Umar’s claws cut through her thin shirt and dug into her shoulder. Even as a bird, he maintained a measure of his human rationality and did not draw blood or nip her ear with his sharp beak.
He groomed her hair. His sharp beak worked through her tangles. She giggled at his careful movement. Su offered Umar her arm. He spread his wings, pumped them a couple of times and lifted off. She watched him circle above, his dark under wing feathers camouflaging him into near invisibility.
The street outside her house was deserted. No screams, no sirens, no gunshots. A cautious silence ruled Portland. The absence of sound shocked her after the chaos and destruction of the last day.
She’d fully expected the world to be at war when they left their sanctuary. The stillness startled her.
“Something happened tonight,” she whispered. “I wonder if we’ll ever find out.”
CHAPTER 17
“You have a kid? A real-life baby?” Radu’s face would have been comical if they hadn’t been in such a dangerous position.
“Yep.”
“Vampires don’t have babies,” her brother commented.
“This one did.”
“Huh.” Radu held still as he watched the human police swarm the outside of the building. “Does she look like me?”
No matter how much Radu had changed, he still was himself. Valerie smiled. “A little. She’s impatient.”
“Got that one honestly,” Radu replied. His claws kneaded the wooden beams like a human would knead dough. “Poor kid. One of us.”
Valerie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Being a vampire has its positive qualities.”
“Oh, Lucifer’s teeth, our parents were insane. I finally learned what happened to you during your hostage years.” He blew out a breath. “What were they thinking? And this whole girl thing? What a dumb idea.”
“It worked.”
“You being a girl would have worked too.”
“Whatever.” Valerie shrugged. “This is what we need to do.”
Fifteen minutes, one frantic blood-sharing, and a brilliant solution later, Radu and Valerie parted ways.
Radu did not shake his children, or shout at them, or even strike them across the face. Where had her brash little brother gone? Where had he learned such mature restraint? Less than a year ago, he had attempted to gain political supremacy by deceit and murder.
This sober, clear-eyed man transcended their Romanian temper and their vampiric lack of self-control.
“Father,” the two cried. “We only did it out of love for you.”
“I know.” He petted their hair. The two cuddled closer like children begging for absolution.
When he staked them, their ashes drifted onto him like sad tears.
Now to finish everything.
CHAPTER 18
Lucifer was one slow motherfucker.
Disguised as a dog, Radu Tepes circled the crowds outside the Tualatin Mountain Homeless Shelter. His toenails clicked on the littered street as he wove though the legs of protesters. Most people stopped their shouting to pat the big black hound that roamed between them. Radu snapped up an offered hotdog, licked his chops, and wagged his tail.
He didn’t care for the view when he was a dog. Endless knees and shoes got boring. But he loved the attention. Especially those people who liked to scratch that spot on his back.
No time for that now. Tonight, Radu was on a mission to foil Lucifer. He’d practically laid a trail of breadcrumbs to lead the Fallen Angel here, but he hadn’t shown yet. What the hell was holding him up?
Radu paced. Everywhere he went, anger and fear overrode the usual smells of coffee, garbage, and the Willamette River. Finally, he sat and considered his surroundings.
The Tualatin Mountain Shelter was not the tallest building in Portland, or the oldest, or even the best looking. For tonight, though, it was the most important.
Last Halloween, this beat-up old ballroom had been on the brink of financial disaster. Then, Lance Soliel shocked the world by challenging the precarious status quo between PNCs and humans. He’d invited two homeless werewolves a place to stay, and the world had changed overnight.
Radu remembered that night. Unfortunately. He hated remembering the scene of his greatest failure. His own actions when Lance had opened the Shelter to PNCs had worsened the plight of his people. His children had attempted to murder Umar.
He’d rather feel the tired ache in his paws than feel the humiliation and shame his actions created. He heaved a huge sigh and stood.
Once again, he wandered the crowd of protesting humans. Bit by bit, their previously calm discussions got louder and louder. People whose hands had been empty now carried signs on sturdy sticks.
Sticks sturdy enough to hurt, even to kill.
“Let the wrath of God cleanse these abominations from the earth!”
“Humans only in the past, humans only now, humans only forever.”
“Human writes over demon writes!”
Radu growled in frustration. Why not carry pitchforks and torches? That would be more honest than this hidden hate.
He dropped his nose to the ground. As a vampire, he could smell a bird downwind. As a dog, his sense of smell was even stronger.
There. There was what he suspected he’d find.
Sulphur. Lucifer had arrived.
About freaking time. Another fifteen minutes, and their plan would have fallen apart.
Tail held high, he traced the nose-pinching trail of rotten eggs. Once Radu neutralized Lucifer, this barely day-old war would ease.
Dogs did not see in color, but Radu knew that the source of the odor was the red haired man hiding in the shadows of the trees. He dropped a word in an ear over here, gave out misspelled protest signs over there.
“Paronarmols are EVIL.”
“A human country, founded by humans, FOR HUMENS.”
Why Lucifer did have so much trouble spelling? And why was he on the humans’ side?
Vampires, shape shifters, and every other paranormal being had been created expressly to keep fallen angels company during their exile from their heavenly home. PNCs were born to be Lucifer’s friends and comfort. With Hell’s recent losses in personnel, Lucifer had to be miserably lonely.
Therefore, inciting the crowd to greater anger. Which would lead to greater violence. Which would lead to more recruits.
Radu flapped his head. The crowd’s screams hurt his ears. Come on, jackass, he thought. Make your move and let’s finish this.
Lucifer stepped back to an unoccupied corner of the street. Radu bunched the muscles in his shoulders and shook out his ruff. This had to be it.
Radu did not want to die. But he’d caused this mess.
He would clean it up.
And there it was. Lucifer turned non-corporal, ready to possess a small boy. Radu jumped, and intersected Lucifer’s spirit’s trajectory with his own.
He took the fallen angel’s essence, the rage, the fear, the confusion, the envy and despair. Landing, he sprinted west as fast as he could. Vampires ran fast. As a dog, he ran faster.
He lowered his muzzle and shoved all his will into his faltering legs.
His only job was to run, run, run west until he rendezvoused with his sister. Together they would subdue Lucifer, neutralize his influence.
“Stop!” Lucifer howled, seizing control of Radu’s legs. Cold fingers gripped his heart, adding to the weight of Lucifer’s misery. “Vampire, you must obey me.”
But Radu didn’t need to breathe and he didn’t need a pumping heart. And he wasn’t just a vampire anymore to be controlled by Lucifer’s whim.
Angel blood filled him, a gift from Valerie, shared to make him faster, stronger, and free from anyone who tried to override his will.
In less than five minutes, Lucifer would be on the Great Wheel, ready for reincarnation.
CHAPTER 19
At five minutes to midnight, Glenath Tempesta stood before the luminous Gates of Paradise. A soft yellow g
low lit the figures carved into the gold. To her left, a cast of Rodin’s Gates of Hell, its harsh shadows flickering in the gaslight, loomed above her.
A copy of Lorenzo Ghiberti’s masterpiece decorated the doors that led into the hallowed ground of the interfaith meeting room. Adam and Eve, Noah, the Queen of Sheba, and a host of other Old Testament figures led the eye toward heaven.
Rodin’s massive doors guarded the way into the paranormal wing.
Someone in Portland’s religious community had a wicked sense of humor. She covered her grin with a well-timed cough.
Glenath’s Madonna-blue silk suit was thin protection from the cold midnight breeze. Instead of her trusty sandals, she wore a pair of low-heeled pumps. Sweat gathered between her toes and under the arches of her feet.
Media lined the walk that led into the center. Glenath believed in “Go Big or Go Home.” She had invited religious leaders from around the world to this service dedicated to peace. As a result, photographers’ flashes spit spots in front of her vision and the lights from the video cameras caused long flares of ghost images behind her eyelids.
She squeezed the bridge of her nose. Didn’t they know she was old? That shit messed with her eyes.
The giant bells tolled the first peal of midnight. The figures sculpted into the doors quivered gently with the vibration. Adam and Eve walked in their garden. Ugolino’s children writhed in their devouring father’s grip.
Glenath rolled her shoulders. Showtime. She grasped the gold-plated handles of the doors to Paradise. The hinges opened silently, the heavy gates sliding easily on their railings.
A wave of frankincense poured out of the interfaith center. The smoke rolled into the courtyard, coating the harsh lights with fat curls of warmth and sweet scents.
The photographers clicked and flashed at the dramatic scene. Glenath stumbled at the threshold but she righted herself before anyone got the shot. Thank God the two candle lighters on either side of her kept her moving on a reasonably straight course on the long red carpet to the raised dais.
If they hadn’t been there, her temporary blindness would have caused her to bang into the wooden pews. And that would have been a very embarrassing thing.
More than just her pride was at stake tonight. Her intuition was on red alert; something very important was going to happen during this service. This moment in time, this space, was the linchpin. What happened during this ritual would determine if there would be global war or a renewal of concord.
Glenath would be ready for either eventuality.
Her pace steady and calm, she climbed the stairs onto the heavily carved marble dais. True to the historical thought that paradise was a garden, the platform was decorated with images of fruit and flowers, animals and water. The names of the Higher Power had been painted on the plaster walls throughout the interior.
The building radiated mercy and forgiveness.
She went down on one knee, her creaking joints echoing off the walls. No one snickered in this holy place.
This location had been built to be as inclusive as possible. The worshippers faced Mecca. A fountain outside allowed for ritual bathing. Holy books from every religion lined the walls. Gleaming white plaster shone, reflecting beeswax candles and the flashing camera lights. A stained-glass rose window, a smaller sized reproduction of the famous windows at Notre Dame, cast peacock blue and green onto those gathered below.
Over her lifetime, Glenath had raised funds for many projects like these. The beauty inside encouraged her.
She rose.
In defiance of the world’s pessimistic mood, tonight she presided over this service, television cameras and all, to prove love’s triumph over hatred. This midnight ceremony was her middle finger to Luc Breton and every other cowardly political leader who had lost faith in the unity of all creation.
Glenath herself was living proof of the victory of devotion over open conflict. Her once estranged husband, the vampire Anthony O’Neill, waited for her inside the PNC wing.
She turned to face the incoming worshippers.
International luminaries filtered in, filling the cushioned pews. The Patriarch of Constantinople, long white beard spotless and aged eyes bright, took a seat in the front. He must have boarded a plane the moment the news broke. The Pope, the President, and other world leaders, surrounded by their individual guard services, filled the sanctuary. A rabbi sat with Muslim worshippers, showing their support of Glenath’s stance.
A woman dressed in ragged black slithered between the closing doors. Keeping to the shadows in the back, she moved behind the ranks of the media. As far as anyone else was concerned, she didn’t exist. But Glenath could see her.
Unlike the dignitaries, her cheap black clothes were stained and crinkled. Her hair was tangled and her hands coated in dirt. She fearlessly met Glenath’s gaze.
It was Valerie.
They nodded at each other.
A tight ball between Glenath’s shoulder blades loosened. No matter what happened tonight, the not-quite-a-vampire would handle it. There would be surprises, but no violence in this place tonight.
CHAPTER 20
Valerie waited by the doors and twitched as though a colony of fire ants had taken residence in her pants. Where was Radu? She smelled no basil, no sulphur, not even cloves from Lance.
This had to work. Everything hinged on this moment, right now.
A reporter glanced over his shoulder. She smiled, aiming for friendly and cheerful. He spun away so fast his neck cracked.
So much for friendly and cheerful.
“Please be seated,” Glenath said.
Once the sanctuary quieted, she leaned on the podium and began her speech.
“Let’s be honest,” she spat out. “No one on this planet has the time for this bullshit war nonsense.”
The Pope closed his eyes. The Patriarch coughed. Valerie would have grinned if she weren’t so worried. Glenath always did make for good press.
“If anyone has one good reason for people to fight each other, speak up.”
The Gates of Paradise crashed open. The hinges broke with a blood-seizing scream. The heavy doors slammed into the walls of the vestibule. Fluttering banners fell to the ground; windows shook in their casings. The room rumbled and the floor cracked as though someone were driving a tank through the doorway.
“Everyone, take cover.” Valerie’s order cut through the babble like a razor through thin skin.
Glenath flattened on the dais. The VIPs and the worshippers dove under the pews. The press corps shoved forward.
Valerie shook her head. These people were insane. They were all going to get killed by whatever power had destroyed the protecting doors. She kicked and pushed her way through the crazed reporters and camera operators, forcing them to their knees.
“Hit the deck, you idiots!”
When she reached the edge of the crowd, she stopped dead. This should not be.
A gout of green-hot fire rose from a single figure standing on the threshold of holy ground.
It was her brother, Radu.
He was killing himself. Shock froze Valerie for long seconds until she found her will again. She pulled banners off their dowels and wrapped her brother in them, the heavy felt smothering the purifying fire.
“You fool!” She slammed to her knees next him. “What are you doing? This is my job.”
He crawled toward the altar, one agonizing inch at a time. Every person in the building stared at the horrifying sight of the burning man.
Icy fear filled her dead heart.
Not her baby brother, not the only blood relative she had left. They might hate each other, but he was hers, had been hers since the moment their mother and father placed the red, wrinkled infant in her arms.
This was her family. She would not let him die.
She wrapped his burning arm over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
Trembling with effort, Radu rotated his head to look at her. Black marks marred his perfect fa
ce. His gold jewelry melted into his skin. What was he thinking?
“Outside. Now,” she ordered, slapping at the rising flames with her free hand. “Lance, help me,” she begged mentally. But her lover did not materialize.
“Don’t,” Radu wheezed. “I have to die.” The raw passion and vulnerability in his eyes jumpstarted Valerie’s tears.
His voice crackled as though his vocal cords were on fire. He broke away from her. Radu staggered and fell, landing against a pew. His shirt pooled around his forearms, revealing blackened, bubbling skin. Everyone shrank back from the sight. And his smell. The Pope gagged into his sleeve.
One would think a smoking body would smell like roast meat or charcoal. No. He reeked of putrification.
She grabbed him under his arms, her front tight against his flaming back. The blue-hot fire ate at her clothes, but did not touch her skin. “Not the plan!”
“I changed the plan,” Radu coughed.
“Why?” she demanded. Her stomach churned in anguish at the thought of his final death.
Surprisingly strong, Radu twisted and escaped Valerie’s grip. He scrambled to his hands and knees.
“Lucifer,” he gasped. “I hold him inside. Once I die, he dies.”
“No, no, no!” she screamed. “Give him to me. That was the plan,” she repeated. Her mind could not grasp what Radu was doing.
They’d agreed. As a dog, he would infiltrate the crowd, take Lucifer’s essence inside. Valerie would never be able to surprise the Fallen; her scent and presence were too entwined with Lance’s.
Radu on four feet was faster than Valerie on two. He was to run here. She would take Lucifer’s soul, bring him on holy ground. Glenath would subdue him, force him into hibernation.
Valerie tightened her arms around his ribs and yanked. His weakened hands let go of the pew.
Three feet. All she needed was three fucking feet to get him outside. Fire ate his jaw, licked his temples. “Either help me or back off,” she howled at the surging press. “Come on, Radu, you have a niece to see. Don’t you want to live?”
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