the city. Peter Fields had been a friend since boarding school days—I nearly rolled my eyes at talk of fucking “boarding school” and these damn rich kids—and the friendship continued during years of university overseas and afterwards. He specialized in demonology, and was viewed and respected as an expert in that particular area of paranormal studies. Though he wasn’t a warlock, various covens employed him for many reasons, including as tutor and researcher. Nate thought there was a chance Peter could determine who had been at Mishka’s apartment the night before, and from there we might be able to learn who sent them.
Fields lived in a hamlet about a dozen miles outside the city. He ran a small, regular bookshop as a front for his extensive demonological library, and lived in the apartment above it. The store sat on a corner lot, on its own; it had been an old house at some point before being turned into a shop. Unused fields sprawled into the night behind it. As I pulled my red Mini Cooper up to the front, I scanned the windows for lights, but found none.
I cut the engine and turned to Nate. “You said you tried calling?”
“Yes...” His voice trailed off as he turned in the seat to survey the road behind us. “You know, I could have sworn I saw a car tailing us.”
I’d seen the vehicle as well. A sports car—make and model I couldn’t determine—had shadowed us since we left the downtown core, but disappeared a few blocks ago.
“It might have been nothing,” I suggested as we got out. I didn’t mean it, but I was less concerned since both Nate and I were well-armed with some serious firepower this time around.
A “Sorry, We’re Closed” sign hung in the window. The front door was locked so I brought out my picks and in moments we were inside.
Nate flipped on a flashlight and led the way through the dark store, past a curtained doorway, and into the demonology area. Shelves of books lined the walls, and rows of even more shelves separated the room into smaller sections. Hardwood floors, polished and sturdy, creaked under foot. There’d be no sneaking up on this Fields guy—if he was home, he would’ve called the cops to report a burglary the moment anyone stepped inside.
I stepped to one bookshelf and perused the spines. “I had no idea people actually wrote so many books about demons.”
Nate grinned and for some reason the action irritated me, like he knew something I didn’t. “The demonology publishing industry is quite lucrative. Peter’s mother’s company is one of the top publishers of educational texts—they do limited print runs and collectors pay a lot for the books.”
Well, now I’d heard of everything. But then covens were wealthy and they were probably the type to drop serious bucks on Encyclopedia Demonica. Demon Hunters, too, might get a kick out of that sort of thing, and that thought gave my gut a twist. “So if he’s gone, what’s the point in us being here?”
“I can’t see him simply leaving.” Nate paused at the desk in the corner and flipped through the calendar. “He prides himself on his collection of books, and if they’re all still here, then he plans to come back soon.”
In the back corner of the room, a closed door waited. The stupid floor creaked some more as I stepped forward. A heavy deadbolt was over the doorknob—storeroom? Or something else? I got my picks in hand, went to work on the lock, and in moments the door swung open; behind it was a set of steep circular steps leading up.
“That would be Peter’s place,” Nate said.
Looked like a back stairwell—we’d probably passed another near the front of the old house. I glanced Nate’s way, a little smile curving my lips. “Let’s go see if he left us a clue then.”
The upper rooms consisted of a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living area, all connected by a long hallway down the middle. Old house like this, all the rooms probably used to be bedrooms. We hit the...I guess it would be a den-slash-study first. Nate cast the flashlight over the space, revealing even more stacks of books scattered everywhere. I could see why we needed Peter for information: if we were to go through the books ourselves, there’s no telling how long it might take. What the fuck is wrong with bookworms—they never heard of a computer database or something? Christ.
“So if you went to school wit
h this guy, don’t you know something about demons that could help?” I stared at the stacks of books, hope sinking fast and hard like a lead ball in my gut. I was not the bookish type and didn’t look forward to spending the night reading. “Surely you must have some idea as to what section of books we should look into, at the very least.”
Nate passed me, arm brushing my shoulder as he went. “Peter specialized in demons that inhabit the mortal realm. I didn’t.”
Interesting. “And what did you specialize in?”
He didn’t meet my eyes, instead crouching to cast the flashlight over the spines of a stack of books on the floor. “Not going to class. I told you I opted for a less traditional form of education, and that involved leaving in my third year of university. Peter did his full eight years of courses, but condensed them into five.”
That’s right—turn the conversation from you, Captain Obvious-Deflection. “Huh. Smarty-pants, I take it?”
Nate stood smoothly again and continued on. “Two points below genius. And those points probably still keep him up at night.” He stopped at the computer and ran the flashlight under the desk at the tower. “Now why would he leave this on?”
I walked over to take a look. Hitting the mouse caused light and colour to flood the screen. Nate pulled a chair up to the computer and started bringing up files.
The phone rang. I met Nate’s eyes as it continued to ring; he gave a slight nod. I was closer, so I lifted the receiver to my ear and listened.
Silence.
Another glance at Nate; he gave me a questioning look and I shrugged, then let out a heavy sigh.
“I’m kinda busy burglarizing someone’s house right now and don’t have all day,” I said. “Talk.”
Nate muttered something I couldn’t entirely make out, but it sounded like his rich boy education taught him a great number of expletives.
“Would you kindly put Nate on?” a man asked on the other line.
“Gladly.” I passed the phone over.
Nate listened for a moment, then leaned back in his chair and exhaled loudly. “It’s Peter.” He gestured to the web cam on the computer. “He’s watching us from another location.”
“Well, here’s hoping he hasn’t called the cops yet. Or his neighbors haven’t. Could you maybe hurry this up?”
They spoke for a few minutes and I wandered toward the back window, winding around stacks of books as I went. I parted the curtains, peered out into the dark—
Then stepped back swiftly, curtains fluttering into place again.
Two figures in black circled the house, guns drawn. Skulking the perimeter, wearing black ski masks... Shit.
“Our friends are here,” I quietly called to Nate. “Make it quick.”
“While I appreciate the need to speed things up,” Nate raised his voice loud enough that I knew he spoke to me and not Peter, “this isn’t The Zara Lain Show and you’re not calling all the shots.”
I rolled my eyes. “‘You’re not the boss of me?’ Really? What are you—five?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Says the bossy eight-year-old.”
Ugh, we so didn’t have time for this. I spun away from him again, my long ponytail of hair whipping my shoulder, and unholstered a gun. Either I’d shoot him or the people circling the house. Hadn’t decided yet.
“Yes, Lain,” he said in a lower voice. “You do? Interesting.”
“Tea and hugs later, girls—like maybe when we’re not about to be attacked.”
An irritated sigh. “Top shelf, green binding, and in the corner—got it. I have a disposable cell; I’ll call in a few days.” The chair creaked as Nate rose and returned the phone to its cradle, then he joined me at the window.
“He recommended a book for us?” I peered between the space in the curtains, acutely aware of Nate right there, warm, breathing, and smelling of faintly of wintery soap and a spicy aftershave over my shoulder.
“Mmm-hmm.”
I glanced back and up; he looked out the window instead of at me. “‘Mmm-hmm?’ Well, what’s it say? Does it have our demons in it?”
“It’s a book on vampires. Killing them with magic, specifically.”
I opened my mouth to snark about how we weren’t dealing with vampires, then caught his drift. Oh, I see what you did there. The prick. “Aww, you wouldn’t kill me, Nate.”
“It’s crossed my mind, if only for the blessed silence it would bring.”
“Nope.” I batted my eyelashes dramatically. “I’m just too pretty.”
His gaze shifted to look down at me, blue moonlight etching the strong lines of his face. Tension simmered in the air and a little chill walked my spine. One of his dark brown brows rose skeptically.
“Constantly disagreeing with me on this point would probably hurt my feelings if I had any.”
A slight shake of his head and he glanced back at our guests outside. “I take it we were being followed?”
I sighed and returned to business as well. “So it would seem.”
One of our guests disappeared from view, toward the front of the house; the second started trying the back lower windows. Shapes moved across the field in the distance—yet another approaching Peter’s house/shop.
I scanned the desk, spotted a heavy metal letter opener with a sharp point. That would do. My gun went back to the holster at my waist and I snatched up the letter opener instead. “I’m about to get bossy again.”
“I’ll grab the book on vampire killing then.”
“Position yourself so you can see the staircase we came up—I left the door open and I bet they’ll go there first. Shoot anything that comes through there...unless it’s me, obviously.” I unlatched the window and eased it open.
“And what are you going to do?”
“Take them out one by one,” I whispered. “Stylishly, of course.” I got a good grasp on the letter opener, aimed it at the third man in the field, and whipped the weapon straight at him.
It sailed through the air and pierced his forehead, plunging directly into his brain. He fell to the ground without making a sound.
I slipped off my jacket and handed it to Nate.
“Stealthy kills,” I responded to his unasked question. “Coat will get in the way.”
I pulled out the combat knife tucked in my belt—a beauty with a double sided blade—noiselessly hopped onto the windowsill, and crouched down to fit in the frame.
Shit, Nate was still standing there—I gave a quick, irritated gesture toward the door. He nodded, but sent one lingering glance in my direction. Probably just to drive home the you’re not the boss of me thing. Men are such babies.
My target wandered along the rear of the house. Closer and closer. He stopped at the window directly below the one where I crouched. As he leaned forward to peer through the glass, I dropped off the ledge.
I landed on his shoulders. A flash of movement under me—body tensing, hands rising to reach for me—and I put one hand over his mouth, then slammed my knife into his throat. Hot blood spurted past my fingers. I gave the blade a swift twist, opening the wound further and ensuring his death, then I wrenched the knife out and flipped off of him. He collapsed into a heap.
I cleaned the blood from the blade on the fallen man’s shirt—and wiped my fingers off too—tucked the knife back in the sheath at my belt, then looked around. No sign of others, so that meant there was probably just the guy at the front.
The one at my feet went down quickly, too. I eyed the body but nope, this weeble definitely wobbled and fell down. And wasn’t getting up again. So, humans. And given the black ops clothing deal they had going on, I’d take a shot in the dark and guess they weren’t carrying ID.
Right, so the other guy had to be on the other side of the house. Maybe we could catch and interrogate him. Rather than go around the building, I took a run and leapt onto the roof. The tiles were rough and chipped beneath my feet; the soles of my boots scraped, so I slowed to a crawl. Just as I was inching along the slope, a rumbling i
n the distance signaled approaching vehicles on the road. Two police cars sped down the sleepy street and pulled up in front of the shop. Great, so someone probably saw us break in. Stupid, nosy locals...
I hated when mortals got involved in supernatural situations. They almost always got themselves killed. Dead mortals didn’t really keep me up at night, but more importantly, most of us on the supernatural side tried to keep a low profile. Let’s face it: TV shows about humans learning the monsters of myth are real never end well for the monsters. Cops showing up while I was trying to kill some people would certainly risk exposure. Then Hunters would inevitably hear about it, and on top of everything else going on, I’d have them to deal with. Fuckity-fuck.
As the police were exiting their vehicles, gunfire sounded in the building below me. The cops ducked behind their cars, drew their guns, and started firing blindly into the second floor.
A shootout. Just what I need—fucking Wild West going down in a demonology bookstore.
I pivoted on one foot and raced back to the rear of the house, heart hammering, no longer caring how much damn noise I made. My fingers locked on the edge of the roof and I jumped, twisted midair, and swung into the open window I’d left from.
Bullets tore through the space, ripping through walls; bits of plaster flew, a fine dust spitting from holes and clogging the air. I rolled across the floor, glanced up, and scanned the room. Near the door the final man lay dead, bloodied from the numerous holes in his torso.
A loud, but slowing heartbeat caught my attention. I gave the room another once over. Where was Nate?
Movement just beyond a stack of books—feet.
Ah, shit. I dashed forward, still half crouched, crept around the books splattered with blood, and knelt at his side.
A low hiss left my lips. “Nate!”
He didn’t respond. Then my gaze travelled over him, down, and stopped where his hands gripped his stomach, blood seeping over his fingers.
Chapter Seventeen
Revelation of Power
Bloodlines (Demons of Oblivion) Page 12
