by Anne Hope
Home sweet home.
An oppressive weight compressed his chest, filled him with a sadness he didn’t comprehend. The dark clouds that had been hovering beneath the sun all day finally decided to unleash their fury, and gray curtains of rain fell from the sky to drench him. The water was freezing. Fighting a bad case of the shakes, he quickly fished out the keys he’d found in his leather jacket, then tried each one until the lock finally clicked. Wasting no time, he bulleted into the building. He’d already nearly drowned in the shower. No way would he risk drowning in the rain. Provided it was even a possibility for him.
The thought stirred a well of despair inside him so deep, the intensity of it rocked him to the bone. Whatever had happened on that platform earlier today had changed him, chased the numbness away, along with all rational thought. All he could do was feel, and it was driving him nuts.
Lia made him feel, too, but this was different. With Lia, there was equilibrium, a perfect balance between mind and soul. This unnatural high was all gut and emotion, worse than shooting himself full of heroin.
If only Lia were here. He missed her. Missed her so bad every part of him ached. Loneliness pressed down on him, made him want to cry like a girl.
Damn idiot, pull yourself together.
He mounted the steps, focused on finding his unit. Probably not the best idea for him to come here. If a man wants to disappear, the last place he should go is home. But he had to scour his apartment, see if it would trigger a memory. He was lost, adrift on a wide open sea, and this place was his only anchor. He had to grab hold of it, somehow stop his slow glide into oblivion.
He found his number. Several neatly rolled newspapers littered a black doormat, which refrained from offering any kind of welcome. His fingers shook as he labored to open the door. Monsters came in all shapes and sizes, and he obviously wasn’t the exception. Images of the woman’s broken body flashed through his brain, so vivid he could almost smell the blood. She’d thrown herself in front of a speeding train. Was it a coincidence that he’d been thinking the same thing moments before she’d died? Had he unwittingly planted the idea in her head?
Angel of death and destruction. Spawn of the fallen.
Bitterness expanded to fill his mouth as he staggered into his apartment. The stench that assailed him nearly knocked him off his feet. The air carried the distinctive trace of smoke and beer laced with something else. Something greasy that instantly slid past the guilt clogging his throat to coat the walls of his stomach. Holding his breath, he forced himself to walk in.
At his far left, a kitchen stretched, separated from the living room by nothing more than a granite-top counter, which was now buried beneath a forgotten pizza box, several cans of beer and an overflowing ashtray.
Great. He’d come all this way to learn he was not only a freak, but a pig.
Ignoring the mishmash of offensive substances, he plowed through the unkempt apartment to the den, where a slew of musical instruments sat—a guitar, an electronic keyboard, some kind of amplifier. Nothing looked familiar. Not even the wild scatter of pages on the desk or the musical notes that graced their white faces.
So this was how he’d spent his days, bent over this desk, composing music no one would ever hear. The idea depressed him. Why keep it all a secret? If he truly had a gift, the way Cassie had implied, why not share it?
Because no one would’ve wanted him to.
The thought crept, unbidden, into his consciousness. He’d been a freak even then. A monster wearing human flesh. An outsider. Everything had changed…and nothing.
In the far right corner, beside the keyboard, a well-stocked bar squatted. He’d obviously been a big fan of liquor. Jace tossed aside the pages he held and cut across the room.
What could it hurt? It wasn’t as if he could die of liver disease. He filled a glass with whisky, then downed it.
Nothing happened. The liquor didn’t sting, didn’t burn his mouth or throat. Just to be sure, he poured himself another three fingers. It was like drinking water. He metabolized the alcohol so fast, he didn’t even get a buzz. Disgust crawled through his veins. It looked like he couldn’t even find solace with his good ole friend Johnnie Walker anymore.
He shoved the bottle aside. Nothing in this place felt right. Like a sweater he’d outgrown, his old life no longer fit. Problem was, he had no idea what did.
Chapter Eight
Lia parked her white Honda Accord across the street from Cassie’s building, then slipped quietly into the thickening shroud of night. She was anxious to get inside, away from the blackened shadows that kept planting icy kisses on the nape of her neck. Buildings cast eerie shadows in the pale light of the moon, and the strange quiescence that had claimed the city unsettled her. For some reason, the night felt sinister.
Then again, she wasn’t quite sure if the atmosphere within Cassie’s apartment would be any more welcoming.
“She’s going to need you,” Jace had said.
Those words had harassed her all day, so she’d driven straight here the moment her shift ended. She had no idea what kind of state her sister would be in, and quite frankly it made no difference. Whether Lia was greeted by anger, bitterness, sarcasm or despair, she’d do whatever she could to help Cassie through yet another broken heart, the way she had since they were girls. Despite their differences, they were family, and that mattered. It meant everything.
For the second time today, she knocked on Cassie’s door.
“Go away.” The slurred command traveled through the thick wooden barrier between them.
“Cassie, it’s me. Please open up.”
“Don’t you have a sick guy to go poke or something?”
Lia pounded harder. “Let me in right now or I’ll pay your landlady a visit and get the spare key.”
A groan, followed by a curse, then the soft pad of feet across the hardwood floor. Seconds later, the door swung open. “Can’t you take a hint?”
“Nope. Guess we have more in common than we thought.”
Cassie smelled worse than the empty bottle of scotch that sat on her cocktail table. “I’m busy.”
“I can see that. Need some company drowning your sorrows?”
In an unspoken gesture of surrender, her sister moved aside to admit her. “Who said anything about sorrow? I’m fucking pissed.” Cassie staggered in after Lia. “I catch the jerk boning some slut, and he doesn’t even have the decency to remember it? Then he has the nerve to think he’s the one who gets to dump me.” She raised the tumbler she held to her lips, emptied it in one smooth swallow. “Bastard.”
“You deserve better.” And so did she. Why then couldn’t she get the guy out of her head? It felt hypocritical, standing here trying to soothe her sister’s bruised ego while secretly pining away for the very man who’d kicked Cassie in the teeth in the first place.
Cassie flopped unceremoniously onto the couch. “I’d offer you a drink, but I’m all out of scotch.” She fingered the bottle. “Johnnie Walker Blue, Jace’s favorite. I bought it for him before things went south. Figured it was about time I disposed of it.” She swiped at her nose with the back of her hand, rolled the empty tumbler around in the other. “I’ve got soda in the fridge if you’re interested.”
“Soda’s great.” Lia stood and went to the kitchen, then quickly returned with a can of Diet Seven-Up. Cassie sat exactly as she’d left her, slouched on the sofa, staring at the whisky bottle as if it held the answers to everything she was afraid to ask.
“What’s wrong with me, Lia?” The question was a gut-wrenching sigh. “Why do men keep doing this to me?”
Lia’s heart plunged, and she draped her arm around her sister. “It wasn’t about you this time. It was about him.” How could she know that with such steel-coated certainty?
Cassie didn’t seem to hear her. She was too busy wallowing in self-pity. “Why wasn’t I enough? Why’d the creep have to cheat on me?”
“Because he didn’t trust himself to stick around. I
f he’d stayed, he would’ve damaged you, the way he’s damaged everyone else, including his own father.” Lia heard the words escape her lips, but they didn’t seem to come from her. Not directly. Nonetheless, she sensed a deep-seated truth in them.
Cassie turned a pair of alcohol-glazed eyes her way. “He told you that?”
“No—”
“I dated the asshole for three months and he didn’t as much as tell me his favorite color. You spend two days with him and he spills his guts to you?” She snorted, blind to everything but the black thoughts running rampant in her head. “So much for his so-called amnesia.”
“Cassie, Jace didn’t say a thing to me. He couldn’t. He truly doesn’t remember anything.”
“Then how on earth could you know something like that?”
“I don’t. It’s just this impression I got. I can’t really explain it.”
With a huff that ended in a sniffle, Cassie dug her back into the couch. “So now you’re a shrink, too.”
Lia battled a wave of frustration but let her sister’s caustic comment slide. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear Cassie resented the fact that she was a doctor. It made no sense. Cassie had no love of medicine and certainly no desire to crack open a book. While Lia had been cramming for exams—sleep-deprived, her blood pumped full of caffeine—Cassie had been out partying. Her greatest form of entertainment was teasing Lia about her complete lack of a social life.
“Live a little, sis.” How many times had Cassie said that to her? And how often had Lia felt like a boring reject next to her ever-popular sister?
“You know what I think?” Cassie’s slurred statement cut a wobbly path through Lia’s thoughts as she took a sip of her soda. “I think we should give up men altogether. Men suck. I’ve decided I’m going to become a lesbian.”
A spray of Seven-Up blasted from Lia’s mouth. “You’re not serious. I’ve never met a woman more infatuated with men than you.”
Cassie twirled a long blond curl around her finger. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’d miss those wide shoulders, those hard pecs, that hot, long—”
“I get the picture.” She’d seen Jace naked, more than once, so she got what her sister was saying. Heat swamped her, made her pulse trip and a knot tighten around her heart.
“Are you blushing?”
Lia brought her palm to her cheek. “Of course not. I don’t blush.”
“You are! You’re blushing like a goddamn virgin on her wedding night.” Cassie succumbed to a fit of drunken laughter. “Tell me, when’s the last time someone kissed you?”
The incident with Diane promptly came to mind, making her spine tingle, and not in a good way. “Can we change the subject, please?”
Cassie suddenly perked up, momentarily forgetting her misery. “What are you hiding from me?”
“Nothing.”
“Lia, I’ve known you since you were in diapers. Spill it.”
What the heck. If her own messed-up life could help Cassie forget her heartache, it was worth the embarrassment. “Remember the nurse you met when you dropped by the hospital a few weeks ago, Diane?”
“Sure. Ran into her again today. What about her?”
Lia put down her can of Seven-Up and clasped her fingers to keep from squirming. “She decided to plant one on me yesterday.”
Surprise, followed by a glint of amusement lit up Cassie’s face. “You gotta be kidding me.” A choked laugh shook her chest. “You and Amazon chick. Never would’ve thunk it. You an item now?”
“Course not!” Mortification sped through her veins. “I’m not into women. You know that.”
Cassie snickered. “Can’t tell by looking at you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Are you serious? Have you looked in a mirror lately? Your hair’s always pinned up. You never wear any make-up. And those boring, stay-the-hell-away-from-me shirts—” Cassie’s curls bounced over her shoulders as she shook her head in utter hopelessness. “Man, what can I say about those shirts? All that’s left for you to do is take up golf.”
If Lia could’ve crawled into the sofa cushions and died, she would have. “Thanks, Cass. I can always count on you to spare my feelings.”
“Just being honest. If your big sister doesn’t tell you the truth, who will?”
“Amazon chick, apparently.” Amusement crept in to temper Lia’s humiliation. “Want me to hook you two up?”
An offended scowl rearranged Cassie’s features. She grabbed a pillow and flung it at her. “Bitch.”
“You’re the one who said you’re giving up men.”
“I’m smashed. You can’t take anything I say when I’m smashed seriously.”
Lia pushed the pillow aside and stood. “Then let’s get you sober. How ’bout some java?”
Cassie sighed. “Yeah, all right. Guess the self-pity fest has to end sometime.” She followed Lia to the kitchen. “I’m going to have a killer headache tomorrow.”
“Serves you right for putting your body through that.”
A heartfelt groan echoed off the walls. “Here comes the lecture again.”
“You bet.” Lia busied herself brewing the coffee.
Without warning, Cassie wrapped a delicate arm around Lia, depositing her chin on her shoulder. “Love you, sis.”
Cassie’s familiar, earthy scent enveloped her, reduced her to childhood. “Me, too.”
Men came and went, the world sometimes spun off its axis, but throughout it all, they had each other, and that made the heartache bearable somehow.
Marcus burst into Cal’s office without hesitation this time. “You were right. Jace Cutler is definitely a Hybrid.”
“Are you sure?”
“He fits the profile. Early thirties, single. I checked out his place before going to the hospital, talked to a couple of his neighbors. He apparently keeps to himself, except for a parade of girlfriends, if they can be called that. No question about it—the guy’s a loner. Word is he spends his nights in some bar called The Hangout.”
Cal stood abruptly, his expression eager. “I need to see him. Where is he? In the interrogation room?”
Marcus shook his head. “He wasn’t at the hospital. My guess is he figured out something’s up and made a run for it.”
“Why aren’t you out there tracking him? A recently turned Hybrid at large is a dangerous proposition. The damage he can unwittingly cause—”
“I’m aware of that. And I have every intention of tracking him. I just wanted to talk to you before making a move.”
“What about? You’ve brought in new recruits before. You know the routine.”
Marcus hesitated. He knew what he was about to say would sound farfetched to his leader, but he thought it necessary to share his suspicions. “His doctor, Lia Benson. I couldn’t read her thoughts, couldn’t influence her with mine. Her essence was so powerful, it was almost like—” He faltered despite himself.
“Like what?”
“It’s crazy, but I could’ve sworn I sensed two life-forces within her.”
Cal’s expression remained unreadable, but Marcus caught the slight shift in his body, the tension that coiled in his neck and shoulders. “Diplopsychs are long extinct,” he said in a smooth voice that belied his stiff countenance. “I haven’t come across one in centuries. Not since—”
The Great Flood.
“But they did exist once, so it’s possible,” Marcus countered.
Silence engulfed them. “Anything’s possible. But why now? Why her?”
“I don’t know, but there’s power in her, energy. She glows with it. And somehow she’s connected to Jace Cutler.”
Interest flickered in Cal’s sharp, silver gaze. “How do you know?”
“The way she lied for him. The longing I sensed in her. Their signatures are almost identical. I could barely tell them apart.”
Cal was silent for several heartbeats. Marcus could see the theory taking shape in his mind. “You know what this means?
” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Jace Cutler could be the one.”
“If he is, Athanatos will stop at nothing to get to him first.”
“We can’t allow that to happen.” Usually, Cal was the picture of serenity. But sometimes, like now, he was every bit as hard and lethal as the creatures he hunted—an avenging angel, spear in hand, sweeping down on flaming wings to obliterate anyone who dared oppose him.
“I sensed another frequency in the room,” Marcus added. “Definitely belonged to a Kleptopsych. A female.”
“Diane?”
“That’s my bet.”
Diane was one of Athanatos’s followers, a hit woman often sent to eliminate Hybrids as soon as they were reborn. Her ability to control water made her quite effective at her task.
Determination made Cal’s face grimmer than death. “Find Jace Cutler before she does. I’m counting on you, Marcus. Don’t fail me.”
Jace stood outside The Hangout, watching the neon lights flicker against a blackened sky, wondering what had compelled him to come to this seedy hole two nights ago. He’d gotten the name of the bar from the Saturday Portland Tribune loitering on his doorstep. He’d waded through numerous recounts of the riot that had broken out on the same night before finally stumbling across a barely noticeable mention on page nine about a local stabbing. The account seemed to match the few pathetic facts he’d gleaned about his “death”, so he decided to check it out.
The place reeked of beer and stale flesh, spiced with an underlying odor of piss. His stomach instantly rebelled, but he swallowed the mounting bile in his throat and pushed his way in. To his right, several pool tables lounged, and a rowdy crowd dominated the sitting area to his left. Dead center sat the bar. Carving a determined swath through the room, Jace made a beeline for the bartender. He needed answers, and who better to give them to him than the man pouring the drinks?
