Vendetta (Deadly Curiosities Book 2)

by Gail Z. Martin

  Two down, two to go. Anthony was wounded and Nephilim claws carried taint, so he’d be in bad shape if we didn’t end this fight quickly. Teag and I were tiring fast. I was afraid that the gunshots would summon more police. That was likely to get Teag and me shot and civilians wounded when the Nephilim turned on the cops.

  The Nephilim I battled was half-changed. I hit him in the chest with a column of fire and he roared with anger, but he kept on coming. His right hand slashed across my shoulder deep enough to destroy my jacket and draw blood from four parallel gashes. On sheer reflex, I sank my power down into the cobblestones and the earth beneath my feet, and to my surprise, something answered.

  We were South of Broad Street. Much of this area was reclaimed from the water by dumping the rocky ballast of ships into the busy harbor. Unnatural ground and old ocean bed was a natural magnet for spirits. I felt my power fan out to the old homes along the street with their long-suffering ghostly residents, and I called out for help to the duelists and drunkards and vagabonds who had breathed their last along these gutters. I’m not a medium and I’m not a necromancer, but when I touch haunted objects, the ghosts respond. And tonight, I needed their help.

  Bo’s spirit grew more solid, and hurled himself at the Nephilim closest to me. Monroe still looked bushwacked by what was going on, but the half-turned fallen angels were close enough to anyone’s definition of monster that she decided to strike first and ask questions later. She had emptied her clip into the Nephilim, and the fact that they kept on coming must have convinced her that they were the bad guys. We could hash it out later, if we were all alive to argue about it. Now, Monroe went after the Nephilim’s backs, pistol-whipping one and pulling a truncheon from somewhere to hammer away at their skulls.

  Teag’s urumi had both of the Nephilim stripped nearly bare of skin. Deep cuts to the muscle and tendons should have stopped them, but they kept on coming. Anthony hurled rocks from the gutter, and he pitched like a major leaguer, but we just didn’t have the firepower to bring these suckers down.

  I saw a blur, and one of the Nephilim flew through the air. He landed on the chevaux de frise atopthe wrought iron fence behind us and stuck like a gigged frog. Another blur, and the last Nephilim stopped in his tracks, with a steel sword protruding from his chest through his heart. A second later, his head was torn from his body. The corpse shuddered and convulsed, then crumbled to ash. Sorren stood behind him, a bloodied sword in his hands.

  “I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life,” I said shakily, lowering my walking stick. Bo’s ghost rubbed against Sorren, gave me a tired doggy smile, and vanished.

  “What… the hell… happened here?” Bloodied and bruised, Detective Monroe staggered toward us. I’ll give her props – she had to make a split-second judgment on whom to back, and she picked the right team.

  “What do you think happened?” Sorren asked. I recognized the honeyed tone of compulsion.

  “I have no idea,” Monroe replied, less forcefully than before. “Those men looked normal, but no one human can take that kind of damage –”

  I wasn’t Detective Monroe’s biggest fan. We’d never be BFFs, or do a girls’ night out. But right now, I felt for her. She was used to a world where there wasn’t such a thing as monsters, where everything made sense, and where the simplest explanation was the best. And she had just tumbled into the Twilight Zone.

  “You fought bravely,” Sorren said in a voice that was almost impossible to resist. “Why did you follow Cassidy?”

  “I know there’s more going on than what she’s saying,” Monroe said as if she were in a trance. “I figured I’d follow them, see where they went. Wondered what the lawyer has to do with it. Where there’s smoke there’s fire.”

  I could tell that Monroe was fighting the compulsion, but her voice had taken on a dream-like quality. Anthony moved forward, and his expression was equally intrigued and repelled, but Teag vigorously motioned for him to be quiet.

  “What did you see?” Sorren asked.

  Monroe’s answer was halting. I’m sure for a by-the-book cop, fighting monsters strained every rational synapse in her brain. “I saw… monsters. Or people dressed up like monsters. Or terrorists that looked like… monsters.”

  There’s a moment when people encounter the supernatural and it turns their world upside-down. Some people can deal with it. Most can’t. Monroe might be obnoxious, but she was a good cop. She just wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing. Neither were ninety-nine percent of the people on this planet.

  “You saw an attempted drive-by shooting. The shooters were after Cassidy, Teag, and Anthony,” Sorren said quietly. “You ordered the attackers to disperse, and they did not heed your orders. Then as they drove away, you fired your weapon into the air as a warning and finally into their vehicle. There were no monsters. Nothing unusual happened. Just three people fighting off an attack. Do you understand?”

  Numbly, Monroe nodded. She’d had the courage to stick around and help, even though she had no idea what was going on and didn’t actually like us. And now she could go back to her everyday existence, disbelieving in magic and monsters, secure in her very normal world. I envied her – just a little.

  “You’re going to walk back to your car,” Sorren instructed. When you get there, you’ll remember helping to scare off the drive-by. That is the report you’ll make. And in the future, you’ll realize that you have more important things to do than to pay attention to what Cassidy, Teag, and Anthony are doing.” Sorren looked toward us and cocked an eyebrow with a sardonic smile.

  “I understand.”

  “Go now, and remember nothing else.”

  We remained silent as Detective Monroe turned and walked away. When she was out of sight and out of earshot, we all gave a sigh of relief.

  “How did you know we needed help?” I asked.

  Sorren shrugged. “I was afraid there might be problems at the gala. That’s why I made sure the painting was gone early. Once it was dark, I thought I should check in. I’m glad I did. Circumstances delayed me, for which I apologize.”

  “I think we might have broken about a dozen or so laws, at least.” Anthony sounded a little woozy. Teag turned toward him with concern just as Anthony’s knees gave way and he collapsed to the sidewalk. He was bleeding where the Nephilim had struck him, and he looked pale.

  “Oh God,” Teag said. “We’ve got to get him inside and get help.”

  “I’ve seen you fight in tournaments,” Anthony said, looking up at Teag unsteadily. “But not like this. You went Batman on their asses.”

  “Guess that makes you Robin,” Teag said, worry pinching his features tight. “Where the hell did you get a gun? You hate guns.”

  “But I love you,” Anthony mumbled. “And what you do is dangerous. I figured… it would come in handy.” His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell silent.

  “Sorren, please,” Teag begged.

  Sorren laid a hand on Teag’s shoulder. “We’re not far from your house. Let’s get him inside. It’s likely not as bad as it looks.” Sorren scooped Anthony into his arms as if he were lifting a small child, and we walked the last block to their house. I was holding my breath and when we crossed over Lucinda’s protective wards, I exhaled.

  Sorren laid Anthony down on the couch. “Let’s take a look at those gashes.” Teag fetched the special first-aid kit, and Sorren cleaned and dressed Anthony’s wounds with practiced skill. “He’s had quite a shock, and he’s lost some blood, but he’ll be fine with rest,” he said after he finished. “I’ll send Dr. Zeigler over right away to have a look at him, in case those cuts are tainted.”

  “Will he remember?” Teag asked.

  Sorren nodded. “Yes. He bought that gun and learned to use it of his own free will. While he struggles with belief in the supernatural, he believes you. So, yes. He will remember. All of it.” That was going to make for an uncomfortable conversation later, but we were in too deep to worry about it now.


  Sorren glanced from Teag to me and his eyes narrowed. “As for the two of you,” he said, “let me take care of those cuts.” Sorren’s injuries were already healing on their own.

  Teag swore that he was all right with Anthony on his own, and Anthony was sleeping soundly, thanks to a root tea from Mrs. Teller and some help from Sorren. Sorren made a call, and promised that Dr. Zeigler would stop by in the morning. An hour later, Sorren and I left to walk to my house.

  “You bought the painting at the auction,” I said as we walked.

  Sorren chuckled. “I figured you’d hear about that.”

  “Where are you going to hang it?”

  “I’ve got somewhere in mind where it will fit right in with the décor.”

  I turned to look at Sorren as we walked up to my piazza door. “Thank you for showing up tonight. I really thought we were toast.”

  Sorren’s expression was a mix of regret and hesitation. “I may have gotten us all into something over our heads this time,” he admitted. “But tonight, I could make a difference. So I did. Good night, Cassidy.”

  I stepped across the wards, into safety. “Good night, Sorren.”

  THE NEXT NIGHT, Teag and Sorren and I sat at my kitchen table, combing through the information we had collected, searching for a way to get an advantage against Sariel. Anthony was doing well enough that he demanded Teag come over and reconnoiter with Sorren and me – that was his word, ‘reconnoiter’ – so that we could carry on. I decided that when all of this was over, I was buying Anthony dinner and a bottle of the best scotch I could afford.

  “Sariel’s powerful, and he’s ruthless,” Sorren replied. “So were the others I’ve fought over the centuries. But with most of them, it was strictly business. With Sariel, it’s personal. That need for vengeance makes him especially dangerous – and he was bad news to begin with.”

  Sorren looked tired. I wondered if a combination of worry and blaming himself for Sariel’s re-appearance was wearing on him. If so, it was a perfectly normal, perfectly human response for someone who was neither normal nor human. I walked over to the counter to pour myself a glass of wine.

  “What was Sariel, before he became a nephilmancer?” I asked.

  “More than one hundred years ago, Sariel was a judge who didn’t feel that he received justice, so he appealed to a Power that would enable him to set things right – at least, according to his views. He made a bargain with the Darkness.”

  Sorren stared off for a moment, remembering. “The thing is, long ago, the man who became Sariel was a pretty decent person. Back then, he was Judge Asa Larson. Had a reputation for being stern but fair, and he was a family man, pillar of the community.”

  He shook his head. “Then things went wrong. His daughter married a homesteader and went West. Many people did, after the war. The daughter and her husband settled out in the Oklahoma territory, set up farming, and did well for a time. Then word came that the daughter and the other settlers had been killed by a bandit gang.”

  “And the bandits got away,” I supplied.

  Sorren shrugged. “No matter how many crimes the bandits were linked to, they never seemed to get caught.”

  “Corrupt officials?”

  “Maybe. Or perhaps just incompetent ones.” Sorren gave a sad smile. “There was no DNA analysis, no forensics. It was much easier to get away with murder.” Something in Sorren’s voice gave me the sense that he knew the truth of his statement first-hand.

  “So the Judge went out West, decided to take things into his own hands,” Sorren continued. “He hired some vigilantes, and tried to bring the bandits to justice.”

  “Sounds like a dedicated father to me. Extreme, but dedicated.”

  “The bandits were cruel, brutal men.” Anger smoldered in Sorren’s eyes. “No one would have missed them if Larson had been successful. Even the local sheriffs helped. But your West has a lot of barren, open land. And Larson didn’t count on the bandits having a bruja.”

  “A witch.”

  “Yes. Larson set out with his gunslingers toward a place in the desert the bandits had made their bolt-hole. Thirty men went in. Two came out: Larson, and one other survivor.”

  “Was it the witch, or the bandits that defeated him?” I asked.

  “According to the stories, it was the witch,” Sorren replied. “It was not a fair fight. Larson survived, but the battle changed him, and he was even more fixated on revenge than before.”

  “So Larson decided to try another route?”

  Sorren nodded. “Larson’s grief and frustration drove him mad. When the Almighty allowed his daughter to die and didn’t use Larson and his vigilantes to bring judgment, Larson cursed God and sought the power he needed elsewhere.”

  “As in, becoming a nephilmancer,” I said.

  “Yes,” Sorren replied. “Larson went looking for a deal with whoever could bring the bandits down. He went to several mortal crime lords, but because of his reputation as a judge, none of them would trust him. Finally, mad and destitute, he made the proverbial deal with the Devil – or near enough.”

  “So how did his son factor into this?”

  Sorren reached down and lifted Baxter onto his lap. Baxter did one turn around and settled in, content to allow Sorren to scratch his ears.

  “One of Larson’s sons disavowed him,” he replied after a pause. “But his younger son, Samuel, went along, whether to protect his father or avenge his sister, no one knows.” He paused. “The son that cut him off made Larson dead to him and made it his business to go to war against Larson and people like him.”

  Holy shit! “So Daniel Hunter –”

  Sorren nodded. “Yeah. He’s Asa Larson’s other son. One big dysfunctional supernatural family.”

  “And did Larson eventually get his vengeance against the bandits?” Listening to Sorren talk about history as if it happened yesterday was more gripping than any reality show. I had to restrain myself from making popcorn.

  “He did. But everything has its price. Larson’s vow gave him over, body and soul, to an entity known as Sariel who wanted access to this mortal realm,” he said. “Sariel promised Larson that the bandits would pay for their crimes, and they did.” He was quiet for a moment.

  “Whatever atrocities the bandits had committed, what Sariel did – through Larson and his son, along with Nephilim he now controlled – avenged the murdered settlers tenfold. The bandits were tortured, mutilated, burned, vivisected, and their souls were cursed to eternal torment. Larson got his revenge. But the price was his own soul, and quite possibly, his son’s as well. Maybe he and Samuel went to their judgment willingly,” Sorren said with a shrug. “Maybe not.”

  “How did you get involved?”

  Sorren grimaced. “Larson – now Sariel – drew the attention of the Family.” He didn’t have to explain. The Family is often behind problems the Alliance steps in to fix. They’re the supernatural equivalent of organized crime.

  “The Family made sure he got the resources he wanted, until he emerged as an exceptionally powerful nephilmancer and a possible threat to them,” Sorren replied. “Up to this point, I had been only marginally aware of the situation. But when Sariel returned from the West, it became clear that he was a problem the Alliance needed to handle.”

  “Because of the Watchers?”

  Sorren nodded. “The power of being judge, jury, and executioner corrupted him.”

  Teag had brought a bag of Krispy Kreme donuts with him, and the ‘hot now’ smell of sticky, warm glazed goodness wafted up from the open box in the middle of the table. I had already eaten two, and I doubted a third would go well with my wine, so I pushed the box aside.

  “Anything else you can tell us about Sariel?” I asked.

  Sorren reached into his pocket. “Actually, I was going to let you see for yourself,” he said. And with that, he produced a battered ring from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table.

  “I wore this ring in the battle that claimed the life of Sariel’s
son,” Sorren said. “I suspect that if you touch it, you’ll see – and you’ll have all the answers you might want about exactly who – and what – we’re up against.”

  “Hold on,” Teag said. He produced a strip of cloth about as wide as his hand and about a foot long. Woven into the fabric were runes and markings, and even without touching the cloth, I knew that Teag’s Weaver magic was imbued in the warp and the woof.

  “I made this to see if I can piggyback with Cassidy’s visions,” he said. “Let’s try.” He lifted the ring and placed it onto the strip of fabric, then held the end of the strip between his thumb and fingers. “Okay, Cassidy,” he said with a grin. “Do your stuff.”

  I took a deep breath and reached out toward Sorren’s ring. As I touched the metal, I closed my eyes, and I felt the jolt of power as my magic showed me a vastly different time and place.

  Thanks to the ring, I viewed the scene through Sorren’s eyes. I stood on a sprawling lawn bounded by large live oak trees. Wisps of fog hung in the air, and Spanish moss drooped from the trees’ gnarled branches. Beneath my feet lay the unmarked graves of generations of dead slaves, restless spirits far from home. Such gravesites were common in the Lowcountry, and Sariel and his Reapers had been feasting, bringing across more Nephilim, increasing their strength to win bigger spoils.

  We were here to stop them. This night, fast and strong wouldn’t be enough. We were going to need every advantage we could get – and no small amount of luck.