Envy

by J. R. Ward

Chapter 13

  Angel Airlines, those sets of iridescent wings that Jim was still getting used to, returned him and his boys to the Marriott in the blink of an eye. In the pair of rooms, they converged in Jim's half, with Dog doing a little circling dance now that the band was back together.

  "So what am I doing?" As Jim put the question out there, he wondered how many years it was going to take before he didn't have to ask it of Eddie anymore. Probably a few. This job had come with no training, dire straits, and horrifying implications.

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  "Get quiet," Eddie said, "and hold the badge. Imagine that DelVecchio is sitting in front of you, facing you with his hands on his knees and his eyes meeting yours. As always, the more specific the vision is, the better this will work. See yourself reaching forward and placing your fingertip on his forehead, and know that this connection will give you the power to pull the memories from him even though you aren't actually touching him. It's all in the mind. "

  "Ba-um-bum," Adrian capped off.

  Settling on the bed, Jim held the badge in his palms and felt like an utter ass. Back in his days as an XOps soldier, or hell, even earlier, when he'd just been a punk-ass civilian, he'd never been into this transcendental, belly-lint-staring, yogi maharishi-whatever crap. He supposed with enough go-arounds like this he might get used to it, but he was always going to be a doer, not a downward-dog kind of guy.

  Whatever, though.

  Concentrating on the badge, the thing felt like an ice cube against his skin, with all the piercing cold, just none of the dripping water. And it would have helped if he knew DelVecchio a little better, but he did what he could to see the man: the dark hair, that handsome-as-sin face, the cold, smart blue eyes -

  From one moment to the next, what he pictured became something he suddenly actually saw in 3-D, as if he'd been staring at a TV and an actor had stepped through the screen to sit in front of him.

  Except the shit was all wrong.

  The man had two faces.

  Jim shook his head, like maybe that was going to clear up the problem. Didn't help. The primary visage was DelVecchio's . . . and so was the other one, like a double-exposed photograph.

  Something told Jim not to go any farther.

  He did, anyway.

  Reaching out, he put his imaginary finger on the imaginary forehead of the primary DelVecchio -

  The moment contact was made, a live-wire jolt shot into him, stopping his heart and jerking his body. Then, as if he were a tuning fork, a reverberation took root - and took over. Beginning with the fingertip and vibrating down his hand and his wrist and his arm, what started as a subtle tremor became so violent, he literally shook apart . . . until there were two fingertips, two hands, two wrists, two arms, with him going between the extremes like a flag ripping back and forth in a gale-force wind.

  He was vaguely aware of someone yelling his name, but there was no chance of responding. He was in a fight for his immortal life, the blurring threatening to destroy him - and he was just about to lose his grip on himself completely when the DelVecchios separated until they were distinct identities linked together only at the hips and lower body.

  The one on the right was smiling, and it was not the detective. It was the older DelVecchio from the newspaper article, the one with the stained soul and the evil acts.

  The son of a bitch was loving this destruction.

  Fucking hell . . . Jim had a terrible feeling he was not walking away from this.

  Adrian knew the shit was going to hit the fan the instant Jim's hands started to vibrate around the badge.

  Not normal.

  And then streaming black smoke curled up out of the cupped link of Jim's palms, coalescing and then encasing the angel's grip on DelVecchio's shield. The shaking started as nothing more than a slow back-and-forth, but quickly that motion evolved into a violent rattling until the badge dropped out of Jim's hold, and bounced on the short-napped carpet.

  For a split second, he thought that was going to stop it, but the smoke no longer needed the external source: Jim's own hands and arms had become the base from which the quaking infection sprouted. >

  "If it gets to his heart, we've lost him," Eddie ground out.

  Which was the cue to get moving. Adrian and his best friend leaped up at the same time and went in opposite directions. As Eddie gunned for the connector to their room, Ad jumped on the bed behind Jim. Bracing himself, he knelt down and locked his arms around that big chest, positioning the grip as high as possible, to form a physical barrier against the onslaught.

  He knew the moment the tide hit him - icy cold wafted across his skin, so frigid it registered as a burn. Opening himself up, he gave the rush a different area to contaminate, offering another target . . . even if it meant sacrificing himself.

  But the shit wasn't interested in him; he was barely a speed bump as the tremors headed downward for Jim's pecs.

  The saving grace they needed was that solution of lemon, white vinegar, hydrogen peroxide, and witch hazel, and good thing Eddie was always prepared. He came flying in from their room with a bucketful of the stuff, moving so fast it sloshed out, splashing his leathers and his World Wildlife Foundation T-shirt.

  The angel swung back and then hit them with a splash, soaking their upper bodies along with the bed. And then it was cue the evac: with an ear-numbing screech, the evil took off in rush, leaving only a stinky smolder that wafted off Jim's wet head and chest. In the wake of the departure, the savior collapsed forward, going so limp the only thing that kept him on the bed was the hold around his torso.

  "Easy there," Ad muttered, as he lay the guy out flat.

  Jim opened his eyes and blinked like he wasn't sure what he was seeing.

  "It's the ceiling," Ad provided. "How you doing?"

  "I didn't get . . . any intel . . . from Veck. "

  "And guess what - you're not trying again. "

  "What the hell . . . was that? I feel like I've been in a turbine. "

  Eddie sat down next to them, settling Dog on his lap. "Devina's already in DelVecchio at a very deep level. "

  "Goddamn it . . . can she not cheat? Just for once. " Jim fingertipped the front of his wet shirt, pulling the second skin free of his chest. "And shit, I feel polluted. "

  Adrian went to the bathroom and grabbed some towels. When he came back, he draped one over Jim and did a little work on his own head.

  He didn't mind a hard fight, as long as it was a fair one - and this business with Devina going outside the rules was getting ridiculous. Meanwhile, Jim had all but sold himself to that demon for information, and to top it off? Nigel, their coach, didn't seem in a big hurry to throw a protest upstairs.

  The whole thing sucked ass.

  Reaching down, he snagged the badge and shoved it in his pocket. When Jim looked like he was going to protest, it was a case of whatever-buddy: "Sorry. You're going to need some time before the stank is fully out of you. Touch this now? We're going to have the same problem all over again, only worse. " He pointed his finger right into Eddie's face. "And fuck. You. "

  'Cause it was obvious there was going to be a round of no-you-don'ts from the angel.

  "I'm just going to take the badge back. " Kinda. "DelVecchio wakes up with it go and he's going to feel like he's losing more of his mind. You want that? Good. Glad you agree. "

  Before either one of them could tune up again, he went into his and Eddie's room, and stripped down - with a struggle. Leathers were tough to get off in the first place, but with the lemony wash? Like frickin' glue.

  "Swear to me," Eddie said from the doorway, "that you will not touch him. In any way. "

  Adrian pulled on a fresh pair of fatigues and snagged the badge from his other pants. "Swear to God. "

  The sound of someone trying to cough his liver up was exactly the conversation ender they needed. Jim was in for a hell of a ride, and althou
gh Eddie didn't look like nursemaid material, the bastard was great at it - something Ad had learned firsthand.

  "I'll be back before you know I'm gone. " Adrian smiled. "Trust me. "

  Eddie just rolled his eyes and went back into the other room, no doubt to hold a wastepaper basket under Jim's heaving.

  In the blink of an eye, Adrian was on the front lawn of DelVecchio's little slice of home-sweet-home. The wind had come up and was blowing from the north, and the cold, crystal-clear Canadian air that came from over the border tingled in his sinuses.

  No reason to knock. He just shifted himself into the living room, where DelVecchio was still asleep on the couch.

  Placing the badge on the floor next to the guy's gun and holster, Adrian knelt down and reached out a hand. Passing his palm over DelVecchio's face, he lulled the man into an even deeper sleep, soothing the poor bastard.

  The resulting trance revealed the truth: unfettered by consciousness, the extent of Devina's possession was obvious: she was all over every inch of him.

  They might be too late already, Ad thought as he started to circle his hand over the guy's head.

  "Hey, my man," he whispered. "I want you to go back to last night. Into the woods. Go back to the woods. Into the woods by the motel. In and among the pine trees. You've parked that bike - which, P. S. , would it kill you to go old-school? A Beamer? Really? You might as well be straddling a Cuisinart. " When DelVecchio's brows twitched, Ad figured a debate on motorcycles could wait. "You've parked that Eurotrash POS and you're walking through the forest. You're looking for Kroner. You're waiting for Kroner. Tell me what you're doing. "

  Ad kept up with circling. "Talk to me. What are you doing - "

  "I'm going . . . to kill him. "

  The words were soft and spoken through a mouth that barely moved.

  "With what," Ad prompted. "Tell me everything, buddy. "

  "My . . . knife. I have . . . my knife with me and I'm . . . waiting. . . . " DelVecchio frowned again, but this time it seemed more like he was staring off into the distance even though his eyes were closed. "I know he's going to show. "

  "And when he does - what do you do?"

  While Ad waited for the answer, he prayed for a miracle. He'd seen the report on the news so he knew that someone had done a serious number on that Kroner character. If somehow it could be anyone other than Veck, at least they'd be headed in a better direction.

  "I palm my blae . . . and I step forward. I'm . . . going to kill him. With my knife. " The guy's right hand twitched at his thigh, then formed a fist as if gripping a dagger. "I'm going to - There's someone else here. "

  DelVecchio held his breath and didn't move at all on the couch, just as he must have done out in the woods.

  "Who. " When there was no reply, Adrian wanted to shake the guy's box of marbles to clear up the cognitive jam, but instead just continued circling his palm. "Who is it?"

  DelVecchio seemed to struggle at that point, shaking his head from side to side and wincing. His hand crawled up his chest and rubbed his temple. "I can't . . . remember . . . "

  Someone's been inside his chrome dome already, Adrian thought. Patching over the memories.

  Fucking hell. There was only one species on the planet that could do that - and was also capable of tearing a human male apart with its teeth -

  "Vampire. "

  As the word came out of DelVecchio's piehole, Adrian cursed. Yup, great. Just what they needed at this already crowded party.

  With the way things were going, who was next? The Easter Bunny and the Tooth-frickin'-Fairy?

  Nah, not their luck. More like Wolfman Jack and the Mummy.