“I’m not stupid.” She paused for a breathy laugh, then went on, “No, I have a much better idea. I deliver Angel to the Dark Bearers, as planned. Take their reward and my insurance money and disappear. Just slip away. But I’ll be back. Just like this time.”
Micki squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t let that happen. She would never forgive herself. Which was precisely why the chameleon was threatening her with it.
“You’re a coward,” Micki said tightly. “You can’t bear the thought of losing again, so you’re going to run away.”
King went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “You won’t know when I’ll strike. That’s the beauty of it. When you get your life back together, when you’ve finally grabbed a small slice of happiness—a friend, a job you enjoy, a lover or a child, there I’ll be. And I’ll take it all from you, the same as I took Hank.”
She, too, let her words sink in. “For you, life will be so much more painful than death. So, you see, I have won.”
The picture she painted was worse than death. Micki pressed the phone tighter to her ear. This was their chance to stop her. Mick couldn’t let the chameleon though their fingers again.
“Tell yourself whatever you need to, bitch. But we both know, just like I beat you last time, I’ve beaten you this time. And here I am, just an ordinary human.”
“You are an ordinary human. I’d pity you, if I cared enough.”
“And you’re not as clever as you think you are. Meet me and I’ll prove it.”
She laughed. “I know what you’re up to, and it’s not going to work. Better luck next time, Detective.”
Better luck next time. The same as before. When she lost Hank.
Her fault. Then and now.
The phone slipped from her fingers, clattered to the floor. Micki looked at Zach and Arianna and shook her head. “She didn’t go for it.” Her throat closed over the words; they came out choked. “We may have . . . lost Angel.”
Chapter Forty-nine
1:00 P.M.
Micki sat alone in the dappled, multi-colored light of the professor’s stained-glass window. Zach had refused to accept that they had lost Angel. He’d left the center, planning to hunt down Natalie King and bring her to LAM, handcuffed, hog-tied—whatever it took, consequences be damned.
And here she sat. She didn’t want to believe it either. But she understood what they were up against, and he didn’t.
First, the chameleon had taken Hank. And now, because of her, Angel and her unborn child would be in the hands of darkness.
A sob rose to her throat. She choked it back—or tried to. She wanted to undo this so badly, but she . . . couldn’t. She was beaten. The chameleon had bested her at every turn.
Micki thought of the night before. Holding the gun to her head. She imagined pulling the trigger. Imagined the sound, the shattering pain, then death.
She wished she had done it. Angel would be safe. Her baby would be safe.
“Stop it.”
Micki looked up. Arianna stood in the office doorway, eyebrows drawn together in concern.
“Stop what?”
“Beating yourself up.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Hank would be very upset with you right now. Feeling sorry for yourself. Thinking those thoughts.”
“How do you know about Hank and what he would think?”
“You’re a fighter, not a quitter.” Arianna crossed from the doorway to Micki. “We need to finish our conversation. About your St. Michael medal.”
“There’s nothing left to say. Leave me alone.”
“Henry was a friend of mine.”
Micki blinked. “Excuse me?”
Arianna turned a chair to face Micki and sat. “He preferred Hank, I know, but I first knew him as Henry.”
For a moment, Micki couldn’t breathe. “Wait. How did you know him?”
“He was a dear friend. At least until he got himself in some trouble with the High Council.”
It felt as if the earth was shifting under her. “Hank was a Lightkeeper?”
“You didn’t know?”
Micki shook her head. “No one told me and . . . no,” she finished lamely.
Arianna went on, “Growing up, our families were close. Our fathers were best friends. But Henry was always getting in trouble for being too generous. Always wanting to be the hero, stepping in to save someone.”
The way he’d saved her, Micki thought. She’d always wondered how anyone could be as wise and kind as he. Now she knew. Her wonderful Hank had been special, a Lightkeeper.
Micki drew her eyebrows together. “Why would wanting to save people get him in trouble?”
“That isn’t a Lightkeeper’s mission, Micki. We weren’t sent to save the human race, but to help steer them in the right direction. But he couldn’t help himself. He’d share his light, just to brighten someone’s day.”
Micki imagined it and smiled. It sounded so like him. Then her smiled faded. “But he was punished for that?”
“Lightkeepers can choose to share their light. But once you give it away, it’s gone.”
“And you’re no longer a Full Light.”
“Correct. And this was at the height of the Council’s concern over the rapidly declining number of Lightkeepers.” She paused. “Then, he ran afoul of the High Council by publicly coming out against the law.”
“The one that outlawed Lightkeeper and human unions?”
“Yes.” Her expression turned sad. “When I was young, I used to imagine we’d end up together, he and I. He was older, but not that much. Then I left New Orleans and never saw him again.”
Micki pictured Hank and Arianna together. It would have been good, she thought. Really good. Once, when she’d asked why he’d never married, he’d confessed to having lost the love of his life. After her, no one compared.
Could Arianna have been that woman?
“Maybe you should have the medal?” Micki said. “He would have wanted me to give it to you, I think.”
She started to slip it off; Arianna stopped her. “Hank wanted you to have it, Micki. Not me. Use it well.”
Micki searched Arianna’s gaze. “Use it? I don’t understand what you mean.”
“The medal will provide help when you need it. But you have to ask. And trust.”
Trust? Easier said than done, she thought. “I have a few issues in that department, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Arianna knelt in front of Micki and caught her hands. “This isn’t all an accident, Micki. It isn’t just because. Hank found you for a reason. Parker chose you for a reason.”
“What reason? Why?”
“You’re meant to be a part of this, Micki. All of it, everything happening right now. To you and around you. Think of your friend Jacqui. How you took her in. Her son, Alexander. Angel, too. And her baby.”
Micki shook her head. “I lose everyone I love. I’m a curse to those I love.”
“No.” She tightened her fingers around Micki’s. “You’re a blessing to them because you’ll fight to the death to protect them.”
“Really?” Mick blinked against tears. “How am I doing now? Should we ask Hank? Or Angel?”
“Every hero has doubts. Every hero battles demons.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Zach’s the hero, not me.”
Arianna laughed lightly. “Of course, you would say that. Listen, you and Zach, you’re meant to do this together. Together, Micki. The two of you.”
“What is the this that we’re supposed to be doing?” Micki searched Arianna’s blue gaze. “Tell me, because I don’t have a clue!”
“Yes, you do. Maybe not the details, but certainly the broad strokes. You fight for what’s right. You fight for good. For the vulnerable and weak. You’re strong and honorable to your core. Hank knew that. And I do, too.”
Arianna released her hands and stood. She crossed to the door, then stopped and looked back. “Maybe that’s why you were chosen.”
Chapter Fifty
2:05 P.M.
Micki sat, right hand curved around Hank’s medal, tears slipping down her cheeks, pondering the things Arianna had said to her. About Hank. This gift of his light. She thought of the timing, the letter that had accompanied it.
The day Hank wrote that note to her, he had known he was going to die. He had known what was coming for him. But instead of running, he had stayed to die. Why? Because he had believed it was meant to be. Because he knew the future and the plan that included her—and he knew that she’d need the gift.
Whatever his reason, she trusted him.
She pressed the medal to her lips. Hank’s warmth seeped into her, into the places that had turned cold, the ones that brought despair. She turned slightly and the sunshine tumbling through the stained glass fell over her hand and the medal clutched in it.
Light streamed from her closed fist, growing brighter and brighter. It pierced the spaces between her fingers, rays of brilliance, as if she held the sun in her hands. But it wasn’t hot, it didn’t burn.
Slowly, she relaxed her fingers. The light dazzled. Bright white, as blinding as the sun. Yet it didn’t hurt her eyes.
Micki stared at it, mesmerized. She felt as if the rays penetrated every part of her being. Hank had seen the big picture. He had believed in her, believed she was meant to be a part of this, whatever it was.
“I’m in, Hank. Whatever the obstacle, whatever the plan, I know you’re with me.”
The light dimmed, then disappeared. Funny though, the warmth didn’t exit with it.
Her cell went off. She answered. “This is Dare.”
“Detective Dare?”
A woman, whispering. “Yes. Who is this?”
“Tara Green.”
It took her a moment to place the name. From the ad agency Keith Gerard worked for. The woman she had interviewed about her relationship with him. “Yes, Tara? How can I help you?”
“I thought you’d want to know. Another one of Keith’s girlfriends committed suicide. When he lived in Nashville.”
The blood rushed to Micki’s head, and she jumped to her feet. “Do you have a name?”
“No. I’ve got to go.”
“Wait, please. Is he there now?”
“It’s his last day. He resigned—”
“Where’s he going?”
“Moving.”
“Where?”
“New Mexico, I think. I’m late, I really need to—”
“Wait! Where is he now?”
“A party. Lucy’s Retired Surfer Bar. I’m hanging up now.”
She did and Micki pocketed her phone, heart thundering, thoughts racing. Zach had picked up a separate, dark entity in Nichols’ office. Arianna had said chameleons usually travel in pairs, that they were often related, because the gift of transformation ran in families.
Could Keith Gerard and Natalie King be related, maybe brother and sister?
It worked, Micki thought, mentally fitting the pieces in place. Sarah Stevens’ inexplicable suicide. The way Gerard had made her skin crawl—the same way Natalie King—and years before—Rene Blackwood had. And Stevens’ neighbor, swearing she saw a woman there that night, the very woman Stevens had been jealous of but who also had been many states away at the time.
Not Tara Green, Micki realized. A chameleon, either Keith Gerard or his traveling buddy, Natalie King.
She could be wrong, but she bet she was right.
Chapter Fifty-one
3:04 P.M.
Angel’s eyes popped open, the dream still unfurling in her head. Her art bag—she needed her tablet and charcoal. She had to get the images on paper before they evaporated.
Angel sat up and grabbed the camping light. She’d left it on, and the circle of light in her rectangular prison reassured her. Standing, she hurried across to the small table and her art bag on the floor beside it.
She pulled down the zipper and saw that her sketchbook wasn’t there. When she’d fallen asleep she’d been drawing. In her excitement and nerves, she’d left it behind.
She wanted to weep. Not now, she told herself. She didn’t have time for that. She looked frantically around her for something to draw on. Paper towels were too flimsy. Maybe a box or a paper bag—
Her gaze settled on the wall directly across from her. Smooth, painted a flat gray. It would have to do.
Angel rummaged through her drawing supplies until she found what she was looking for—her brand-new box of oil pastels. Grabbing them, she darted across and started to draw.
Having so much surface was freeing, and her hand flew—long marks, bold outlines, big arcs. She went through one stick, then another. Her heart thundered, her breath came in quick gasps.
She didn’t allow herself to pause or make judgment. Get the dream down. Record every detail quickly, before it evaporated.
The act of creation was beautiful, yes. But also violent. It was as if she was retching out the images. They controlled her, not the other way around.
Emptied, she stopped. Her drawing hand ached. Her fingers were cramped, numb. Wincing, she stretched them and stepped away from the wall.
As she backed up, the drawing took shape.
A man and a woman.
Her. And Seth.
Between them, a thick wall. Above them a bird of prey. Circling, casting its shadow over them—and the light.
For in her frenzy, she had grabbed the white pastel and encased the figures and the wall between them in light.
Heart breaking for what should have been, Angel sank to the floor and wept.
Chapter Fifty-two
3:30 P.M.
Zach stopped at home for a change of clothes. From inside his apartment came the sound of classical music. Vivaldi.
Parker. He’d done this before, shown up after being out of reach for days, and letting himself into Zach’s place. It pissed him off every time.
Except this one. Parker could help locate Angel. He had connections, people and equipment at his fingertips. He could assemble a team in minutes, be it Lighkeeper or human.
Zach took a deep breath and opened the door. Sure enough, Parker—or the chameleon masquerading as him—lounged on the couch, head back and eyes closed as he listened to his favorite classical composer.
“You could have called,” Zach said, snapping the door shut behind him.
Parker looked at him. “Hello, nephew.”
Zach dropped his keys on the entryway table and crossed to the couch. “You look like hell.”
“It’s been a rough few days. What’s your excuse?”
“Screw you.” Zach took the chair directly across from his uncle, and met his eyes, assessing. Was this Parker? “We’ve been dealing with some intense shit while you’ve been MIA. Where have you been, P?”
“Negotiating the professor and Eli’s release.”
Zach narrowed his eyes. “Release?”
“They’re being held by the High Council. Charged with treason.”
It took Zach a moment to digest that. “For training Half Lights to develop and use their abilities?”
“Yes.”
“Why weren’t you charged?”
“Let’s put it this way. The High Council has okayed me training Half Lights to work with humans—to solve human crimes.”
Zach laced his fingers, gaze not straying from Parker’s. “So, if they discovered you not only informed me of my true nature but have enlisted my help battling the Dark Bearer and his army, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now?”
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
“How did the High Council learn the real purpose of Professor Truebell’s work with wayward Half Lights?”
“There’s a spy among us.”
Zach eyebrows shot up. “A spy? Who?”
“Someone in our network has turned. We don’t know yet who that person is.”
“Son of a bitch.” Zach ran a hand through his hair. “It’s hard to believe.”
Parker stood and cros
sed to him. “This is war. People do what they have to do.”
Was this Parker? Zach thought yes. Everything about him rang true. But that’s what this creature did. That’s what made it so deadly.
“You said you were negotiating the release of Eli and Professor Truebell. Were you successful?”
“Unfortunately, no. The Council seems immovable at this point.”
“What about all the people the professor helps? All the Half Lights who go to LAM for comfort, and find a place to belong? And what of Eli, all the kids he’s healed?”
“You know the answer to that, Zach. They’re Half Lights, not Lightkeepers.”
“So they don’t count.” He crossed to his fireplace and rapped his knuckles on the mantle. “This is bullshit.”
“Yes, it is. But for the moment, I’m afraid my hands are tied.”
Zach straightened and looked back at Parker. “Would they consider a trade?”
“What kind of trade?”
“Ever heard of a chameleon?”
“Of course.”
Zach crossed to him and held out his hand. If this wasn’t the real Parker, he would know it the moment their hands joined.
Parker looked down at his outstretched hand, then back into his eyes—and clasped his hand. If Zach had any remaining doubts as to the true identity of the being standing before him, the instant connection and exchange of energy dispelled them.
The information coursed from him to Parker, the events of the past days—from Thomas King’s suicide to Angel’s disappearance. Done transmitting, Zach broke the connection and took a step back.
“I know her,” Parker murmured, flexing his fingers to distribute the lingering energy. “That chameleon. Her name’s Isabella Bremmond. Her misdeeds are very well known.”
“You think they’ll make the trade?”
“I’m hopeful.” He paused. “I’m going to go present it now. Whatever you do, don’t let her get away.”
“You’re not going to help us?”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Until then, you, Arianna, and Micki have this.”
“No, I don’t think we do. Maybe call in some reinforcements?”
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