by Kim Faulks
“Lorn!”
Heat flared from my hand, wrenching me from the vision. The room spun, a chair squealed against the floor, and I was stumbling, dragging myself as far away from that sight as I could.
The back of my head collided with the wall with a heavy thud. I stilled, sucking down hard breaths, and tried to speak. “Don’t ever do that again…ever…
The Inspector was a blur, shoving up from the table and coming close. “You were tearing your hand apart. Jesus…you’re bleeding.”
He fumbled in his trouser pocket and dragged a folded handkerchief free. A harsh bark of laughter tore from my lips. Who the fuck uses handkerchiefs anymore?
The cotton was soft against my skin. Still, I could feel him through the fabric, his pain, his anguish…his desperation all swirling around me like a damn tornado.
I looked down to my palm and stared at the swab of fabric. My skin was raw, cut by my own damn nails. I peeled the edge of the handkerchief backwards and looked at the damn mess.
“You were tearing yourself apart,” he whispered, his voice filled with angst.
I lifted my head, finding those perfect blue eyes, and murmured, “Your wife, Titus. I want you to tell me about your wife.”
He flinched, and, in the space of a heartbeat, concern burned away to the flare of anger. “There’s nothing to tell you. Focus on the case, Lorn. The drugs. I want to know everything you know. Who makes them? Who distributes them? And what the fuck is in them?”
“The drugs…” that’s it…that’s literally all this was? What about all the ‘help me’ shit? “You’ve got to be shitting me, right?”
“No, not shitting you,” Titus leaned in, staring straight into my eyes. “I want the truth.”
“The truth,” I drew in a long breath, and felt disappointment. “Okay, I’ll play. I’ll give you your truth, Inspector. You know what I am, right? That I can see things…feel things, that aren’t there, and I’m telling you, you’re in danger. From what, I don’t know. Now, usually I don’t give two flying fucks about helping a human—”
“You’re just after the bad guy, right?”
A smile crept across my lips. “That’s it, but here I am…giving a shit. I’ve never seen that drug before tonight. I don’t know who makes it, who distributes it, and no, I don’t know what it’s made of. But one thing I do know is , you’ve got one massive black cloud hanging over your shoulder, Titus. I’d be careful, if I were you…” I shoved away from the wall and took a step. “And you know me, I don’t do careful.”
He leaned away, eyes sparkling with something other than the fucking terror he should be feeling.
Footsteps echoed along the hallway outside. There was a sharp knock on the door, followed with a muffled voice. “Inspector, there’s a Ms. Veronica Falls in the foyer.”
“Now, if you don’t mind,” I motioned my head toward the closed door. “Not that this hasn’t been a blast.”
He knew he couldn’t keep me here…not without one helluva charge—and, even then, The Circle would bury the department under so much paperwork, they’d never see the light of day.
Titus nodded slowly. He was a good guy, a scared-as-fuck good guy. Underneath the cool exterior, he was panicking. I knew it. He knew it, and yet here he was, doing the macho mambo. He motioned toward the closed door and turned to the table.
I made for the chair, grasped the jacket with my good hand, and looked at the bloody mess on the handkerchief.
“Keep it,” he muttered without lifting his gaze.
My steps stilled, inside, I was already at the door and wrenching open the handle. Inside, I was already getting the hell outta this joint, but the real me leaned across the table, snatched up his pen, and scribbled a number on the corner of his notepad. “Call me if you’re about to die,” I muttered and then found his gaze. “Stupid fucking humans.”
There was a flinch, and a blush filled his cheeks as the hard knock came once more. My steps were a blur as I grasped the door and yanked. I never stopped, not for the officer at the door, not even for the elevator. Instead, I punched through the stairwell door and marched down the stairs.
The ground floor was just as busy as when I'd entered it. The same hookers waited, picking their nails and chewing gum, staring into nothing while the foyer filled with supes and humans.
She was a ruptured artery amongst the chaos. Dressed immaculately in a cherry red business suit, stood Veronica fucking Falls. She clutched my shotgun with two fingers, holding the weapon away from her body like the damn thing was a ticking time bomb, and waited.
I sighed, shoved my hand into the sleeve of my jacket, and shrugged the leather over my shoulders.
“Ms. Payne,” she muttered, catching sight of me.
I shook my head, turned, glanced at her once more, and muttered, “All you need is the nose to complete the ensemble.”
Blood red lips pursed as one immaculate brow rose. “Nose?”
“You know,” I reached for my gun and motioned to her clothes, “for the fucking clown suit.”
“Funny,” she sneered, waited for a second and then looked down.
I couldn’t hide the smirk as she tugged the jacket and looked around nervously. “The board—”
I grabbed my weapon with one hand and my bag of charms and amulets with the other, making sure the bastards hadn’t stolen any, unlike last time, and snarled. “The board can go to Hell…at least, until after I’ve had about eight hours of solid sleep and about four extra-large, quad-shot coffees. And then, and only then, can I face their bullshit.”
“You are required…actually, more than required. You are obligated to attend.”
I spun on my heel, heaved the shotgun over my shoulder and snapped, “I’ve had back-to-back demon jobs for the past twenty-four hours. I haven’t had a shower in…fuck, I can’t remember when, and I’m pretty damn sure my stomach thinks my damn throat’s been cut. So if you want me walking in there and sitting through the next three hours of how my,” I lifted one hand and added an air quote, “‘attitude’ needs adjusting, and how The Circle needs me to be a ‘team player,’ then I’m not only going to unleash the biggest goddamn shit fit the Circle’s ever seen, I’m going to carry in all the damn stench I can muster. Now I’m pretty damn sure I saw some very ripe road kill on my way here. Aude de dead raccoon, anyone?”
She was silent, staring me straight in the eyes. Her lips stuck together with the thick layer of lipstick as she opened her mouth.
“Think carefully, now…” I murmured.
“Eight AM sharp,” she snapped. “If you’re even one second late, I’ll have you up on report faster than you can say Alma Goodchild.”
I smiled, or it could’ve been a sneer…I wasn’t sure and didn’t give a shit. She spun, looked around the room once more, and then made for the exit.
I waited for a second before drawing in a breath and felt my shoulders slump. Twenty-four hours of being bitten, hit, cursed, and set on fire… “I need a new damn job.”
Alma Goodchild or not, this shit was wearing thin. I dragged my hand higher and probed the corner of my eye. I was sure I was getting crow's feet…at goddamn twenty-two years old.
I glanced at the desk officer, watching him glance my way before turning. “Hey, is anyone going to drive me back to my car?”
He stared at me blankly. I turned my head, catching Jeffries further along the counter. The bastard just stood there, watching, and then turned, giving me his back. Goddamn sonofa...
No one made a move, no one fucking cared. I gripped the shotgun and turned for the door.
“See ya, Princess,” the hooker murmured and glanced my way. “Whisper a prayer to the Mother for me. Tell her it’s from Natalie.”
I gave her a smile and a nod. The automatic doors opened with a whoosh and the night air rushed in. I left the harsh white lights of the precinct behind and headed along the sidewalk to Harlson Avenue.
The city streets were alive. Headlights cut through the gloom to bl
ind me. I stuck out my thumb, gripped the shotgun with the other hand, and started to walk.
My car was a good five blocks away. Figured, me and my big goddamn mouth pissing Veronica off so soon, and only the desperate or demented would stop for a witch carrying a damn firearm in the early hours of the morning.
But one could hope.
The heavy whoop whoop whoop of wings cut through the night and ended with a heavy thud. I didn’t have to lift my head to know who walked alongside me. Anyone else might whisper a prayer of thanks for the guardian, but all I could muster was, “Not in the mood, Gabriel.”
“You’re never in the mood, and yet…here I am.”
I turned my head, catching neon white against the glare of oncoming headlights. “Why the hell are you here?”
He winced at the word. “Why in Heaven am I here?” He muttered, and stared at the passing cars. Headlights swerved, tires squealed. No one wanted to see a damn archangel walking toward you in the dead of the night.
“You could tone it down a little,” I muttered and lengthened my stride, waiting for a damn car to veer toward me. “A witch is one thing, even a damn shifter is becoming acceptable, but an archangel striding down the street in the dead of night is a little too much for them to wrap their tiny minds around, yeah?”
“Sorry,” he muttered.
His coat flapped, and the night curled around his body…now without the mammoth white wings. He craned his neck, testing muscles, and then glanced my way. “Better?”
“Much. Now you going to tell me why you’re here, or are we going to play fifty damn questions?”
“Can’t a friend just pop in every now and then?” He grumbled.
Red and blue cut through the dark, and the growl of an engine filled the night as a cop car sped past. I turned, catching those perfect brown eyes bathed in the hue and felt a jackhammer in my chest.
God, he was breathtaking.
Dirty blonde hair skimmed his shoulders as he turned, catching my stare. White lights bounced off the shaved sides. I forced myself to find flaws, forced myself to hate the towering male with his thick shoulders and his massive hands. He was too much…too much muscle, too much damn torture. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? You’re a damn messenger, go, deliver messages.”
“You know that’s not all I am, right?”
I sighed, stopped on the sidewalk, and turned. “Okay, you’re right. You’re the heavenly embodiment of every school-girl's, note-passing in the tenth grade.”
“That stings…that really stings,” he muttered, suddenly looking lost. “You’re angry with me.”
Oh, hell no, we're not going there…not tonight. “I’m not angry, Gabriel, I promise. It’s just been one helluva night, and all I wanna do is eat, and sleep, and feel somewhat human.”
“About the kiss…”
I took a step backwards and waved my hand in the air. “Don’t think about it. It was a stupid mistake, won’t happen again—”
“It’s not that I’m not flattered. I just promised…”
The ground felt like it opened up and swallowed me whole. “My dead father, who I know nothing about. I get it. Really, I get it. Let’s just pretend it never happened, okay?”
There was nothing like being let down…twice. “You wanted something, right? Just spit it out.”
He looked around at the passing cars, listening to the faint wail of sirens. “The case tonight…it’s connected to the war of the witches from last week, isn’t it?”
“I think so, yes. You know something?” I stepped closer. “If you do, I want to know about it.”
“What? No, I just…I want you to be careful…there’s something brewing, something I can’t quite understand. It’s dark, and dangerous. Promise me…promise me you’ll be careful, Lorn.”
He shifted when he spoke, tensing his shoulders, staring into the damn shadows. Something was eating him, and it was more than my fumbling, drunken attempt at seduction. Not my finest move…not by a long shot.
Still, the moment replayed in my head over and over, ending with the spectacular revulsion in his eyes and those five gut-wrenching words…
Not going to happen…ever.
I’d never been shut down so hard—brutal, really.
And here we were, trying to carry on as though nothing had changed.
When it clearly had—for me and for him.
“I just need to know you’re safe. Just…stay in the light, okay?” He muttered, giving me a hard stare, and then turned away.
“You know, for someone who puts up a good fight, you really don’t know how to stay away, do you?”
He stilled, stiffened, and looked to the ground.
“That’s what I thought. Stay in the light, got it. Thanks for the heads-up.”
I stuck out my thumb again for a second before I gave up trying and stormed off. Who the hell was I kidding? No one in their right mind was going to stop for a witch carrying a shotgun.
The heavy whoop whoop whoop of wings beat the air behind me. “A month…took you a fucking month to grow some balls and face me and all I get is ‘stay in the light’” I mimicked.
I clenched my jaw and focused on the street, carving through the parked cars to cross the road. How the fuck was I supposed to take that seriously? Horns blared behind me. I gripped the mess of a damn handkerchief and flipped the driver the bird.
Alma…Alma would know how to get me out of this shit. I sighed, maybe after the damn meeting, I’d need to reach out to her. No damn phone, remember? The woman changed numbers and addresses more frequently than I changed the damn sheets.
It was always the same with her, plan to meet, move around. The woman didn’t like staying in one place too long, that was for sure, and her address wasn’t the only thing she changed frequently.
She might be close to seventy, but she had the sex drive of an eighteen-year- old. Guys, girls…didn’t make a wink of difference with her. Her favorite saying was why choose? The corner of my mouth crept higher. Yeah, maybe after the meeting. Just the thought made that tight fist in my gut ease.
The streets faded with the thought, until I rounded the corner and found the black and white still sitting outside.
The young constable stood sentry outside. His gaze narrowed as I neared. “You,” he muttered. “You can’t come back in here.”
“If it isn’t Constable Chuck Chunder and the goon squad. No sweat, Chuck. Just here to pick up my ride.” His face turned green under the outside light. “It was my first.”
“Don’t sweat it,” I muttered and dug into my pocket for my keys. “We all lose it the first time. Do yourself a favor, and don’t be as narrow-minded as Jeffries. Actually ask questions, you never know when a freak like me might just save your damn life.”
He stilled, thought about it, and gave a nod as I made for my car. The damn thing stood alone, parked under the streetlamp. I rounded the front, shoved the key into the lock, and yanked open the driver's door.
The howl of metal on metal tore through the night before I yanked the door closed and started the engine. A blast followed, sounding like a damn gunshot. The constable flinched, and then stepped further outside to stare.
I sucked in a breath, shoved the car into gear and rolled my piece of junk out onto the road.
The drive was a bleary-eyed nightmare. Tiny green numbers on the dashboard said three AM as I wound through the residential streets and headed for home.
The old neon sign for Chang's Chinese flickered once and then died as I pulled up outside. I shoved the car into gear, twisted the key, grabbed my gun, and climbed out.
The street light buzzed and hummed above. I blinked into the glare and slammed the driver's door. One twist of the key and the locks thudded closed.
I dragged myself up the few stairs to the glass door and shoved a key into the lock. The apartment wasn’t much, but it was cheap, overlooking Chang's and the rest of Harbor city. I opened the outside door and headed inside to the long set of stairs that
would lead me home.
My boots echoed in the space as I climbed and finally stopped at the old wooden door. My fingers fumbled with the key, moving without thought, then I gave a jerk of my wrist and I was inside.
And on any other night, I might’ve paused as I stumbled down the hallway, on any other night, I might’ve taken refuge in the city lights sparkling in the distance. But tonight wasn’t that night.
I stepped inside, kicked the door closed and locked it behind me, and, as I dropped my gun beside the bed, I felt that darkness stir inside me.
And, in an instant, I was back there, in that interrogation room, looking into a billowing cloud of ash.
Dark times were coming…and they weren't just for Titus Banks, because, as I stood in that interrogation room and stared into the belly of the beast, I swore it stared back…right into my soul.
Chapter Three
The damn sun was blinding as I pulled up outside the pristine building of The Circle's headquarers. Glass shone from every side of the five-story octagonal building, looking like a cheap-ass imitation diamond in the middle of the city. You’d never know it had started from humble beginnings…now it just looked like a damn farce.
I shouldered open the driver’s door and bumped it closed with my hip as I took a gulp of my coffee. Hot…damn hot, burning all the way down. I swallowed and then gagged. The damn shit tasted like tar, but it fueled me like wildfire…and I needed it today more than ever.
My hand never shook as I stabbed the lock and twisted, damn coffee was working faster than I'd hoped. I shoved my keys into my pocket and stepped up to the sidewalk.
Automatic doors opened and closed constantly and, as I looked around at the constant flow of human traffic, I was amazed at how many people took refuge in this garishly laughable place for the needy.
It wasn’t just about the building. It was the people who sat behind the desks, those who deemed what was acceptable and what wasn’t. The scary fucking thing was, these people had power like you wouldn’t believe.
I sighed and stepped into the slipstream of others heading for the front doors. The brass plaque glinted overhead. Goodchild Building was the result of a lifetime of kicking ass and taking names. They even bulldozed the two small office buildings where this all started, with their chipped, peeling paint and ruptured leather seats, to make way for this monstrosity.
