by Kelly Gay
Hank stood over me, one hand over my wound and the other palm underneath my shoulder blade on the mark we shared. I knew what he was doing—giving me his healing energy, and replacing some of my pain with those feel-good hormones from the mark.
I felt drunk. My lips worked, trying to speak, though I didn’t know what I meant to say.
“Better?” Hank asked.
I nodded, testing my throat with a swallow to see if it hurt. Yeah. It hurt. But not as badly as before. “Getting better,” I rasped out.
“Good, because you know I’m not the best at healing others. Why don’t you help me out and start healing yourself?”
“Okay.” I could do that. “If you tell me what Malakim means.”
“It’s just a generic term, a greeting from one Elysian to another. Nothing important. Heal yourself, Charlie. We don’t have a lot of time.”
“You’re so full of it,” I slurred. But, yeah, he was right. Whatever the term meant, it wasn’t important. Not now, and I wasn’t even sure why that question had popped into my head to begin with. I drifted into that cool place of healing, thinking of smiles and laughter and my kid, all the good things that sent a familiar hum of pure light energy into all the nooks and crannies, into the places that still burned, and snuffed out the fires …
“Charlie. Charlie, wake up,” a voice echoed in a singsong tone while a gentle hand shook my shoulder. “Time to kick some Adonai ass.”
Those words made me smile.
I woke from what was a very typical healing state—very similar to sleep—to see my partner shaking his head in an amused way. “I thought that would get you up.”
It took a few tries, but I managed to ask in a scratchy voice, “How long was I out?” The weight in my eyelids dissipated as I pushed to my elbows, one hand going carefully to my throat. Tender. A little squishy as the wound had sealed but not yet scarred over. Otherwise I felt okay. I sat up all the way and swung my legs over the autopsy table, giving myself a minute to regain my equilibrium before sliding off. “Don’t ever put me on that table again.”
Hank tossed me an extra Hefty. “We should double up.”
“I take it you raided the armory again. Where’re the chief and Liz?” I shoved the extra Hefty in the waistline of my jeans.
“Liz is in with Aaron, getting her stuff ready for the ritual, and the chief is on the phone with DC and the Adonai reps. Now that they know about Llyran, we won’t have to worry about them accusing the nobles.”
“Yeah, we have enough to worry about,” I muttered.
I went to twist up my hair, reaching back and not finding it there. Ah, yes. My unnecessary payment to the Dark Mother. The ends were still long enough to pull back into a barrette or a very, very short ponytail that would stick straight out, but I didn’t have any of those handy.
“It looks cute,” Hank said. “Makes you look young and innocent and sweet.”
My eyes rolled. “Yeah, just the image I want to convey to all the bad guys out there.”
Unable to stand the curiosity, I stepped to the small mirror hanging over the sink. My brow shot up. The person staring back did not look like me. Same face, of course, but somehow made softer, a little kinder-looking with my mahogany waves falling just past my chin, the front longer than the back where Nuallan had made her cut. I shoved one side behind my ear, the other side falling over my eye.
Gold and copper glinted in my narrow, calculating gaze as I stared at the younger and—dare I say?—peppier version of me. This could work to my advantage. The badasses I hunted would underestimate this version of Charlie Madigan even more than they did the old one. I’d have an edge, and those fuckers would never know what hit ’em.
I shrugged and spun around. “Let’s go.” Confidence and determination settled over me like a comfortable old blanket as I strode toward the door, but it was quickly tempered by the enormity of what we were about to do: find Llyran, get Aaron’s soul back, and stop the star from being raised before dawn. We needed some serious backup if this was going to work.
Once we made it out of Station One and into the parking lot, I grabbed my cell and placed a call.
“The clock is ticking, Detective,” came Pendaran’s version of a hello.
“Save it, Druid. I need your help.”
20
It was nearing 4 A.M., the time when Atlanta’s bar and club scene was closing for the night and revelers and waitstaff made their way home. Of course, a few you-don’t-have-to-go-home-but-you-can’t-stay-here groups and couples lingered in the streets and alleys. But for the most part, Underground had taken on a quiet air.
Hank and I walked side by side down Helios Alley, the soles of our boots echoing in time. Neither one of us spoke. My senses were on high alert, aware of every sound and every movement around us. When the first flash of a shadow fell on the storefront to my left I didn’t miss a beat. My hearing trained on the soft pads drumming the pavement. A nymph had fallen in with us.
As we approached the end of Helios Alley and the Underground lobby of Helios Tower, I felt a moment of apprehension. If Llyran hadn’t gone to the tower we were screwed. But the tower felt right. He had to be there. But just in case, I had Pendaran scouring the skyscraper rooftops for Llyran and the sarcophagus.
As we entered the wide tunnel that led to the lobby, two wolves fell in step on either side of us and changed as we went, the air infusing with a quick burst of energy and there they were, fully clothed and armed, and marching beside us. Orin and, I had to guess, Killian. No nods. No talking. Just complete and total focus.
We passed a few late night stragglers and waitstaff, but otherwise the lobby was pretty quiet. Once in the elevator, I hit the button for the last floor, doublechecking all my weapons again in an effort to calm myself and prepare as the whir of the elevator cables mixed with the solid drum of my heart. My eyes remained fixed on the numbers as they rose, my finger tapping my thigh.
Finally the elevator stopped and I angled through the half-open door, impatient to get moving. My cell vibrated. Pen. “Did you see him?”
“Candles and sarcophagus on the rooftop. No sign of our guy.”
“Your word that you’ll await my signal.”
“I gave my word the first time you called.” The phone clicked.
I shoved it back on my hip and climbed the flight of stairs that led to the rooftop and the entryway to an enormous glass-built arboretum that covered most of the rooftop in an upside down L-shape. The remaining space was a large outdoor terrace. The doors were locked; nothing a low nitro blast into the lock couldn’t fix. Gently I used my shoulder to break the lock, wanting to be as quiet as possible.
Hank went in first, followed by Killian, Orin, and then me.
The arboretum opened up into a two-story-high jungle, a maze of plants and trees of every size and color. Condensation misted the glass, and dripped in places, making the air wet and humid. Stone walkways created meandering paths into the darkness of the indoor forest. The artificial sun lights hanging from the rafters had been turned off and the only light that remained came from a few small ground lights along the paths.
The arboretum was a serious ongoing project dedicated to cultivating and growing plants from all three worlds, but it was also designed to be enjoyed. Benches and chairs, hammocks and gazebos were hidden in nooks along the paths and enjoyed by guests and visitors of the tower. But tonight it smelled like tar and darkness. The jinn were here. And someone had left a door to the outside open.
I pulled my Hefty and advanced as I felt the telltale change in air that told me the nymphs had shifted into their animal form and begun the hunt. Hank went to the left, and I took the small path in the center that curved around and disappeared in the jungle.
Through the glass, I could see the hazy outline of the terrace, which would easily accommodate four of my bungalows. There were tables, chairs, lounge areas, and a large pergola heavy with some kind of blooming vine.
I eased my way down my chosen path, my
skin already becoming slick in the damp air. The flutter of wings brought my chin up. Canaries and songbirds perched in the rafters and on the limbs of tall, leafy trees. I continued farther and farther down until I felt lost in this artificial rain forest.
As I rounded another flowing curve, light crept up the path.
Candlelight.
I went slowly, sweaty fingers flexing on the hilt of my weapon while my other hand shoved my hair, the roots of which had become damp, behind my ear.
The soft yellow light led me to a round grotto with a fountain built against the wall and a pool curving out in a half circle, the water partly covered in blooming lilies. A few chairs sat on the flagstone floor with a small table between them, facing the fountain. To my left, the path continued to a wide set of French doors leading out to the terrace. The doors were open, sending a breeze into the grotto.
The candles made a path through the open door and onto the terrace.
He was here.
And he was waiting.
The door frame was covered in some type of leafy purple vine. I ducked under, shielding my aura—at least that was starting to become second nature—and easing slowly outside.
The breeze was heavier out here, less humid and a welcome relief from the jungle I’d just passed through. The flames of the candles flicked and sputtered, but stayed lit as I followed their path to a spot near the far end of the terrace, where five figures stood over a familiar agate sarcophagus.
Llyran was easy to spot, in the center, his red hair waving in the breeze, rustling in tune with the ends of his black tunic and loose black pants. Flanking both sides of him were two figures, each dressed in hooded black cloaks similar to the one Bryn had been wearing when we found her worshipping the tomb.
I paused, my left hand coming up to cradle my right as I trained the Hefty on Llyran’s back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hank easing up along one side of the arboretum glass. I gestured toward our target. There was no way Llyran would be able to handle a double shot of high frequency sound waves going through his sensitive system, at least not for a few minutes. And that was all the time we needed.
Hank and I fired within a half second of each other.
In a blur of speed, one of the hooded figures hooked his elbow around Llyran’s and spun, shielding the Adonai. The tags sank into the stranger’s chest, pinning the black fabric against the skin. A breeze of disappointment went through me as the figure pulled each tag out with black leather gloves, flicking them away like a mere nuisance.
Obviously our new friend was not Elysian.
I whipped my left hand back and drew the Nitro-gun, both weapons now trained in front of me. I fired a shot of nitro set to hard stun. The figure ducked and rolled with inhuman speed, my shot grazing the edge of the sarcophagus.
The nymphs struck, each taking a target and going down in a melee of black fabric, fur, and growls.
Llyran recovered and was already lifting his hands toward the darkness above, calling it down, when Hank aimed to fire again. A cloaked figure sped toward him. “Hank!” I yelled to warn him, but another stranger popped up in front of me and shoved a hard palm into my sternum.
Pain stole my breath as the force of the blow sent me backpedaling, weapons flying from my hands and clattering somewhere behind me. My attacker pressed the advantage, immediately engaging in hand-to-hand as the scent of tar tickled my nose and bright violet eyes glowed from within the blackness of the hood.
Jinn warrior. But tall and slim, not as bulky as the males. Female. Grigori’s personal guard, I’d bet my life on it. He and Llyran were obviously in this together; two beings with common causes. Llyran had the ring, Grigori had the star.
I was on the defensive so fast it was hard to keep up, hard to regroup, gain the upper hand. I blocked several moves in quick succession.
Duck. Punch. Block. Kick.
With every move, I took a step back. My heart rate was now insane, adrenaline masking each blunt hit and block. I didn’t have a chance to reach for my secondary weapons. I couldn’t take my focus off her for a split second. It was a dance, one I wouldn’t be able to keep up with for long. Act. React. Always thinking two or three steps ahead, a confrontation that kept me from even attempting to pull up my powers.
And then in my peripheral vision, I saw it.
A shaft of predawn light, breaking through a hole in the withdrawing darkness and bathing the terrace in a soft blue glow.
It was enough to distract both me and my opponent.
Llyran’s hands were still lifted skyward. Wind whipped around him as the darkness above him continued to part, spreading open in a wide circle to reveal a serene violet sky amid the sounds of fighting.
I sensed movement, but it was too late to block my attacker’s next blow. Still I put my hands up to block, catching a brief glimpse of my opponent’s open palm, head dipped as gray powder was blown into my face.
Honeysuckle blossomed in the air. I gasped, involuntarily.
Ash.
My hand flew to my mouth and nose, even though I’d already sucked it into my lungs. Immediately, the rapture began to run through my system. I raised my fist to take a swing, but my cloaked nemesis crouched low, swiped out a leg, and swept me off my feet. My skull cracked hard against the stone floor. Heat and pain exploded through the back of my head as I landed shoulders and head first. The pain didn’t last long, though, quickly replaced by the wondrous effects of ash as the faint traces of dawn spread out above me.
My eyelids fluttered, body completely overtaken by pure bliss, a feeling so intense and consuming that there was no way to fight it, no need to fight it. It was heaven, and I could stay like this forever, my body sinking, growing roots into the stone, being enveloped in a warm cocoon of light and pure weightlessness. No aches and pains. No body. Nothing.
I didn’t know how much time had passed, but the first fuzzy image to register in my mind was the massive hole in the darkness, revealing a sky streaked with purples, blues, grays, and just a hint of orange. No matter how hard I tried, my eyelids would only open halfway. The bliss was still there inside of me, but my mind had come out of the toughest fog—much like a drunkard who no longer had the capacity to stand, but could still slur and see and make attempts at trying to think rationally.
My chest rose with the deep breath I drew into my lungs as my head tipped to the side, seeing a blur in the distance. Fighting, though I couldn’t tell who. On the other side of me was the sarcophagus, ringed with candles, an altar table sitting to the side with a large alabaster jar and a massive tome spread open.
Why couldn’t I feel my limbs?
I blinked slowly, trying to find the right brain command to work the rest of my body, but all I could manage was sight, thought, and breathing.
Stay awake, I had to stay awake. This was important. And goddammit, where the hell were Hank and the others?
It took all my effort to tilt my chin up, to try and see through hooded eyes what lurked behind me. My searching gaze collided with the glowing green eyes of a predator. Orin’s name immediately sprung into my mind, but, hell, what did I know? I was high as a kite. He crouched low among the foliage near the door, only a few feet from the table. Open your fucking eyes, Charlie! I yelled at myself, my consciousness banging around in my head and growing furious and desperate and mean.
The image of the wolf’s face went from blurry to clear and back again. I blinked several times, urging my vision to stop being a fucking weakling and do what it was supposed to do. His image solidified. His gaze held mine for a second and then blended back into the darkness.
Sudden crazed laughter at the absurdity of it all bubbled inside, engaging my stomach muscles, forcing my torso up, and giving me the momentum I needed to turn to the side and push to a sitting position. Once upright, my gut executed an undulating roll and my vision went cloudy. It took several seconds of concentrating on not throwing up and regaining my center of balance before I could open my eyes again. This time they wer
en’t so heavy.
My reaction to ash was, at first, very human—an instantaneous, blissful coma. And the only thing that saved me from being like all the other human victims was the fact that I was not entirely human anymore. My Elysian and Charbydon genes filtered the effects slowly out of my system, the drug having only a temporary high-like effect on off-worlders.
And what the hell was that sound, a baying echo that seemed to flow through the maze of downtown skyscrapers and empty streets below?
My gaze shifted to the place I’d last seen my partner. He wasn’t there, but there was an object lying discarded by the corner. Hank’s weapon. Denial hit me hard. No, Hank was fine. He’d simply dropped his weapon just like I had.
“Ah, right on time.” Llyran sauntered up to me and grabbed me under the arm, yanking me up. My legs gave out, but he didn’t stop—just dragged me to the sarcophagus until it felt like my arm was going to rip from the shoulder socket.
He released me. I fell to my knees, just catching myself with my hands before toppling over and going forehead first into the back legs of one of the jinn warriors who, once again, stood before the sarcophagus.
“I’m going to kill you, you know,” I slurred, swaying slightly. “Both of you.”
Llyran joined his companions at the tomb, his back to me for a long while—which pissed me off because it was a great opportunity to kill the bastard. If only I could stand and think straight.
Llyran pivoted and knelt down, grabbing my hand and shoving a heavy, tarnished gold ring onto my middle finger. Solomon’s ring, no doubt. I laughed. It was too big and too wide. The center housed a large oval stone, black as pitch and polished to a mirror-like quality. Mesmerized, I blinked slowly as my hand dropped to my knee, seeing my own hazy reflection staring back at me in the stone. There were symbols carved around the stone. I squinted, swaying every time a breeze hit me. “Denasthr—” I managed to say, trying to read the script.
