“Stella—”
“Don’t say my name.”
“Ma’am, please.” The nurse took her arm.
“Ms. Walker if you don’t calm down we will sedate you,” the doctor ordered.
“You’re an admitted killer.” Bianca’s face flashed through her mind. “And a liar,” she exclaimed ignoring everyone except the man facing her.
The doctor and the nurse stopped. The only sound in the room was the beeping monitor keeping track of her escalating blood pressure and heart rate. Her fingers and toes throbbed, her ears gonged, and her chest heaved as her body tried to stave off hysteria.
“Leave us.” Two words and the small space allotted them in the ER emptied of medical personnel. “I haven’t lied to you,” he stated when the door clicked.
“I’m sure your fiancée would disagree.” Her voice broke, but she didn’t care.
“Ex.”
She gave a silent chuckle, but her head shook furiously. “Since two seconds ago,” she murmured.
“Since well before we made love,” he growled.
She remembered the delicious feel of him, the musky, spicy smell of his skin. His weight pressing her into the mattress while he invaded her body. Dear God, she was slick and wet and ready for him.
“That’s . . . unfortunate. You should call her.”
“Stella.” He touched her arm and she jerked away.
What the fuck am I thinking? “This isn’t about Bianca. I don’t give a damn about you or your fiancée. I’m in this hospital because of Daniel. He attacked me the first time and he came back to finish me off.” She swung her legs over the opposite side of the bed. Before her feet touched the floor, Roman was there, helping her to stand. She slapped his hands away.
“Don’t touch me,” she mouthed.
“How did you know? You said he wore a mask.”
She filled a glass with water and gulped the cool, soothing liquid before she answered. “He told me. Got a great kick out of describing how sorry he was and how his master Anubis told him to kill . . . and his eyes, they glowed. “ She couldn’t stop her rambling.
“What?” he said sharply.
“Crazy, huh? That’s why I didn’t tell anyone. People’s eyes don’t glow. And they don’t live for two-thousand years, and they don’t reincarnate over and over again,” she babbled and didn’t care. “And they don’t have a wild beast chasing them through Central Park.”
Seconds congealed into a solid minute as she waited for Roman to speak. She glanced at him and met his glacial stare. “You don’t want to believe, fine—”
“I didn’t say I don’t believe you. However, I won’t allow you to put yourself in danger.”
“I didn’t put myself in danger.” She tried to yell, but the words squeaked from her. “I didn’t bring myself to a house to meet your serial killer brother. How do I know you didn’t know all along what he was? What he did to me? How do I know you weren’t all in on it?”
He grabbed her by her arms and pulled her to him. “I could have killed you a dozen times. Last night while you slept in my arms . . .” His voice trailed away. Roman’s hands dropped from her arms. “I’m sorry. I’ll never forgive myself for not knowing what Daniel was.” Pain etched his features. “He betrayed me. I’d kill him again if I could.”
Hands clutched at his sides, face livid, Stella didn’t doubt his sincerity.
“Hasn’t there been enough killing?” She ripped off the EKG leads.
“Can you think of anyone else that deserved to die more? He killed eleven people and you barely survived and when he discovered who you were, the bastard targeted you again—to get at me.”
“What about me, Roman, and the other victims? We deserved justice not your kind of vengeance because you’ve been betrayed.”
“My kind of justice has kept me alive,” he said, inches away from her face.
“But it almost got me killed.”
A knock sounded at the door. “Roman, we have company,” E.J. said.
“Not now,” he shouted, but didn’t break eye contact with her.
“Go.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Roman, the police are here,” E.J. said.
“Good. I was just about to call them.” Hurt flared in Roman’s eyes. She ignored it.
“This isn’t over. You can’t run away.”
“I’m not running away from you, Roman. I’m walking.” While I still can.
McCabe and another detective entered.
The detective didn’t spare her a glance. Instead, he focused on Roman who stood between them.
“Mr. Nicolis, where were you last night around 10:30?” McCabe demanded.
Roman’s nostrils flared. “Why?”
“Answer the question.”
“Tell me why.”
“A jacket with your wallet was found near a crime scene in Central Park. Any explanation?” His eyes quickly shifted between her and Roman.
Roman said nothing.
“You know anything about this, Miss Walker?”
Don’t look at Roman. Not even a glance. All of her instincts ordered her to say nothing, protect him. But lying to the police?
“She wasn’t there,” Roman answered for her. “I was alone in the park.”
“You’re her bodyguard. If she wasn’t with you, then where was she?” McCabe’s smile wasn’t pleasant.
“Doesn’t matter where she was. She wasn’t with me.”
McCabe finally turned his attention to her. “Is that true Miss Walker?”
She opened her mouth but all that came out was a squeak.
Roman grabbed her wrist and he stepped between her and McCabe. “Don’t.”
“Roman Nicolis, you’re under arrest for interfering with a police investigation.” The detective whipped out his handcuffed.
Roman didn’t flinch when McCabe snapped them on.
E.J. and Thane entered the room and erupted when they saw Roman’s hands behind his back. McCabe’s hand went to his gun just as Roman yelled for silence. In a bubble of her own turmoil, Stella watched the commotion.
“Step back or I’ll arrest all of you.” McCabe ordered. “Miss Walker, we’re taking you into custody also.”
“No.” Roman shoved the police officer holding his arms away and towering over McCabe, he got close to his face. “She stays here, in the hospital.”
“I’m not staying here.” She grabbed some gauze from a nearby tray, pressed it to the IV site and pulled the needle out of her arm.
Roman glowered at her. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Leaving. The Strangler is dead and I’m free of him . . . and you.” She struggled to say. Was it pain she saw flickering in the depth of his blue eyes? Eyes that resembled Daniel’s.
“Good,” McCabe said. “That saves us the trouble of waiting for you to be discharged. Miss Walker, please come to the station with us.”
“Am I under arrest,” she asked again, fighting to keep the fear out of her voice.
“Not yet.”
CHAPTER 23
Anubis stood next to his father’s throne. No emotion showed on his face as SET, with a flick of a finger, flayed swaths of flesh from the judged soul lying prostrate on the floor.
Usually nothing more than mist, today his parent chose to be a physically perfect man. Arms and legs were placed correctly, head on top of shoulders, genitalia appropriately located between the thighs. Sometimes he liked to mix things up, make it interesting. Except beneath his translucent skin, his true state swirled. Inky black mist moved incessantly, faster in anger, slower in pleasure, forever restless.
His parent chuckled, a pleasant sound as small pieces of skin and muscle were carved from the body of the condemned and flung against the walls of the Bone Chamber. The wet smack of the whip meeting flesh echoed as did the splat of bodily fluid ending their trajectory against the walls. A Rorschach or an impressionist painting would’ve been an adequate comparison if you ignored the gore bits m
ixed in. Anubis didn’t dare avert his eyes from the judgment. As the son of SET, he would perform his duty and stand by his father’s side, even when he longed to look away.
Nephythys, Goddess of the Dead, decreed this money-lender to die as he cheated those he served, in increments, death by a billion cuts or some such ridiculous number. His parent would meet out this punishment until bored, then he would hand of the duty to a Servus, an original soul of the Underworld.
Only Anubis’ strict control kept him from gasping in surprise when he sensed the death of Alamut. It wasn’t possible. The man was the best candidate. Evil permeated his soul, a demented soul that harbored jealousy toward the man who raised him and the family that considered him one of theirs. A soul that welcomed him in with nary a question or a promise. Built for destruction, yet intelligent and submissive, the perfect slave. He couldn’t lose him. A scream formed in his head as he struggled to absorb the enormity of his failure.
Always aware of everything around him, a single eye appeared in the back of SET’s head. Lidless, it stared, questioning. Two centuries of trust withered in the stare.
No one stood at SET’s back and survived. Only to his son had SET granted the privilege of standing by his side—and one inch behind him—but only after millenniums of subservience. And only if he never looked at his back.
Trust, now wasted in a moment of unguarded weakness. Having no emotions of his own, The God of Evil read the emotions of the beings around him and fed off them when they were delicious enough to keep his interest. Though he strived, unfortunately Anubis didn’t inherit that genetic trait. In form and temperament, he took after his mother and suffered from a buffet of useless emotions.
Little did it matter. This miniscule breach didn’t compare to the loss of Alamut. A lesser God, Anubis wouldn’t survive his father’s full wrath. Only the four elder Gods—joined together—could stand against SET, but none would come to his rescue.
Though his insides trembled, Anubis betrayed nothing while the eye remained locked on him. He waited, using patience learned in obeisance at the feet of his parent, for SET to tire of dissecting the doomed man, and for the eye to stop watching him.
He had to leave before Alamut’s soul arrived for judgment. Nephythys could not discover his failure. No, he wouldn’t give the bitch the chance to laugh in his face. Though she knew what punishment awaited his failure, Nephythys cared little for his survival. She loved only two Gods and neither SET nor he was fortunate enough to be on that short list.
His parent didn’t bore easily. He took great joy in his profession. As God of Darkness and all Evil, this task was his enjoyment for the day. Hours dragged on with the lidless eye locked onto him. Finally, his pleasure expired; the hapless soul lay in too many pieces to count, the eye vanished and SET’s head swiveled. Comprised of the bones of those judged, his throne collapsed into a heap. He rose until he dwarfed Anubis and his presence filled every corner of the chamber. Smothering mist with a human face, Anubis emptied his mind and filled it with the appropriate amount of reverence and fear. He didn’t move, didn’t blink as he suffered SET’s scrutiny. Again, time slid by until SET dispersed in a rush of wind. When the last tendrils of his parent disappeared, Anubis flashed from the Underworld.
Alamut couldn’t hide from him. The chemite disk imbedded in his slaves flesh allowed him to track and find his beast anywhere. Bare-chested, wrapped in short linen skirt, woven papyrus sandals, gold at his neck and wrist, no princely headdress; he didn’t need to blend. Invisible, he walked through the Medical Examiner’s office to the Morgue.
The bank of metal drawers drew his attention. Alamut’s body lay inside. He grasped the handle then paused and glanced around. It would be unfortunate for a human to wander in now. Unplanned actions had consequences, such as this disaster. How he died mattered not. That he failed did. And his failure would lead him to the Ivory Palace and of the Goddess of the Dead.
Nephythys would question any unexpected souls arriving at her altar. Their answers would lead back to him.
Deal with the present. He pushed aside his fury and opened the door. A puff of cold air misted and quickly dissipated. Anubis peeked inside.
“Interesting.”
He slid the drawer out.
“This is how they keep their dead before interment. Quite like the frozen treats their children prefer.” He mused.
Again, he speculated on how he met his end. The taste of failure made Anubis bitter. Alamut would pay dearly. He pulled the sheet from the body. Cold, pasty, naked, embalmed. With a flick of his hand the body rolled. Protected by the shoulder blade, Anubis’ hand passed through Alamut’s body and grasped the chemite. Tracing the runes, he chanted. Dark energy, his birthright from SET, passed through him and entered Alamut. The disk vibrated, releasing immense heat. Alamut’s shattered bones straightened, knitted together and healed.
His eyes snapped open and his vacant gaze shifted to Anubis. He took a deep breath and raised a hand to his face. Awed, he ran a shaky hand across his features. Alamut rose, slid off the edge and then dropped to his knees.
“Thank you, Master.”
Anubis raised his servant’s head. “You thank me now. Later you will not. You have failed me, Alamut. Your blood and body will not be enough pay for your failure.”
Suddenly, Nephythys’ name swelled in his head. She had breached the barrier shielding his chamber of souls. Anger rolled through him. Alamut’s soul must have appeared before her for judgment, then vanished when he rejoined it to its body. Curiosity piqued, Anubis pictured her storming into his quarters, his servants fleeing while she searched. Now, when he was so close to achieving his goal, he would withstand her interference. He doubted she would share her discovery with SET, but he couldn’t take the risk.
Luckily, he had a way of insuring her silence. His hand gripped Alamut’s jaw and hauled the man to him. Anubis’ fingers dug into his cheeks, prying his slave’s mouth open. He wouldn’t make this a gentle transition for him. From his palm positioned in front of Alamut’s gaping mouth, a red mist appeared.
Churning in an invisible breeze, the faint particles crossed the distance between the two of them and seeped into every opening and pore. “This is the scent of a wife’s betrayal and the beginning of my victory. You will hunt this man, bloody and maim him. Do not kill him. Return him to me broken but still breathing.”
Acceptance registered in his slave’s eyes. Anubis released Alamut and allowed the call of the barrier to pull him back to Duat. Alamut’s blank face, his last image.
Darkness and madness competed for Daniel’s sanity. They sliced the pie in half and each began to devour their allotment of his mind, until he heard his master’s voice ordering him to return from the place he had been. He gladly obeyed, slamming back into his body like a meteor striking earth.
Gratitude and servitude combined into one emotion. He opened his eyes ready to bow and thank his master, when before Daniels eyes, Anubis’ face and body violently contorted. The God’s mouth opened in a silent scream as his body stretched like taffy and disappeared in increments. Alone, he rose to his feet and leaned against the nearest wall to get his footing, but it wasn’t a wall. He leaned against metal drawers.
“Oh fuck.” He was in the morgue. And that open drawer next to him, yeah, a few seconds ago, he was in it. On wobbly legs, he stumbled to the opposite side of the room. He heaved a breath to still his racing heart but . . . his heart wasn’t racing.
Daniel pressed his palm to his sternum. No beating. A finger to his throat. No pulse. He took another deep breath and realized his lungs hadn’t expanded and deflated as they had for the past thirty years. What had Anubis done to him? And when?
No, his master had made him better, stronger.
His knees gave out and he collapsed onto the cold linoleum. Stella, the pepper spray and the window giving way, the fall . . . the impact, flooded and nearly drowned him.
That bitch—”I’m dead. Oh fuck!” If that were true, then how wa
s he out of the drawer and moving?
“Anubis.” His voice trembled.
He glanced at his bare chest afraid there was nothing inside. Daniel chanted the incantation requesting an audience and nothing happened. The god didn’t appear or pull Daniel to him.
Confused, Daniel surged to his feet and stumbled into a coat rack. His head swam and legs wobbled. His muscle refused to obey any commands. He clung to the coat rack as precious minutes raced away while his body adjusted to its new reality. Finally, he pushed away from his improvised crutch and tried to flash. Nothing happened. He tried again with the same results. Then took a tentative step. Awkward and slow, still, his feet worked.
He dragged on a discarded lab coat left on the rack. Footsteps approached. He crouched and prepared his—not quite alive—new body to attack. It didn’t feel right, natural. There was no surge of adrenalin. No thrill of anticipation. Only cold, distant, waiting for the kill and indifference when the footsteps faded away.
Daniel opened the door and stepped into an empty hallway. He had no idea where he was going, but that didn’t stop him from racing from doorway to doorway. When voices echoed, he darted into an office and discovered he was on the ground floor and it was night. He tried the window. Perfectly sealed with no handle to open, could it still be called a window? Breaking it would sound an alarm. A dead man didn’t need extra attention.
He eased back into the hallway and rounded a corner into the path of a man. A foot shorter and twenty inches wider, dressed in a tee-shirt and sweatpants, an iPod plugged into his head, Daniel doubted he heard him say, “You’ll do,” before his fist slammed into his jaw. He grabbed the guy before he hit the floor and dragged him back into the room he had exited a moment ago.
He didn’t kill him. The need wasn’t there. His lust for death had transformed into pinpoint focus. He stripped the man of his clothing and stuffed him under the desk. The pants were too big, the shirt too tight, the shoes too small, but he inserted the headphone into his ears, kept his head down and jogged his way out of the building.
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