Two brunette women sat chained to a wall, mascara running down their faces, their hair tangled and greasy. They squealed in unison, flinching at the sudden light. One wore only panties and broken heels, but the other was covered in what had once been a cocktail dress, now ripped and shredded, tossed over her like a dirty blanket. My vision flashed red with rage as I realized that the wolves had done much, much worse than simple murder.
They both had savage bite marks and bruises on their forearms and biceps, belying the fact that the werewolves had managed to infect them – or at least had attempted to do so. Only time would tell if they were successful. Sometimes it didn’t work, depending on the victim’s antibodies.
I locked eyes with Roland, and gave him a brief, approving nod at his level of violence. It had been warranted, even though he hadn’t known that ahead of time. He gave me a grim nod back.
Then we were kneeling over the women, speaking softly to them, but they only whimpered, keeping their eyes downcast and not answering us. Roland finally sighed and waved a hand before them, a tracery of magic settling over them like a silk blanket before disappearing. They passed out in an instant, going limp. Roland used a quick slash of air to slice the chains and then picked up the young woman with the cocktail dress without any noticeable effort.
“Check outside,” he said, staring sadly at the sleeping victim in his arms.
I nodded, climbing to my feet ahead of him to look out the windows. I flipped the sign to closed as I scanned the streets. They were still clear. I walked up to Roland and tugged the hood of his light jacket up just in case. He grunted and exited the building, carefully laying the woman into the back of the pickup truck, and then waving a hand over her. She disappeared from view, hidden by an illusion spell. Good thinking, on his part. A few minutes later he had both women concealed in the bed of my truck.
He walked back inside and glanced down at the two dead werewolves, who were now naked in their human forms. Dozens of strips of clothing covered the floor from where they had shifted, destroying their clothes.
“A dog toy,” I said conversationally.
“Anything can be a weapon,” he muttered with a wry grin. “Like a pot of coffee.”
I smirked. “A walker and a dog toy. You’re like the Holy MacGyver. But way older.”
He didn’t even look at me as he rasped, “Get off my lawn.”
I chuckled, staring down at the pieces of the walker. I could see where they had been magically sliced to break into batons. Light, fast, subtle magic. Then again, the wolves hadn’t been that experienced. Or else we would have had a much harder fight on our hands.
Just a couple of punk rapists.
“You… took that kind of personal. Up close…” I said softly. I waited a beat, but he didn’t respond. “All joking aside, you sure you’re okay? I mean, if I would have seen what they did to the girls, first, I would have been there right with you, but…” I trailed off, careful not to sound judgmental, because I wasn’t. But he had come down on them like a force of nature, before he knew the depths of their depravity.
He was silent for a few moments before he looked up at me meaningfully. “You could say I have a soft spot in my heart when it comes to missing girls.”
And a very warm smile split my cheeks. I nodded back. It was how we had met, after all. “So, hypothetically,” I began, “if there was a boy I liked, you’d want to meet him first…” I teased.
“Whether you like it or not, I’ll be having a private talk with him about ground rules.” An accusing look crossed his features, not so subtly asking if I had something to tell him – a boy in my life. I waved a hand at him dismissively, crouching down on my heels to assess the body, anger roaring back up as his nakedness reminded me of what he had done to his captives.
“Now what? Burn them?” I glanced back at the pudgy one. “Put them on display with some genital mutilation?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly. This was beyond a crime in my eyes. Taking advantage of another person was the worst thing you could do. Period. Especially when the captors had oh so bravely shackled up their victims, removing even the illusion of a chance at escape.
Roland smirked at my comment, but waved his hand without preamble. A Gateway appeared a foot away from the scrawny werewolf. It revealed a frozen wilderness, and the sudden chill air blasted my face like a grocery store’s entrance. A heartbeat later, another slash opened in the air on the opposite side of the body, and I squawked, scrambling away as a wall of water burst into the room from the second Gateway, hammering into the body and splashing me with dark green water.
The water picked up the body, shoving it through the first Gateway and into the frozen woods, washing away the blood on the floor and sending the majority of the mess through the opening. Then the water stopped as he closed the second Gateway, and I saw him grinning at me. I stared at him in disbelief. That was actually… very clever.
I shivered at the frigid breeze, my partially wet shirt feeling like ice. “You’re going to make me rip my shirt,” I said, glancing down at my chest, and my very prominent biological temperature indicators.
Roland frowned, following my eyes, and then instantly blushed. “Not funny, Callie,” he growled, instantly averting his eyes.
I rubbed my arms together, smiling lightly. “Boobs,” I said, just to drive home the… point. His face almost purpled. “Payback for getting me wet,” I said.
He cast a thread of bluish magic toward the second body, and I watched as the cord of power latched onto the werewolf’s cankles and then whipped the body through the opening as if tossing out the trash. Roland brushed off his hands and scanned the floor appraisingly. He pointed a finger at a smear of blood the water had missed, ignoring the scraps of clothing here and there.
I spotted a roll of paper towels on the counter and scooped it up. I tore off a wad and crouched down to wipe up the small splash of blood. Seeing no more, I wadded up the evidence and tossed it at the bodies of the two naked rapists in the frozen tundra, but the Gateway winked out of existence right before contact. I glared at Roland as the wad of paper fell to the ground.
He folded his arms and shook his head. “We don’t litter.”
My eyes widened in disbelief. “But body-dumping is cool?”
He just watched me and then pointed at a trash can.
“Why the hell would I throw evidence of blood into the trashcan?” I argued in surprise.
“Because it’s a very small amount of blood, as if a baker had cut himself. And there’s already evidence of criminal activity here. Manacles and chains in the storage room. It would be strange if there wasn’t sign of a struggle.” He waved a hand at the strips of torn fabric in the room unconcernedly. “It will give the police something to do while we take care of the girls. And,” he added with a dark look, “it will serve as a subtle message to the third wolf.”
My face flashed with embarrassment, but not a flicker of accusation touched his face. “He was long gone.”
He nodded. “I know, Callie. Or else you wouldn’t be here right now,” he said, shooting me a proud look. Inwardly, I smiled at that. It was a compliment.
I angrily picked up the paper towel, tossing it into an open trash can.
“Let’s head back to the church. We need to figure out what to do with the girls. In case they change,” he growled, sounding frustrated at the thought of them turning. But I knew he was also furious at the thought of a third rapist running free to potentially do more damage.
I cringed. Sure, we had saved the girls, but their lives were forever changed. Now, we needed to find them a pack. Because we couldn’t turn them loose as they were, or else they might end up just like the two we had just killed. Feral.
“I’ve got something important to do first,” I whispered, feeling guilty.
He blinked, rounding on me with his impressively wide shoulders. “Something more important than taking care of two rape victims?” he asked in a heated tone.
“No, it’s… Claire,�
�� I said, turning pleading eyes on him. “She’s been out of it since…” I waved a hand, and although I knew he understood, it wasn’t a priority for him right now with two women lying in the bed of my truck.
A demon named Johnathan had attacked Kansas City a few weeks ago. Claire survived a mild tussle with some punks outside her house in the chaos, but two things had hit her very hard. One, I had come very close to death. Two, the guy she had been flirting back and forth with hadn’t been so lucky. We hadn’t known he was a Nephilim – the offspring of an Angel and a human – at the time, and the two of them had grown close. Whether Gabriel’s interest in Claire had been authentic, or if he had used her affection as a way to keep tabs on me, we would never know. And Claire had been reclusive ever since. Probably for both reasons. He had died, and he hadn’t told her the truth about him being a Nephilim sent to watch over me.
“Surely that can wait an hour,” Roland said.
“No,” I argued, shaking my head. “It really can’t. I’ve tried meeting with her a dozen times and she always cancels. I’ve heard every excuse imaginable. I haven’t seen her in well over a week.” I’d spent about a week in the hotel room after I killed Johnathan. Claire had stuck around for a few days, checking up on me to make sure I was alright – and to take advantage of the swanky hotel – but I had seen the shadows in her eyes. Grief. I hadn’t seen her since I left the hotel.
“Callie—”
I shook my head, holding up a hand to stop his argument. “I won’t be long. This is very important, Roland. Thirty minutes, tops.”
“At least help me see to the women first—”
I tossed him my keys, interrupting him. He caught them instinctively as I said, “Remember that time when—” And I was suddenly gone, Shadow Walking to a partially-enclosed parking lot behind a coffee shop near my apartment. I let out a deep, ashamed breath at my cowardly exit.
Roland was right about the victims. They would need help, supervision, and we would have to make some tough decisions concerning their future. But… Claire was my best friend, and she was hurting, whether she admitted it or not.
I felt terrible about ditching Roland, but I couldn’t risk the chance of missing Claire for coffee. Something was bothering her, and as her best friend, I needed to be there for her.
Even if she said it was nothing and that she had gotten over it.
Roland would just have to eat my ass.
I had no doubt that he would make me pay and that I would deserve it, but sometimes you just needed to pay the piper.
Chapter 3
After checking that I wasn’t covered in blood, I walked into the coffee shop. A ninety-pound pale-faced kid with ten-pound dreadlocks manned the counter, looking bored. Or stoned. Or both. But Ramsey was always nice to me.
Sometime in the last few months, he had developed an interest in spirituality and other mystical concepts: energy crystals, Tarot cards, and wands. At least, he had spent a lot of time telling me about them, as if trying to convert me to his newfound beliefs. He even had a Dark Mark tattoo on his forearm. Part of me wondered why the sudden switch, but then again, the dreads combined with his herbal aroma kind of gave me a good guess.
“Hey, Eve,” he said, teasingly. He always flirted outrageously with me, but never actually did anything. More as if he was using me for practice, which was fun. I usually scored the effectiveness of his pickup lines on a scale of one to ten to help him on his so-called quest to decimate the female population of Kansas City.
I smirked back at him, rolling my eyes. “The usual, Ramsey. The hundred-proof.”
He nodded somberly. “Black coffee brewed straight from Hell, with a dozen shots.”
I smiled and gave him a twenty-dollar-bill. “I’ll grab a turkey sandwich, too. And my friend will want something when she gets here. Smoking hot blonde. She loves dreadlocks,” I added with a wink.
He looked suddenly petrified. “Oh,” he stammered, discreetly sniffing his shirt as he readjusted it anxiously. Lock up your daughters, lock up your wives.
It looked like the women had a few more years of safety before his conquest began.
But I didn’t let him see my amusement as I scooped up a sandwich from the display case and made my way down the line to the pickup counter. The purple-haired, ever-quiet, female barista manning the espresso machine had apparently started my drink the moment I walked in, because she was sliding it forward before I even got there. Not really a dozen shots in my coffee, but more than three. She never spoke to me, just moved mechanically as if she had never been given the ability to show emotion. But she was efficient, like a good little automaton.
I smiled warmly, scooping up my coffee. “Thanks, Emily.”
She graced me with a polite nod, giving me her usual robotic smile. That was it. Maybe next time I’ll get her to speak, I thought to myself, not for the first time. I found a private couch near a vacant corner of the room in front of the window. I set my sandwich down on the table and tossed my jacket on top of it, just in case I did have some blood spatter on my back or something. I had used my phone to check my ponytail, because blood stood out on white hair, let me tell you. I stared out through the glass as the morning sun began to illuminate the streets. It looked like it was going to rain, which wouldn’t affect me since I would be Shadow Walking to the church after talking to Claire.
I let out a sigh and rolled my shoulders.
Things had been… hectic lately.
It had only been a few weeks since my encounter with Johnathan – a real bastard of a demon. He had been intent on sacrificing me in a ritual for some crime my biological parents had apparently committed. But I hadn’t known my birth parents, because they had abandoned me on the steps of Abundant Angel Catholic Church as a baby. The only mom and dad I knew were Terry and Sarah Penrose, the ones who had adopted me.
In my eyes, family was earned, not granted through blood. My mom had died of cancer years back, but I was still incredibly close with my dad. He was currently in Chicago for some horror movie convention, of all things. Splatter-something or other.
Since my father had never expressed interest in such movies, I could only imagine that he was courting a new woman, which made me smile. Although thinking of him with another woman hurt me on some deep level, it hurt more to think about him growing old, all alone.
We only get one life, people, and I wouldn’t dream of ever holding someone back from a chance at love. I was pretty sure my mother would agree with me, shouting him on from Heaven, encouraging him to go out and conquer – to vanquish new prey. Sure, she would be a judgmental cheerleader, critiquing the woman’s clothing, career choices, and makeup, but in the end, we both wanted that stubborn man to be happy.
But finding out that my biological father had been a Nephilim, and that my birth mother had been a wizard named Constance, had been what many would call a shocker. Apparently, demons had been fruitlessly searching for me for a very long time, until Johnathan struck gold. A traitor at the Vatican had given me up, and paired with what Johnathan had already known about me, it was enough for him to find me. He had then used an elaborate scheme to draw me out of hiding by stealing the Spear of Longinus – the one that stabbed Jesus on the Cross – and setting me up as an enemy of almost every freak in Kansas City. Hell, the local werewolf pack had chosen to leave town rather than stand up to him, and they hadn’t decided to return yet.
I had managed to kill Johnathan, but the Spear went missing.
But there were a lot of hazy parts about that night. A silver droplet of blood inside a feather had infused me with an alien power, and everyone seemed to agree that it belonged to an Angel.
But was that specific Angel dead? Or was he alive and looking for the punk wizard who had tapped into his blood? Was an army of Angels or Nephilim currently hunting me down to take that stolen power back? Because the word on the street was that the Nephilim were like the Navy Seal Team for the God Squad. And Shepherds – twelve holy hunters for the Vatican that wand
ered the earth slaying monsters, demons, and generally pissing off bad guys – were just the regular grunts.
Like Roland Haviar.
But I didn’t want to be a Shepherd like Roland. Or a Nephilim. Firstly, because I didn’t want my life to be dictated by others – a group of people with the authority to command me to kill, and then force me to obey. I was a fan of neither authority nor command.
Secondly, because ironically, I didn’t want any strings tying me to the church. Especially not strings tied to something as all-encompassing as the Vatican. And definitely not after learning one of their employees had given me up. I had met Roland through sheer luck when he saved Claire and me from a gang of vampires as teens. He had seen me use magic for the first time, and had taken me under his wing to teach me how to control my powers.
He had chosen Abundant Angel Catholic Church as his home base while in Kansas City – the same church that had found me as a child, still run by the same man, Father David. I wasn’t a fan of coincidences, but I had found no proof of any other explanation, and I had tried, being a naturally skeptic little shit.
So, the big question was what was I? A wizard, something else, or several somethings?
I still had no answers.
The demon situation had also introduced me to Nate Temple, who had helped me out with everything. I had done quite a bit of research on the billionaire wizard from St. Louis since that time, but hadn’t spoken with him since his departure. I had seen another wizard – one without ties to the church – do some incredible things. An almost primal level of attraction had threatened to overpower me, but I had stoically kept that down, to both of our frustrations. I wasn’t sure why I had done so, but he seemed to have serious baggage in the relationship department, and I definitely wasn’t looking to get tied down.
Especially with someone as dangerous as Nate Temple.
Nate had brought a pal to my city to keep my friends safe during the chaos – Death. Thankfully, I hadn’t seen the reaper since, but he had made quite an impression on my father, letting him see the spirit of my mother, Sarah, again. I had lost count of the number of times my dad had asked to see if I would arrange a dinner with Nate and Death. I had stalled him, even screening my calls until he finally got the hint. I didn’t want to see my dad fangirling for Death, a Horseman of the Apocalypse.
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