Something about the precise positioning of the body unleashed a serpent of unease that slithered up my spine. “What about the body? Were there signs of a struggle?”
“None at all.” The officer shrugged, the thick paunch of his mid-section straining against the buttons which held the hard-working fabric closed. “Our guys couldn’t find a thing wrong with her! She had no external injuries, her airway was open and clear, and judging from the toxicity report, she must have been last night’s designated driver. Cause of death is completely undeterminable at this point.” Stabbing his hands onto his hips, he screwed his lips to the side. “Isn’t this a pickle of a case?”
“Sh-should you be telling us all the details?” Celeste stuttered, glancing around to see who—if anyone—was listening. Luckily, the alley was clear of further vagabonds.
“Probably not,” our new friend admitted with a mischievous wink.
My teeth ground to the point of pain as I ticked through the various brands of nastiness that could kill without any signs of physical trauma. A single thought made my blood run cold. I didn’t want to speak the words, hated to ask the question out of sheer fear of the answer.
“Did she have any tattoos?” I forced the words through clenched teeth.
“Now that you mention it, she did!” Officer Mind-puppet chirped.
Delving deeper into his mind, I pushed. “What did it look like?”
Pulling a pen from his breast pocket, he extended his hand to Celeste. “May I?”
“Sure,” she grimaced, and placed her hand in his, “I always allow strangers with bi-polar mood fluctuations to draw on me.”
“Lucky for me!” The officer chuckled, and bent his head to his task. The point of his pen flicked over the delicate skin of her palm at a fevered pace. “This is a rough sketch. Her mark was fancier with all sorts of scrolling and shading. Still, this will give you the gist of it.”
Artwork complete, he turned Celeste’s hand to present it to us.
“Huh,” Celeste muttered, seemingly oblivious the world was spinning around me in a dizzying hodgepodge of looming carnage and gore.
My vision tunneled.
Blood thumped an ominous chorus in my temples.
The mark was a simple one—an X with a circle above it. Be that as it may, I knew of it well. The planted fear of it was deep … demonic lore.
Lurking somewhere nearby, a Hellhound was loose on the Rhodes campus. It would consume without mercy or bias: human and demon alike. Devouring souls, it would build in strength until it brought first the town, then the world to its knees. If the rumors and warnings of the Underworld were correct, once that symbol appeared, an onslaught of carnage would soon follow. This one dead girl was only the beginning.
Chapter 2
“That was weird, right?’ Celeste gnawed on her lower lip, her fingertips skimming over the stone wall as we skirted back down the alley. “Cops, as a rule, aren’t usually that … forthcoming.”
Nudging her shoulder with mine, I peered up at her from under my brow, slathering on the charm. “Spend a lot of time with cops, do you?”
“Do the ones on my favorite crime dramas count?”
“Are those the shows were the guys are all ripped and the ladies look like swimsuit models?”
Celeste raised one finger in a warning. “They are, and before you say another word, you should know you are treading dangerously close to ruining my entire outlook on reality.”
“I’ll leave you to your delusion then.” Catching one lock of her chestnut hair, I gave it a playful tug. “I have to ask, did you find what you were looking for?”
My breath caught in anticipation of her answer, fearing a thread in the intricately woven tapestry of the Counsel’s elaborate lie may have snagged.
Her stare fixed straight ahead, focused yet unseeing. I could almost see the warrior hidden beneath her façade of normalcy—lost and unneeded.
“No, I …” Physically she shook herself from the reverie. Yet before she fixed her mask back in place, I caught a glimpse of the true sadness beneath. It caused a hot rush of guilt to inject itself into my veins. “Sorry, we can go. I was just … curious.”
Even now, in this new reality, she longed for the hero’s life. It was in her blood. If my own yearning to rid her of that burden came to pass, would I treasure her the same?
“Maybe instead of an art teacher you should join the men and women in blue. If for no other reason than handcuff fun.” Pushing my own dark ponderings aside, I waggled my eyebrows in case she’d missed the none too subtle come-on.
An impish grin curled across her lips. Casting her gaze down the alley in one direction, then the other, she caught my belt loop with her forefinger and tugged me in close enough for her body to mold to mine. “You know, that sock is still on the doorknob … unless you feel it would be wasted time without those cuffs?”
I stifled a groan behind my teeth before gently pushing her back and forcing some distance—and space for better judgment—between us. “Believe me when I say there is nothing I’d like more. Unfortunately, I have a study group tonight which is vital to me actually passing my Economics class,” I lied.
Celeste pantomimed shock and slack-jawed awe, her hand fluttering to her face. “These words are foreign from this being. I fear he may be a pod person.”
My head fell back in laughter. “Yes, I do actually study. Which, to my great disappointment, means I’m going to have to take a rain check, mo chroi.” The air was knocked from my lungs at my slip-up. I hadn’t dared utter that phrase since the reset button had been pushed on our lives. In Celtic it meant “my heart,” and it had been my pet name for her back when our relationship consisted only of emotional angst and frequent throat punches.
Chestnut eyes, swimming with flecks of gold, swung my way. Deep lines sliced between Celeste’s brows. “What did you just call me?” Her attempt at a lighthearted laugh bubbled with underlying nerves.
She remembered.
The full caliber of what, I couldn’t say. Judging by the bewilderment etched on her face, she was asking herself that same question. Even so, something about the nickname sparked a twinkling of memory. Which could only mean … it meant something to her. As much as she had sworn she loathed me, that phrase stirred something within her. This realization hit me with a puzzling blend of elation and abject terror that the delicate world the Counsel created may already be crumbling.
“I think it’s Latin for … something.” On a good day, lies rolled from my tongue like melted caramel, meant to sweeten anyone into coming around to my way of thinking. This one soured with a pungent aftertaste. “Must have heard it in a movie or something. I thought it sounded charming ... decided to try it out on a susceptible young lass. Hit or miss?”
Her tongue flicked over her front teeth, trying—unsuccessfully—to stifle a smile. “It might be a hit, if you knew what it meant. For all we know, you could’ve just called me ‘walrus nuts.’ ”
Catching her hand, I yanked her into my arms. My hands fell comfortably into place around her narrow waist. We stood at the opposite end of the alley, where the masses swarmed the scene. The buzz of chaos threatened to swallow any conversation attempted. “Head back to your room, walrus nuts,” I muttered against her ear, so my message didn’t get lost. “As soon as I’m done, I’ll race up there and we can pick up right where we left off.”
“I’m putting in my vote now for that nickname not to stick.” She giggled, her lips teasing over mine.
“Noted,” sucking air through my teeth, I cringed, “but I fear the motion has already passed.”
As I reluctantly pulled myself away from the warmth of her curves, she caught the collar of my shirt and tugged me in close.
“Hurry back,” she breathed against my lips. Taunting me with only a dotted kiss to the tip of my nose, she sashayed off. Her ponytail, twitching from side to side, quickly vanished into the sea of bodies.
My heart seized in a tight fist of melancholy the momen
t she disappeared from sight. She was the first girl I ever wanted to spend more than a long weekend with. The first to make me abandon self-preservation if it meant keeping her safe and content.
I used deception to get close to her.
All of this was a fleeting illusion.
I knew that.
Even so, it was real to me. I was happier and more alive by her side than I had been in centuries. I fully intended to squeeze every grain of sand out of this free-flowing hour glass that counted down to my misery and despair ... unless I could find a way to prevent that. Ducking back down the alley, I dissipated in a cloud of black smoke.
Chapter 3
Pool balls clanked together at The Four Seasons Bar, an establishment frequented by demons, imps, and other assorted monsters. The dimly lit watering hole reeked of stale nicotine and bad choices.
Weaving through the marsh of glares and sneers, I easily located my target. She wasn’t exactly incognito in her painted on python print pants, thigh-high stilettos, and lace-up leather bodice.
“You went for the more demure look today,” I pointed out, leaning one hip against the edge of the pool table. “What happened? Did the neighbor’s Rottweiler need his studded collar back?”
Kat, a college girl who had been abducted and demonically infected by my very dead ex-boss, paused from lining up her shot at the nine ball to glower up at me beneath her curtain of stick-straight raven hair. Cleopatra would’ve ridiculed this girl for her over-use of eyeliner. “Well, well, well, look what washed ashore … the bad boy pirate gone soft.”
Dissolving in a cyclone of smoke, I curled and wisped my way to her side. Solidifying, my hand closed around her pool stick. Before she could so much as blink in my direction, I jammed the chalked end under her chin, applying just enough pressure to make the whites of her eyes swell. “And what, pray-tell, makes me soft? That I haven’t killed you yet? That’s a prospect which can be very easily remedied.”
It was desire—not fear—that darkened her eyes to a glowing amber. “There’s my boy,” she purred, her gaze doing unspeakable things to me. “I do enjoy a good, dirty blond. Glad to see your reputation wasn’t all hype. That would’ve ruined the fantasy.”
Twirling her stick over the back of my palm, I released it back to her open hand. “I’ve been with some questionable strumpets, but quite honestly, lass, you frighten me. And not in the fun way.”
“Fear can be a powerful aphrodisiac.” Her tongue dragged over her lower lip, wiggling the dainty silver ring pierced through her plump flesh.
“As fun as this verbal copulation is, I actually came here for a reason.” Breathing through my mouth became mandatory so as to not gag on her potent blend of patchouli oil and musk.
“It’s still your shot, Kat,” a mocha-skinned bruiser, with milky white eyes and a soft voice that contradicted his gruff appearance, muttered. Crossing his bulging arms over his torso, he stared laser beams of hate my way.
I helped his mood along by blowing him a kiss.
“So, tell me, pirate,” Kat goaded, “if this isn’t a social call, much to my supreme disappointment, what can I do for you?”
“I’m in a bit of a spot and need your help.” Running my finger over the edge of the table, I grimaced and wiped the greasy sludge that my digit came away with on my pant leg. “However, this particular task will require your comrades as well. What is it you crazy kids have been calling yourselves? The Mutants of Mayhem?”
Rising to full height, Kat cocked one hip and jammed her fist to it. With one finger she halted the annoyed heaving of her cloudy-eyed friend.
“We are less for hire and more for doing whatever the hell we want, but thanks for the offer,” she snorted, her black-painted lips pursed tightly.
Stepping in close, I brushed the hair from her shoulder to murmur against her ear, “Last I heard, you all took a knee and named the Conduit of the Gryphon your leader. Tell me, where is your pint-sized frontrunner now?”
“What do you know, Rowan?” she hissed through her teeth, living up to her feline nickname.
“It can be summed up quite simply, actually.” Borrowing her stick once more, I took her shot. The balls met with a sharp clap before the nine slid into the center pocket. “None of you have any idea where she is. Add that to your pack-like mentality, and the lot of you are basically lost souls bumping into each other and wreaking havoc until ‘mommy’ decides to come back for you. The Macaulay Culkin Home Alone vibe is a sad trait in a demon.”
My jab shifted the mood of the room. Silence suddenly reigned. A pin drop would have resonated like a scream. Growls seeped from every corner. I had the attention of each and every demon there. The whole outing instantly became infinitely more fun.
Kat glanced around the room, anticipating a bomb strike, yet uncertain which direction it would come from. “It’s been over eight months. What makes you think we need her, or even care if she lives or dies? She abandoned us.”
“Don’t care? Hmm,” I huffed, resting the stick against the side of the table. “Then it wouldn’t matter to you to know that she didn’t abandon you at all. Her memory was erased, unbeknownst to her. She can’t recall the final season of Sons of Anarchy, let alone her own fated destiny.”
“How do you know this?” the chalky-eyed demon ventured, trepidation cracking his bruiser front.
“As luck and circumstance would have it, my horned and misshapen friend, I know exactly where she is. And right now, I can tell you, she is in very real danger.”
Chairs slid from tables, screeching over cheap linoleum. Every demon present rose to their feet.
Kat positioned herself at their helm. She lorded over them in a wide-legged stance with her hands on her hips. “You will take us to her, now!”
“Oh, absolutely! The girl has no memories of anything otherworldly. By all means, let’s take a bus of us, with all our ghoulish attributes,” my fingers danced through the air, gesturing to the most off-putting amongst the crowd, “and pop by for a visit. That wouldn’t be jarring at all.”
“You cannot keep our leader from us!” Chalky-eyes barked, stamping his foot against the ground hard enough to make the floor shudder.
“Ah, ah, ah,” I wagged my finger before me, “we don’t get what we want when we throw a tantrum. And, I have no intention of keeping her from you. The moment she gets her memory back, I am sure she will gladly reassert herself as your valiant chieftess. In the meantime, if you care for her well-being, you will want to keep her safe and free from unnecessary emotional scarring, just as I do.”
Uneasy glances were exchanged around the room.
Wetting her onyx-painted lips, Kat stepped forward as the voice of her people. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, her chin lifted with determination. “What danger is she facing?”
“A Hellhound is loose somewhere on the Rhodes College campus.” Pacing the length of the room, I purposely ignored their chorus of shocked gasps. “That’s where your darling leader is living out her mundane life, for those of you not yet following along. She doesn’t remember her powers, has no battle skills to fall back on. Meaning, if that ghastly mongrel stalks across her path, she has no way to defend herself. That’s where all of you come in.”
Chalky anxiously shifted, his breath quickening in anticipation. “We need to hunt the Hellhound.”
Spinning, I threw my arms out wide. “Ding, ding, ding! Give that boy the solid gold Kewpie Doll! You want your leader back, safe and sound? Hunt. Seek. Kill.”
“Hunt. Seek. Kill.” Quiet at first, demonic voices joined together again and again. Each chant building and brewing into a pulsating call to war. “Hunt. Seek. Kill!”
Slowly, a smile snaked across my lips. Just like that, I had my army. All thanks to a little Conduit name dropping.
I don’t normally struggle with low self-esteem. I’m a dashing swashbuckler with mind-control powers. As far as appeal to the fairer sex, I’m never left wanting. That said, I was feeling pretty damned good. Even had my
self a cocky little strut going on. I played the hero and saved the princess. A platoon of demons were currently scouring the area for signs of the Hellhound, all whilst maintaining a safe distance from our damsel in distress. Sure, said damsel had no idea she was, or ever had been, in distress, but I still had every intention of cashing in on my white-hat reward.
Hmmm … I might even do the little trick she likes that always makes her erupt in a high-pitched giggle I adore, I mused, and rapped on the door of her dorm room.
Hand curled around the edge of the door, Celeste eased it open. The apologetic expression she wore held the same potency of an icy shower. No, there would be no celebratory nookie. Not this night.
“Slight change of plans.” Sucking air through her teeth, she pushed the door the rest of the way opened.
My shoulders deflated in blue-balled frustration. “It seems your room has come down with an infestation of Garretts.”
The gang was all there. Celeste’s slighty wacky Grams held up a miniscule Juicy Couture nightie, seemingly judging if she could wriggle into it. Laughing, Celeste’s younger sister Kendall shook her head, flaxen locks cascading across her shoulder blades. Extracting the garment from her grandmother’s hand, the once winged beauty tossed it back into her overnight bag. Oblivious to their antics, big—and I mean downright massive—brother Gabe slumped down on Celeste’s bed. The springs screeched at the sudden impact of his formidable weight. Alaina, his very pregnant wife and ex-spirit guide, absentmindedly rubbed her swollen mid-section with one hand while the other poked through a tote stuffed with extra pillows and blankets. One by one, they greeted me with waves and warm smiles. All except for Gabe, who began audibly snoring the second his head hit the pillow. A girl’s family actually liked me. That was as awkward a fit as stumbling into a Catholic mass naked … which I may have done once at the turn of the century after gorging myself on the sacrificial wine.
Descent (Gryphon Series Book 5) Page 3
