The Belial Guard (The Belial Series Book 8)

by R. D. Brady

She took a swallow, enjoying the feel of the bubbles coating her throat. Then with a satisfied sigh, she wrapped her hand around the glass and curled it into her chest.

  Let it begin.

  CHAPTER 6

  The trip to the preserve yesterday had left Laney feeling optimistic about life. The cats’ show of respect had been so touching. Lou and Rolly had spent hours with them. And Lou had smiled more in those few hours than she had in the last two months.

  And even though Laney was still plagued by questions about Honu Keiki and the Fallen, life had become a little quieter. There was a routine. And like she’d told Jen, she’d accepted who she was and what her role was. One side effect of that acceptance was that she’d learned to appreciate the little things—like this peaceful trip to the coffee shop.

  Laney sipped some of the foam off the top of her drink with a smile and a sigh. Heaven. Climbing back into her Jeep, she mentally ran over her plan for the afternoon.

  First up was a meeting with a senator’s aide who seemed to be supportive of their work. Laney was pretty sure there was an incident somewhere in the senator’s past that made him more open to what they were doing.

  It was nice to think that they might get some support rather than resistance from the Senate. It was not long ago that they had been facing hearings on Capitol Hill. Thankfully those had been put on hold after Laney saved most of the members of the Senate committees from getting blown up. The senators must have recognized that it would be more than a little ungrateful to turn around and interrogate the hero who had just saved your life. Still, Laney knew their forbearance wouldn’t last much longer.

  After the meeting with the aide, Laney was heading over to the school to finish up the paperwork that never seemed to end. Finally, she hoped to have a little time with the teenagers before she headed to the preserve to see the cats.

  All in all, not a bad day.

  Laney looked over her shoulder as she reversed out of the spot. Cleo was in the back seat, but she had a blanket draped over her, as Laney didn’t want anyone glancing in the car and freaking out at the sight of a giant leopard in downtown Baltimore. Laney unwrapped the biscotti she’d picked up at the coffee shop and handed it back to Cleo as she headed down the road. The cat leaned forward and took the treat gently from Laney’s hand with her teeth, then settled back down.

  Laney headed toward the Francis Scott Key Bridge. Traffic was pretty light, for which Laney was thankful.

  As they pulled onto the bridge, a minivan was beside them, with a little girl of no more than three strapped in a car seat in the back. Cleo pressed her face against the window to get a look, and the little girl’s eyes went large. Cleo loved watching kids in other cars.

  Laney laughed. “Cleo, get down before you cause an accident.”

  Up ahead, a bright yellow school bus lumbered over the bridge. They’d pass it in another minute or so. “Don’t even think about it,” Laney warned.

  With a grumble, Cleo lowered herself back down again.

  “I promise, when we get to the school you can play with some of the kids.”

  Cleo grunted.

  Laney shook her head. Learning Cleo was part human had explained a great deal about the cat’s behavior and her needs—mainly her need for socialization. She didn’t just want to interact with both people and her panther pack, she needed to.

  A loud bang sounded from ahead of them. The bus wobbled and then veered across two lanes of traffic toward the side of the bridge. Cars swerved out of the way, but one sedan didn’t move quickly enough, and it bounced off the back of the bus.

  Laney could see bits and pieces of rubber flying off the bus’s rear left tire. It must have blown.

  The bus’s brakes squealed as the driver tried to bring the bus under control, but the rubber from the rear wheel was entirely gone now, leaving just the rim, and the bus kept swerving toward the bridge’s low railing.

  Oh, God. It’s going to go over. Laney slammed on her brakes, and the cars behind her did the same.

  Laney was out the door and running, not even sure what she was going to do. She yanked her ring off the chain around her neck and placed it on her finger just as the bus slammed into the railing. There was a screech of metal as the bus scraped against the railing, and then one of the bridge’s support cables snapped, whipping back toward Laney. She dove out of the way as it flew over her.

  The supports held, but Laney heard the squeal of brakes behind her. She turned. A propane truck was trying to stop to avoid the stopped cars ahead of it, but it was moving too fast, and slammed into the rearmost car. A small fire burst out of the back of the truck.

  “No, no, no.” Laney’s head whipped back to the bus, which continued its assault on the edge of the bridge.

  Then the railing broke away.

  “No!”

  Laney called on the wind to shove the bus back. The bus was halfway off the bridge, the nose pointing down off the side, the back lifted into the air, six feet up, wheels still turning. Laney struggled to create enough wind to keep it from tumbling, and at the same time she sent a smaller wind to the tanker fire. Sweat broke out on her brow.

  “Get the kids out of the bus!” Laney yelled at the first two people she saw: a construction worker and a woman in workout gear. A guy in a suit jumped out of his car and ran for the bus as well.

  The three of them ran to the back of the bus and yelled for the kids to open the emergency door. The door shook and flew open. Kids leaned out. Laney’s heart skipped a beat. They all looked so young.

  The adults held out their arms and told the kids to jump down. A girl in a pink shirt took charge, arranging the other kids and helping them out. One by one the kids jumped out of the bus, the girl in pink going last.

  “Are they all out?” Laney shouted when no one else appeared.

  The construction worker shook his head. “No. The driver’s still in there. The kids say he’s not moving.”

  An ache had formed in Laney’s shoulders. Every muscle in Laney’s body was taut and she was dripping in sweat. She couldn’t hold the bus much longer.

  “Cleo!” she yelled.

  Cleo burst from the open door of Laney’s Jeep and sprinted for the bus.

  Some of the kids screamed as Cleo pounded toward them. The adults pulled the kids back and placed themselves protectively in front of them. Cleo ignored them all. With one graceful leap, she flew over the people and landed in the bus’s open rear doorway.

  Come on, Cleo, Laney urged, struggling against the wind. She’d never held a sustained wind like this before.

  The woman and the man in the business suit hustled the children away to the other side of the highway, behind the divider. The construction worker just stared at the back door of the bus, his mouth hanging open. Laney stared at the door as well, praying for Cleo to hurry up. Gravity was tugging the bus toward the water.

  Please, Cleo, she begged, tears springing to her eyes.

  Cleo appeared in the doorway, holding the bus driver in her mouth by the collar of his shirt. Beneath her, the construction worker’s eyes were huge.

  “Help her!” Laney yelled through gritted teeth.

  The man moved forward and stood under the back door. Cleo set the driver down on the edge of the doorway, nudged him over the side into the construction worker’s raised arms, then vaulted over both of them.

  Able to release the bus at last, Laney dropped to her knees and sucked in a huge breath, spots dancing before her eyes as the bus plunged off the bridge to a chorus of screams from the kids.

  Cleo walked over to Laney and nudged her shoulder. Laney put an arm around her, but her legs were too shaky for her to stand. “I’m okay, girl. Just need a minute.”

  The construction worker had laid the driver on the road and was doing chest compressions. Poor man must have had a heart attack.

  Cleo let out a roar, and Laney’s head jerked upright.

  The fire had reappeared at the back of the tanker, and dark smoke wafted from it. Wit
h a whoosh, the tanker exploded. A wall of fire and shrapnel raced toward Laney, Cleo, the kids, and everyone who had stopped to help.

  Without a thought, Laney threw her hands up. Using every last ounce of her energy, she created a rush of wind that blew the flames and shrapnel out over the water.

  Then she collapsed to the ground and slipped into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER 7

  Henry stared at the bridge below. “A car accident,” he mumbled angrily. “She said it was a car accident.”

  Fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances were spread across the bridge, their lights spinning. Part of the bridge railing was torn away, and the burned-out ruin of a tanker lay a hundred feet away. And for some reason, about two dozen school kids were huddled over to one side of the bridge.

  Henry gestured for the chopper pilot to land. Wind buffeted the small craft, and Henry sucked in a breath.

  Laney had called him about fifteen minutes ago and told him she’d been in a car accident on the bridge. She’d asked him to hurry because she needed to get Cleo out of there. But it wasn’t her words that had made him get in the chopper and fly right here. It was her voice—weak, shaky.

  The chopper set down on a clear section of the road, and when Henry stepped out, he felt the people’s stares. He knew there were looking not only because of his dramatic entrance, but also because of his height. At seven foot two, he attracted attention no matter what—doubly so when landing a helicopter on a bridge in the middle of what looked like a movie disaster scene.

  An officer walked up to Henry. “Sir, you’re going to have to—”

  Henry held up his SIA badge. “Federal agent. Delaney McPhearson?”

  The officer gestured at one of the ambulances.

  “Thanks.” Henry strode past him without waiting for permission.

  The officer hustled after him. “Sir, you can’t just—”

  “Where’s her cat?” Henry asked.

  The officer was jogging to keep up with Henry’s long stride. “In her car. It was locked in when I got on scene. Someone said the cat waited until the woman regained consciousness and then turned and sprinted for the car.”

  Henry nodded. Good thinking, Cleo. “She still there?”

  “Yeah, it’s contained, but we’ve got a call in to Animal Control—”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll take it from here.”

  Henry quickened his pace, and the officer had to either stop or literally sprint to keep up. Apparently he decided saving some dignity was a little more important than preventing a federal agent from entering the scene, because he dropped back.

  “Damnedest thing I’ve ever seen,” a construction worker was saying to a cop as Henry passed. “All the flames, the pieces of the truck—they just changed direction.”

  Henry smiled. My little sister’s been busy.

  Laney was sitting on the back of an ambulance, a blanket over her shoulders. She looked up when Henry was still two hundred yards away, and Henry knew her abilities had warned her of his approach. It was one of the side effects of being the ring bearer—she received an electrical tingle whenever a Fallen or nephilim was near.

  She gave him a wan smile. “Hey.”

  Henry raised an eyebrow and gestured to the chaos surrounding them. “Hey? That’s the best greeting you can come up with?”

  “Sorry. How was your morning?”

  Henry laughed, taking a seat next to her and throwing an arm around her shoulder. “Probably not as exciting as yours. You’ve only given me the condensed version—how about the longer version now?”

  Laney sighed. As she recounted the accident and her reaction to it, Henry watched her in awe. She had no idea how amazing she was. Not once had she stopped to worry about her own safety, only about protecting others. And yet he knew if he used the word “hero,” she’d deny it.

  “I’m going to need your help getting Cleo out of here,” Laney said.

  “That won’t be a problem. Your car’s unharmed, and it’s not actually a crime scene, only an accident. Did you give your statement yet?”

  “Yeah, although I had to be a little creative.”

  “Creative?”

  “Basically to anyone watching, I was just standing in the middle of the bridge with my hands out. I didn’t actually do anything.”

  “So what did you tell them?”

  “I was frozen in fear, not sure what to do.” She grimaced. “And it all became too much, so I fainted.”

  Henry snorted. “And apparently they don’t know you, so they bought it. What did you say about Cleo?”

  “That she’s well trained and not a harm to anyone.” Laney pushed herself off the back of the ambulance and dropped the blanket inside. “But I’d like to get her out of here before they ask anything more.”

  Henry gestured to the news choppers circling above and the journalists who had been roped into one section of the bridge. “What about them? Did they see anything?”

  “I don’t think so. There was a chopper overhead during some of it. I doubt it was focused on me, but I can’t guarantee it didn’t get a shot of Cleo. To be honest, I don’t even know if it was a news chopper.”

  Henry frowned. “Okay. I’ll have the SIA spin department get to work on that. We’ll get an announcement together with all of Cleo’s paperwork.”

  Laney took his arm and leaned into him as they started across the bridge toward her car. “Good, because the last thing we need is attention.”

  Henry patted her arm. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  But as they headed to Laney’s Jeep, he noticed more than one person looking not at him, but at Laney. A few of the kids were even pointing. Laney’s actions might not have gone as unnoticed as she thought.

  CHAPTER 8

  Venice, Italy

  The lights from behind the camera had grown increasingly hot, but Elisabeta Roccorio sat across from Emmanuel Rialdo with a smile on her face. With a muted pink blouse, a pale gray skirt, her dark brown hair pulled back into a bun, and limited makeup, Elisabeta thought she gave the impression of a very stylish nun. The irony of the idea had made her smile when she’d looked in the mirror this morning.

  Emmanuel, forty-five with dark hair and eyes, was lead journalist for The World Today. He was a preening peacock, but a well-liked one, and he was part of a very carefully crafted public campaign that Elisabeta had set in motion months ago.

  Emmanuel gave Elisabeta his serious look—no hint of smile, his brows drawn close together but not close enough to wrinkle his skin. “The school you have created in Afghanistan has brought a lot of hope within that community, but also a lot of turmoil,” he said. “Why did you choose that region of the world to build a school, especially with all the danger that surrounds it?”

  Elisabeta leaned forward, keeping her mouth turned down, her eyes filled with concern. “That is exactly the reason why. Women in Afghanistan have been thrown back into the Stone Age. They are forbidden from learning. They are married off as early as ten. They have no say in the way their society is run. Education is the key to changing that.”

  “It’s not just for girls that you are doing this, though, is it?”

  Elisabeta shook her head. “The state of all education in Afghanistan is horrible. Childhood in Afghanistan is itself a nightmare-inducing situation. Did you know that children in Afghanistan have one of the highest risks of death in the world? There are fourteen thousand schools in Afghanistan, but a full half of them do not even have buildings. Children, both boys and girls, study either out in the open or in tents. We can do better for them than that.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  Elisabeta nodded, careful to keep her face downcast. “It gets worse. More than half of all marriages are child marriages. A young girl is married to a man, most of the time a man old enough to be her father or even grandfather. Education is the key to help turn that around. Educating women, but also men on what the world has to offer them. It is ignorance that keeps people in
the dark. Education brings them into the light.”

  Emmanuel nodded. “This is only one of a dozen schools you have funded in multiple parts of the world. You are known for your philanthropic endeavors. Why this particular approach?”

  Elisabeta clasped her handkerchief in her hand and let out a breath. “My mother. She was from a small village.” She pictured her mother—that cow. She’d slept her way into money. “She had no prospects, no family backing to achieve anything. Yet, through education, she was able to make something of herself. I have never forgotten her story, and I want that to be the story of thousands of little girls.”

  “And thanks to you, I’m sure it will be. Elisabeta Roccorio, thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”

  “Thank you for taking the time to focus on an issue that is so very important not just to me, but to the rest of the world.”

  “And cut,” the director called from behind the camera.

  Emmanuel took Elisabeta’s hand and kissed it. “That was wonderful. I believe you just may be the first person declared a saint while still alive.”

  Elisabeta smiled as a production assistant came over and removed her microphone. “You’re too kind. We all do our part.”

  She stood, and Emmanuel did as well. “And thank you for letting us shoot in your home,” he said. “It’s beautiful. We should be out of your hair in about thirty minutes.”

  “No rush. My staff set out lunch for your people in the kitchen. Please make sure everyone gets something to eat, would you? I’m afraid I have business to attend.”

  “Of course. And thank you again.”

  Elisabeta inclined her head and graced him with a smile. As she walked out of the room, she was careful to turn and smile at each member of the production crew as well. But when she entered the hall leading to her office, the fake smile dropped from her face. She rolled her neck. God, that was tedious.

  As she opened the door to her office, Hakeem stood up from behind her desk and bowed. Hakeem had the dark looks of his Spanish mother and Indian father. He was tall, strong, and only passable in bed. “Samyaza,” he said.