by Cat Adams
There were screams and the flashing of cameras. Kristoff’s guards went for their guns and curses—and froze in place when King Dahlmar stepped into view.
Kristoff staggered to his feet so abruptly that the chair clattered to the floor behind him. He didn’t realize the mike was live when he gasped, “No. You’re dead,” in a tone of unmistakable horror that made it absolutely clear just how unhappy he was that his father had made it home. Kristoff reached inside his jacket, probably for a weapon, only to be knocked to the ground and subdued by one of his own guards—a man loyal to the rightful ruler of the country.
In all the confusion, I shouldn’t have been able to hear Matty’s horrified gasp: “Irene? Emma?”
I turned and stared at the familiar faces that Matty was addressing . . . Eirene? Eirene, Irene, Ren. How stupid could I be?
Her perfect features were twisted in rage. Emma screamed in shock and outrage as Eirene grabbed her from behind and wrapped an arm around her throat. Emma kicked and struggled, scratching at the siren’s arm, but Eirene had preter-natural strength and knew what she was doing. She’d cut off enough of her captive’s oxygen that Emma couldn’t fight for long before she passed out from lack of oxygen. Still using Emma’s limp body as a shield, Eirene pulled a small ceramic disk from her pocket. “You will let me go, now. Or I will summon the demon to destroy you all.”
Kristoff reached out a hand toward her, panic etched on his face. “Irene . . . beloved, wait! Take me with you!” Great, just great. The prince struggled against the guards holding him, but they shoved his face to the floor with considerable force. When the guard jammed the barrel of his 9mm against the prince’s temple, Kristoff stilled.
“Tell them, Celia. They do not believe me, but they should. I will loose the demon.” She smiled and it sent chills down my spine. God help us, a part of her wanted to do it. She’d used the demonic too often. The demon was gaining the upper hand. She thought she controlled him, but she was a fool. I could see it in her eyes.
“Let Emma go and I’ll tell them to let you leave.”
She laughed, just like I expected her to. But hey, nothing ventured— “You don’t get to give me orders, Celia. No one is ever going to give me orders again. Adriana may be satisfied with the scraps of power the others are willing to throw her. I am not.”
Matty struggled against the guards on our side to reach her. He still believed he could talk sense into her. I was sorry for that. Knowing that she was tainted by a demon, that she’d been in the DeLuca home, in the heart of their family—that was going to haunt him. “Irene . . . think of the baby. You have to give yourself up. We can help you.”
That’s when it really struck home with me that Bruno had lain with this . . . creature. He’d dated her, made love to her, and given her a child. Had he just been bewitched by a siren’s charms, or was it a much deeper, demonic issue? That thought scared the crap out of me.
“Baby?” She sneered and there was an unpleasant edge of hysteria to it. “Ah, you mean the lie I told your fool of a brother.” She turned to me. “There was no baby. I merely convinced the doctor to tell him that. But you—” She pointed at me with a long finger that was starting to blacken from her constant brush with the demonic. “You didn’t break. I took your man from you. That should drive a true siren insane. But it didn’t. You weren’t destroyed. Not by that, not by the curse, not even when we killed your prophet. You were supposed to break, supposed to die.”
At last I knew who was behind Vicki’s death. That she’d remained in ghost form after we jailed the doctor said something was wrong. I was both relieved that she could finally have peace and heartsick that she’d been killed just to hurt me. She deserved so much better.
A man’s voice came from behind me. “You’ll never get away with this.” It was a cliché, of course, but somebody had to say it. I suppose Creede was as good a choice as anyone else. “Give up while you can.”
“I don’t think so.” She turned to Dahlmar. “Order your people to drop the barrier. Let me leave, or die with the rest.”
He stared at her and for a moment I thought he’d take his chances, such hate blazed in his eyes. She’d cost him both his sons, nearly cost him his throne. I was sure he’d have his men shoot her through Emma’s unconscious body.
I was right. At a gesture they opened fire and hit—nothing. Over and over again. The press were screaming and stampeding each other trying to find cover where there was none. Bullet holes riddled the wall behind where Eirene stood, but there was no blood. None at all.
“Cease fire!” I bellowed, trying to be heard over the deafening sound of too much gunfire in a confined space. “You’re wasting your ammo. She’s phasing in and out too fast.” It was a smart move and not something I’d have guessed she could do. But it made sense. She might not be able to move out of the room, but she could teleport a fraction of an inch within the room and be dematerialized 99 percent of the time, giving them nothing to hit.
“Cease fire,” King Dahlmar repeated, and the guns fell silent.
Eirene held the ceramic disk in front of Emma’s face where we could all see it. “No more of this. I leave. Now.”
Dahlmar’s voice was cold, hard. But he gave the order she wanted: “Let her go.”
The world lurched and they vanished. Eirene and the demon had Emma.
Oh, shit.
24
“Is this another one of Dahlmar’s plans?” It was late evening and I was sitting in a cheap motel room. There wasn’t much space, the whole place was probably only twelve-by-twelve, with most of the room taken up by a double bed. There was a dresser and a battered old television, a mini-fridge, a microwave, and one of those small prefab laminate tables, its surface pocked with cigarette scars. Helen Baker had set up a scrying bowl in the center of the table and was trying to sooth my frazzled nerves by showing me what was going on.
It wasn’t helping. I was in a foul mood and trying not to take it out on anyone. Of course the only person I could take it out on right now was Baker, and she wasn’t exactly the type to put up with it.
I looked up from the scrying bowl to the woman using it. Baker might not be as powerful a clairvoyant as her mother but had enough talent for this. She also had the added advantage of being able to do double duty and serve as a guard.
“King Dahlmar may have been involved in the planning, I’m not sure.” She gave me a puzzled look.
“It just sounds like one of his plans.” I drained the last of my packaged shake and tossed the empty can into the trash. I knew I should stop grumbling, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. A big part of it was that the plan had been foisted on me. I hadn’t been part of the process. I’d just been told what to do. I don’t obey orders well. But the people in charge of this operation were all heavy hitters and I owed more than one of them my freedom and/or my life. So I went along . . . grudgingly. It didn’t help that I thought it was damned cruel, allowing most of my friends and family to believe I was dead—to the point of actually holding the visitation and funeral. Only a very choice few were privy to the truth: King Dahlmar, Matty, Bruno, Kevin, Creede, Queen Lopaka and a couple of her people, and my grandmother. Too many, really. If you want to keep a secret a secret, you don’t tell anyone.
“They couldn’t have at least picked a high-end hotel for this?”
Baker laughed. “High-end hotels have security cameras and staff that actually pay attention to the comings and goings. Our people wouldn’t be able to stand guard unnoticed.”
True enough. But still. I couldn’t help but look at the grubby carpeting again, not really wanting to walk across it in shoes, much less barefoot.
I turned my attention back to the scene playing out in the bowl. I’d been afraid Gran wouldn’t be able to pull off the whole mourning thing, but I could see she was acting up a storm. Maybe she’d missed her true calling in life.
“You did actually die, you know. During the exorcism.” Baker sounded impressed. I was guessing it was be
cause of the exorcism, not the death. Being in the military, she’d probably seen plenty of the latter. Then again, the sirens aren’t exactly a military superpower, so maybe not.
“So they tell me.” King Dahlmar and Matty had arranged for me to have an exorcism right at the scene. A little unusual, but Creede’s spell had actually held the demon away from me and they were afraid if they waited, the demon would be able to zero in again. I’d gone along because I wanted the demon mark off of me. If we were going after Eirene to rescue Emma, none of us could afford for me to have that kind of a weakness. First, Matty had cleansed the room, moving in smaller and smaller circles until only Creede and I were left. The closer Matty got, the worse I started to feel and the more Creede had to drain his own energy to keep the gate closed.
I didn’t really remember the actual exorcism. I only remember Matty starting to chant in a singsong voice and then hideous, intense pain engulfed me for what seemed like an eternity. The pain was followed by . . . nothing. Light, air, and absolute quiet. I remember standing with Ivy and Vicki and that they wouldn’t let me step past them. I vaguely remember Vicki pushing me down a long flight of stairs . . . and then there was pain again as apparently my soul rushed back into my body.
When I first woke, I’d been incredibly angry with Vicki. More than I had ever been before. Later, I realized what had happened and I was grateful. In what was very likely her last act on this plane of existence she’d saved me one last time.
I shuddered, my hand automatically reaching to touch the scars from where the demon had clawed me. Weird, that. Before the exorcism there hadn’t been scars—just an invisible mark that had served as a psychic tie he could follow to find me anywhere. The full rite had cut that tie. Thank God there was a medic ready with the heart machine. It wasn’t until after they revived me that the scars had appeared. I only wish I were confident that the demon mark was gone. But I didn’t think it would be until Eirene was dead.
I watched the image of Dottie moving slowly up the aisle with her walker. Her expression was solemn, not sad precisely, more worried. I wondered then, if she knew. Clairvoyant that she was, she might just have “peeked.” It was something she’d do. She looked up and I could swear her eyes met mine, that she could see me watching.
“I just don’t see the point,” I protested. “What makes anyone think my dying is going to bring Eirene out of the woodwork?”
Baker explained it to me again, with only a hint of impatience. “She is obsessed with you. You ruined her plans. You have everything she wants. She will want to be sure you are dead. And failing that, the demon possessing her wants you. He felt you die. But if he can search all of the various planes of existence for you, he will not find you. And then he will wonder.”
“That doesn’t mean it’ll draw them out.”
“The bowl says otherwise. I’ve seen it and so have all of the others.”
I didn’t say a word, just looked at her. She knew as well or better than I did that the future is subject to change. And while the odds got better if more than one clairvoyant got the same images, that didn’t make it certain.
“Fine. Our profilers and those of the church agree that it is in the nature of this particular demon to require it of her. It is most likely that he is the one in charge by now, whether Eirene knows it or not.”
That seemed likely. “But it makes no sense.”
She threw up her hands in a gesture of irritated surrender. “Celia, think about what you said. She’s insane. He’s a demon. Of course it makes no sense to sane humans. Why would it?”
Okay, fine. I could concede that, but I still didn’t like it. Something about the whole plan just felt . . . wrong. I am more of a believer in planning than hunches—probably because I never was psychic enough to get hunches. But I could understand now why people believe in them. I was even more convinced something was wrong when the temperature in the room began to plummet.
“Something’s happening.” Could one of the ghosts have remained behind to see this through? Whoever it was, was trying to get my attention.
“We’ve got people surrounding the building. If something was wrong, one of them would warn us.” Kevin was on guard, along with two more of Lopaka’s people. Since he’d been missing since shortly after Vicki’s death, no one would expect him to make it to my funeral. As a werewolf with a background in black ops, he was a good choice for a guard. Plus he’d insisted.
After all, Emma was his sister.
Considering his skill set and metaphysical power, I should’ve felt safe. Instead, I felt trapped.
Baker gave me a look. Whatever she saw in my face made her uneasy. She extinguished the scene playing out in the bowl, reached for her gun, and switched off the safety. I did the same thing with my gun, then patted my pockets, making sure everything else I packed was in place.
There was a tap on the door and a familiar voice whispered, “It’s Kevin. We have a change of plan.”
Uh . . . a change of plan? I don’t think so. I pulled my One Shot left-handed. The little gun of holy water didn’t require the strength or accuracy the handgun did. All I needed it was a quick squirt to make sure Kevin was Kevin. Call me paranoid if you will, but it keeps me alive.
Baker started to position herself behind the door, but I shook my head. She was strong, but she wasn’t going to be strong enough to hold the door closed against whatever might be impersonating Kevin. Hell, I wasn’t positive I was strong enough, but I had a better shot at it. So I passed her the squirt gun and got in position.
“We need to verify you’re who you say you are,” I said calmly. I wasn’t feeling calm. It was turning into an icebox in here and several small objects were starting to levitate.
“Damn it, Celia, we don’t have time—”
That was totally unlike Kevin and I flicked a glance at Helen. She scowled and nodded. Yeah, we were going to do this. Shit.
“Fine, then.” I yanked open the door and Helen sprayed him.
It wasn’t an impostor. Maybe we’d have been better off if it was.
I heard a soft pffut of sound, barely audible over the sound of the water hitting Kevin. Baker staggered back, slapping at her neck. Her gun arm rose but too slow. Kevin slapped it away as he hit the door with all his strength and weight.
Crap. Kevin had been turned. Or was he ever on our side? He’d left me a note after Vicki died that said he’d “be back for me.” Was I one of his “hard targets”? As a sleeper agent, he could keep tabs on me and now he was going to kill me. I couldn’t decide whether I was more angry or hurt that he was doing this. Probably an equal mix of both.
I pressed on the door with everything I had.
I’d thought I was strong, but I was not as strong as a big, motivated werewolf. He shoved the door back like it was nothing. I dived out of the way, throwing myself between the bed and the window, and firing as I went.
I hit him. Square in the chest and hard enough to send him back a pace. But the bullet didn’t do more than piss him off. He had to be wearing a Kevlar vest.
The ghost in the room tried to help. Everything that wasn’t held down flew at Kevin’s face. He batted it all away as I scrambled to my feet and turned to flee out the hotel window.
I’d climbed onto the heater/AC unit when he grabbed me by the leg and threw me onto the glass-strewn carpet. I tried to turn my gun on him, but he had my hand in an instant. My God, the strength of him. He pinned me with his body and his arms and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. God knows I tried, squirming, fighting, and screaming for all I was worth. I bit him with the fangs, but he healed almost before I could pull them out. I was careful not to swallow, though I wanted to.
But nothing made any difference. I struggled helplessly as Warren, the man I trusted more than anyone else—even more than Bruno—strode into the room. He pulled a dart gun from his pocket and shot me. The same way he’d shot Baker.
Damn.
I couldn’t move. I tried. My body simply woul
dn’t respond. I could feel my skin resting against smooth leather upholstery, could feel the movement of a car, but I couldn’t even lift an eyelid. I panicked then, because even though the adrenaline rushing through my system made my heart race until I could hear my pulse pound like a kettledrum in my ears, my body remained sullenly unresponsive.
“Please don’t struggle. You’ll only hurt yourself.” Warren’s voice was a disembodied and slightly mechanical whisper in my left ear. “I combined a curse with the drug in the dart. You won’t be able to move a single voluntary muscle until Kevin says the word that releases you.”
I felt a wave of pure unadulterated rage fueled by the pain of complete betrayal. These were two of the people I held dearest in the world. I would have given my life to defend them and they do this?
Warren’s voice sounded in my ear again. Now that I thought about it, I could feel the headset attached to my ear. “I’m so sorry, Celia. I can only imagine how angry you are right now. But we had no choice. Irene contacted Kevin through his employer. She swore she would feed Emma, body and soul, to the demon unless we turned you over to her.” He paused. “I can’t let that happen. I can’t.” He sighed. “But I won’t turn you over to that fate, either. So we’ve arranged a rescue.”
My mouth wasn’t working thanks to the curse. But I was thinking some pretty choice things about Warren, his son, and the fact that they hadn’t seen fit to include me in the planning. Did they think I wouldn’t have helped save Emma? Did they really believe I’d let her not only die but also be tortured to death and for freaking eternity? Because if that’s what they thought, they didn’t know me at all.
“They’re using magic to watch us, so Kevin doesn’t dare let on you’re conscious. When the car stops, he’ll unstrap you from the seat and take off the Bluetooth. There isn’t much time, so you have to listen carefully.”
