The Curse (Beladors)

by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  “Bloody hell,” Quinn muttered.

  What was so awful for Mr. Proper to curse, too?

  Then Devon jumped in. “That’s bad.”

  She didn’t see what they were making a big deal out of. Okay, the top third of the thing’s head was missing.

  Looking from Quinn to Tzader, Evalle said, “What? I know he’ll be hard to identify without all of his head, but that couldn’t be avoided. And those tats on his face have to mean something.”

  “They do,” Devon confirmed, sighing. “So does that runic S burned into his arm. Identifying him isn’t the problem.”

  “If you know who he is, what’s the issue?” she asked.

  Tzader ran a hand over his bald head, wiping sweat off. “That’s not just any troll. It’s a Svart troll.”

  Evalle searched her mind for what she knew of them. “Aren’t they some European-based bunch?”

  Quinn answered, “Svarts are a black-ops type of mercenary troll who originated in Switzerland. They are the most deadly trolls on earth and hire out to the highest offers. It would require a significant player to even gain their attention.”

  She’d heard snippets about Svarts, but only trolls with death wishes would tangle with VIPER. Evalle thought out loud, “Who has the kind of jack it would take to send them up against a coalition like VIPER, and why would a Svart troll incur the wrath of the coalition? Atlanta is one of the most powerful VIPER hubs in the world.”

  Quinn gave her a disheartening smile. “Contracts in our world aren’t necessarily about money. Power is far more highly valued than coin. And Svarts don’t accept just any offer. They choose their contracts judiciously, based upon how powerful their benefactor is and how well they expect to benefit from a successful mission.”

  She asked, “What kind of extra benefit? Like a bonus?”

  “No.” Quinn thought for a moment. “Whoever did this is unconcerned about poking around in an area protected by VIPER and the Beladors. I caught up on Belador alerts while on my flight or I wouldn’t have understood Tzader’s call to arms for a gang battle. All this gang and troll activity makes me wonder if Svarts have been involved all along. If so, those behind the Svart contract would seem to be intentionally engaging VIPER, and quite possibly the Beladors, which means we have a far deadlier problem than just gang battles. We’re facing an enemy who wants something they’re willing to risk everything for … even war.”

  An icy chill swept over Evalle as she realized what could be brewing. Her gaze dropped to the dead Svart troll. She’d killed their best lead.

  Their only lead.

  Just wasn’t her day. First Macha and now this.

  Macha. Conlan. Tristan.

  She’d locked Tristan out of her mind, so there went her lead on the traitor, too. She sent out a telepathic call. Tristan, you there?

  Not a word in return.

  FOUR

  Evalle rubbed her aching neck, feeling bone-deep tired now that the Beladors had unlinked.

  Where could Tristan be?

  Was he screwing with her because she hadn’t answered?

  Overhead lights flashed on, offering bright pockets in the pitch-dark cemetery. With the Beladors unlinked from her, no one else could see without a night-vision setup.

  Tzader had just finished sending everyone off in different directions except her, Quinn and Devon when Horace Keefer, a Belador who looked old enough to be retired, showed up.

  Horace pulled off his faded blue baseball cap and scratched his grizzled hair before putting the cap back on. His overalls were a bit frayed, but clean. Given his short stature and fuzzy gray beard, Evalle could see him as a leprechaun in a past life, a far more benign ’chaun than the ones VIPER often encountered.

  Shaking his head at everything he saw, Horace said, “Ho, boy, this is a mess. Got your call and showed up soon as I could. Where you need me?”

  Tzader gave the old guy an understanding smile. “The fighting’s all done, but we can use a hand with cleanup.”

  Always one to jump in and help with anything, Horace nodded. “I’m on it.” He started to walk off and paused, looking down. “What kind of troll is that?”

  Evalle said, “A Svart.”

  “Do tell.” Horace shook his head. “Never expected to see one of those, alive or dead. Where’s the other one?”

  Tzader, Quinn and Evalle exchanged looks, then turned to Devon, who had been working the troll investigations in Savannah for a while.

  Devon asked Horace, “What other one?”

  The old guy cracked his knuckles during the few seconds it took him to answer. “Don’t know, but I heard once that they like to work in no less than teams of two, and most times teams of four.”

  Nodding as he digested that information, Devon said to Tzader, “I’ll put some feelers out when we’re through here.”

  “Do that.”

  Horace strolled off whistling, always happy.

  Evalle envied someone so at peace with life.

  Quinn eyed the dead Svart again, shaking his head. “We’re lucky to still have you with us, Evalle. Few people live through a Svart attack to talk about it.”

  That made her feel a little better about giving a lobotomy to their best shot at intel.

  “What you talkin’ ’bout, Quinn?” Devon could sound as if he’d just walked out of a Louisiana swamp when he didn’t want someone to know he’d gone to Tulane University on an academic scholarship. “That Svart didn’t have no chance with Evalle goin’ through EMS.”

  She crossed her arms and shifted her feet apart. “Think you mean PMS, and if I suffered from that, the body count would be much higher, starting with a smart-mouth Cajun.”

  Devon chuckled. “Nope, I mean EMS. You think about it, you’ll figure it out.” He strolled off.

  When she looked around, she caught Quinn’s glance at Tzader, then Quinn’s lips twitched as he fought a smile. Based on the knowing glint in Tzader’s eyes, he understood Devon’s meaning and had just shared it with Quinn.

  She growled at them, “What’s he talking about?”

  Tzader backed away, dismissing himself from the conversation by saying, “Have to call Sen.”

  “Hope you get a busy signal,” Evalle quipped even though Tzader meant a telepathic call.

  Quinn muttered something like “Thanks, Z,” when he clearly didn’t appreciate being left to explain. He cleared his throat and told Evalle, “I believe EMS, my dear, is ‘Evalle missing Storm.’”

  Her skin flushed embarrassingly hot all the way to her ears. She took a step in the direction of Devon, promising, “We’re not through tallying the body count.”

  Quinn put an arm out, stopping her. “If you say a word to Devon now, you’ll only confirm his guess. As I understand from Tzader, you’ve been inquiring as to whether anyone has seen or heard from Storm. Most of the teams will think it’s because he was your partner, but a few sharper ones will suspect a more personal interest.”

  “Is.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Is my partner.” Evalle refused to believe Storm hadn’t survived Sen’s kinetic power blast that drove his body against an unyielding wall. But had Sen known the identity of the black jaguar he’d tried to kill? She thought so, even though Storm had said he’d told no one at VIPER that he was part Ashaninka Skinwalker. He’d shifted into his animal form only to help her locate Tristan for a Tribunal hearing to decide her fate.

  Then she’d allowed Tristan and his group to walk away. She’d had no choice when she’d ended up standing between Tristan and a human black-ops team determined to rid the world of Alterants.

  That decision had almost gotten her killed, then it had landed her in a VIPER jail cell.

  By the time Evalle had returned home, Storm had disappeared without a hint as to where he’d gone beyond the e-mail she’d received that same night sent from his cell phone, which read:

  Evalle,

  I’ll be in touch.

  Storm

  That might have
been comforting except for one problem. Storm had left his phone in her motorcycle tank bag when he’d shifted into a jaguar. When she’d returned from lockup to retrieve her Suzuki GSX-R motorcycle, everything was there except his phone. Until then, no one had ever been able to steal her Gixxer or take anything she’d stowed on it because of a warding that protected her bike. She didn’t think Storm had the ability. Who had gotten past the warding? She’d also searched for the clothes Storm had hidden in bushes near the Decatur MARTA subway station.

  They were gone, and so was his broken body.

  Her soul refused to accept the obvious, the logical, that if he was alive, he’d have contacted her by now. The only other possibility was that he had survived and just hadn’t gotten in touch.

  He wouldn’t do that to her.

  Quinn broke into her thoughts when he said, “Of course, Storm is still your partner. Forgive me for speaking in past tense.” He studied her with wise eyes that knew a lot more about relationships between men and women than she did. “And you are fond of Storm.”

  He hadn’t asked, only stated that he clearly understood that she had feelings for Storm. True, but what she felt for Storm was complicated, tangled with damaged emotions she waded through every time they were together.

  Storm took her flaws in stride and read her too easily at times.

  She hadn’t realized how much she’d miss him if he went away, until now.

  Every day became more unbearable.

  Quinn waited silently. He deserved an honest reply, but she wasn’t up to sharing something she didn’t completely understand, so she said, “I’d just like to know why Storm left and if he plans to return.”

  “I see.” A noncommittal Quinn comment.

  Time to change the subject. Her heart hurt too much to keep talking about Storm. “Thank you for stopping that Rías from killing me, but I’m sorry you had to use your powers that way.”

  Quinn waved it off as though he blew up heads every day, which he didn’t. Just being his usual noble self.

  “And,” she continued, “sorry I killed our best lead in figuring all this out. You could have read the Svart troll’s mind and gotten intel, couldn’t you?”

  “I’m glad you saved yourself. That was more important than all the intel in the world.”

  Always thinking of others. This was the Quinn she knew.

  The ball of guilt inside her expanded a little more and threatened to choke her. Should she ask him now about what that witch Kizira had said and get it off her chest? Her palms were damp with indecision, but it would have to wait. “You still didn’t answer my question about reading the troll’s mind.”

  Quinn shrugged, the movement as refined as his impeccable clothes. “I might have found out something from this Svart, but they are highly trained to prevent being broken during interrogation, and taught to fight to the death. He may have had an iron-tight mind, or there could have been a trap waiting to attack the mind of someone who probed him.”

  In other words, the Svart might have raped Quinn’s mind in return.

  In that case, she should be thankful she killed the Svart, because even with the risk of danger to himself, Quinn would have tried to retrieve information.

  “None of this makes sense. I thought trolls were more interested in stealing bling than fighting. The ones I’ve met are generally pretty simple creatures and kill only for food. Think this Svart could have been working with the local trolls we’ve found in these attacks?”

  “Not exactly. Based upon what I read in the briefings about the interrogations, I think the Svart have brainwashed some of the local trolls, who seem to know very little beyond a compulsive urge to fight with gangs in cemeteries.”

  That would explain the local trolls being in the gang battles, but not the reason for the constant fighting. Evalle brought up the only connection she could see. “Why cemeteries?”

  “That’s a good question. Perhaps everyone has focused too much on the gang element and not the locations.” Supporting his elbow with one hand, Quinn tapped his chin as he scanned the activity around them. His gaze settled on Evalle. “Why was the Svart in this particular cemetery and why did he attack you?”

  “Have no idea. Maybe I was closest.” She ran through recent similar battles in her mind. “This cemetery is larger than the others. Oakland is older and downtown … more ghosts … history. Who knows?” Swallowing still hurt Evalle’s throat. She cupped her neck, glad for chain burn and some bruising as the worst of her injuries, and looked again at the headless human. “Wait. There is one difference here. This was the first battle where a Rías shifted.”

  “Ahh,” Quinn said, picking up her train of thought. “Who showed up first? The Rías or the troll?”

  “The Rías started shifting, then I taunted him with kinetic hits to draw him away from humans. That’s when the chain wrapped around my neck.”

  “Perhaps the Svart attacked you to stop you from harming the Rías.”

  “Why would he do that?” She stared at the body of the poor headless guy. He’d probably had no idea he was part beast.

  “Perhaps the Svart was searching cemeteries for the Rías.”

  Could that be? What would a troll want with a Rías when none had even existed—that VIPER knew of—until three weeks ago? Humans had shifted into beasts in a major Rías outbreak, just everyday citizens who’d been clueless that something in their DNA could be triggered by hostility … not just any hostility, but a sentient haze filled with supernatural malevolence that had swept across the city.

  She snapped her fingers. “The outbreaks three weeks ago happened after those predisposed to be Rías entered the fog created by the Medb. That unnatural hostility triggered the Rías to start shifting and attack. This time we had one shift around us. Belador power, used in a hostile situation, might have caused it. Maybe the trolls are behind the gang battles—drawing in Belador power to push the Rías to shift.”

  “But why in cemeteries?”

  “I don’t know … but this guy doesn’t have any gang tats, so maybe he was here by accident or—” A flash of light and a power burst behind her interrupted Evalle’s brainstorming.

  Quinn muttered, “It appears Sen has arrived.”

  Oh, joy. She turned as six-feet-seven-inches of perpetual anger stomped up to where she and Quinn stood. Tzader stepped up to join them.

  Sen’s straight black hair hung down his back in a queue and somewhere along his family lines he’d picked up slanted blue eyes that seemed out of place in his square face. He always had the same type of clothes—dark T-shirt, black jeans and sometimes a jacket or vest.

  No one knew much about Sen beyond his being a royal pain in the butt. He served as liaison between VIPER agents and the Tribunal, which ruled the Coalition and also played judge and jury for Coalition members when necessary. Within that capacity, Sen displayed power at times that seemed almost god-level. But Evalle couldn’t see a god getting stuck overseeing VIPER, and Sen made it clear to everyone that he had not taken this position by choice.

  Who had pushed Sen into a job he didn’t want?

  Maybe the better question would be why?

  Sen glared at the remnants of the battle, then zeroed in on Evalle. “Of all the gang battles in the past month, I constantly have to wipe human minds and dispose of the nonhumans only at the ones where you’re involved, Alterant. Why is that?”

  Ending his phone call, Tzader crossed his arms and angled his body so he stood between Sen and Evalle. “Got an issue with anything here, or one of my Beladors, take it up with me.”

  Evalle kept silent for once, rather than spouting off at Sen and making things worse. And right now he couldn’t touch her or he’d cross Macha.

  But Macha had just drawn a line.

  In less than two days, Evalle’s protection would be over. Unless she found—and delivered—Tristan before then.

  Sen gave Evalle a look that promised the day her deal with Macha fell apart that he’d be waiting for he
r.

  Turning to Tzader, Sen said, “Better find a way to stop these battles soon or the Tribunal may start wondering at the coincidence of an explosion of gang attacks that started after the Alterant was turned loose.” He lifted a hand over the Svart troll, asking, “Finished with this one?”

  Tzader indicated yes.

  Sen pointed a finger at the dead troll. The body vanished, then Sen headed off to wipe memories of unconscious or injured humans. Beladors working inside human law enforcement would deal with the poor headless dead guy.

  Once Sen moved a good distance away, Quinn spoke softly to Tzader and Evalle. “We need to meet … and talk.”

  Evalle jerked her attention back from Sen. That sounded like Quinn had something important to discuss. Could it be about Kizira? Having Quinn broach the subject first would be a relief, especially if he denied having given Kizira any information on Evalle. “Sure. When do you want to meet?”

  “As soon as we leave here,” Quinn suggested.

  Tzader shook his head. “Brina wants to see me, then I have to brief everyone at VIPER headquarters.” He paused, sorting through something in his mind. “Let’s meet around midnight.”

  “If that’s the soonest,” Quinn said, his face closed down.

  Whatever he wanted to discuss obviously bothered him.

  We have that in common.

  Tzader’s phone buzzed, pulling him away again while he answered.

  She’d rather talk to Quinn sooner than later, like right after they left here. Before she could suggest she and Quinn grab something to eat, a voice came into her mind.

  Evalle, this is your last chance to answer me.

  Tristan? She almost shouted his name, but quietly answered, I’m here. Where are you?

  I’ll tell you where to meet me, but if you tell anyone I’ve contacted you, I’ll find out about it and not show.

  I won’t tell anyone. But how would Tristan know? Until she could answer that question, she’d keep this to herself.

  Meet me at the Iron Casket in one hour.

  She looked at her watch. That would make it just before eleven, but she didn’t have far to go. I’ll be there. Do not leave for any reason, Tristan.