by Harley James
Alroy Ashby swallowed her in one of the hugs that had steadied her through all of life’s ups and downs. She pulled away first because the shadows in his eyes made her heart kick.
Something was wrong, and it wasn’t about her indiscretion at Inferno last night. She’d snatched her parents’ San Francisco Chronicle sixty seconds after their paperboy flung it on the driveway. When she’d nervously opened to the lifestyle section, she was relieved to see absolutely nothing about last night. “Dad?”
“Can we go upstairs?”
Oh God. “Okay.”
The girls returned to their stations quietly. As Sydney mounted the stairs ahead of her father, she couldn’t stand not knowing.
“Joaquin?”
The second youngest of her eight siblings, Joaquin had an immune disorder that had been well-managed with new experimental drugs he’d been taking for the last year.
“He’s fine,” he whispered.
“Mom and the others?”
“Healthy.”
Sydney exhaled heavily. As long as her family was okay, she could and would deal with any other problem that landed on their shoulders.
Upstairs in her office, Alroy walked to the window to look down on the parking lot. He usually entered and plopped down on the butter-soft, black leather sofa she’d bought brand new the day after she’d purchased all the second-hand furniture for her duplex. When he continued to remain silent, her hands grew clammy. “What happened?”
His head bowed and his shoulders began to shake. Her pulse skyrocketed. She walked over to him and put a hand on his back. “Dad, tell me.”
He lifted his blood-shot gaze. “I was fired, baby, and now I can’t take care of my family. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“How?” It was inconceivable. Dad had worked at the glass manufacturing plant all of her life.
“My supervisor baited me with racial slurs about our family of ‘mutts’ and ‘misfits.’ He’s been laying it out there for months. I finally lost the rag, Syd.”
Oh no. “What did you do?”
Alroy brushed the fingers of one hand over the scraped knuckles of his other. Sydney shook her head. “Oh, damn. You hit him?”
Not good. Especially when Alroy had been an amateur boxer in Dublin before he and Clara had immigrated to California two years before she was born. Compound that with the fact that the owner who’d doted on him like a son had retired six months ago and sold the company to an asshole who played poker with the supervisor dad had clubbed.
Bad news all around.
Sydney’s mind spun. Her hands went to her cheeks. “Did you kill him?”
“Get off the stage, girl! I did no such thing.” His frown melted into worry once more. “But I lost me job.”
Thank you, God, for not-so-small favors. Her hands settle back down to her sides. Job hunting was acceptable. Manslaughter was not. “Okay, well, we’ll just have to get your resume in order. Laura can help. She’s good at stuff like that.”
“Joaquin’s medicine...I won’t be able to pay for it.” His voice was hoarse.
Sydney was already thinking about which companies he could apply to. He was over fifty, but he looked much younger, and he’d be great in an interview. “You should have Cobra health insurance for eighteen months or something like that.”
“I won’t qualify since I was fired for gross misconduct. Och, how am I going to tell your mother?”
Sydney’s gut fell. Joaquin’s medicine was expensive, but Alroy’s insurance had been so good, her parents only had to pay fifty dollars a week.
Now what?
Joaquin was doing well, his disorder so controlled he was finally able to go out with friends, do most of the normal things fifteen-year-olds did.
She couldn’t let him be without such life-changing medicine. Her father started to pace. She glanced at her desk, her gaze falling on the blueprints for her building expansion that had been in the works for the last eight months. After getting approval from her landlord, she’d skimped and saved, diverting all profits from the business into savings to fund this expansion which represented Torque’s bright future.
She had so many plans for the extra space. Classrooms for automotive community classes. Exercise and lounge room for her staff. Two more car hoists to expand operations that would help build toward her larger goal of purchasing this building from her landlord.
She finally had the money for phase one. The contractor was due to meet with her for final approvals next week.
She looked up at her father’s slumped shoulders and thought of the feather in her purse that she still hadn’t had the time to give to Joaquin. It was beautiful, but it wouldn’t mitigate the suffering her brother would experience when he was no longer taking his medicine.
She took the blueprints and put them in the bottom desk drawer with a sinking heart. Setbacks are temporary. She walked over to the comfy leather sofa and patted the seat, willing her lips not to tremble with the big ball of hurt congealing in her chest. “Come here, Dad. Everything’s going to be alright. I have a plan.”
Chapter 6
Father Angus bellowed when the possessed woman’s teeth sank into the corded muscle of his forearm. The priest’s blood dripped down the woman’s chin, splattering onto the office’s wooden floor before Spencer brought up his hand to send a laser-stream of fire to slice across the woman’s hairline. Her skin melted, blonde hairs burning with a putrid smell that made human mixologist Shadow Barnes fist her hands in her magnificent afro and run from the room, gagging.
Pepper pursed her lips, clamping down on Father Angus’s arm to stop the bleeding and pull him from the Devil’s Trap. She glared at Spencer. “Must you be so barbaric?”
“It was effective, was it not? Our fearless priest still has his limb.” Spencer scowled at the writhing Possessed who was now alone, but laughing maniacally inside the Devil’s Trap.
Spencer turned to the tall Samoan who’d appeared in the doorway. “Atamu, fetch the first aid kit. We wouldn’t want Father Angus to get rabies from this muppet.” The pulsating beat from the club’s high-end speakers muted as the office door closed behind Atamu.
Another twenty-four hours had passed, and they were still no closer to figuring out why the exorcism rite wasn’t working.
“Baal’s going to rip everything you love to pieces!” The woman looked like a soccer mom. Harmlessly suburban. Until she pierced you with the rancor in her eyes.
“Goddamned demons,” Pepper muttered. “If she laughs one more time….”
Now who’s out for blood? Spencer thought, but decided to pick his battles with his prickly head of security.
He cocked his head at Crazed Soccer Mom. “Unfortunately, I don’t love anything. Your maggot-riddled liege will just have to live with the disappointment.” He kept his tone mild—the more to aggravate the demon—but he was restless. He’d yet to pick up where he and Sydney had left off the night before.
Visions of her coming undone in his arms on the dancefloor had made for a night that had ended in a long, cold shower.
“Baal will find your weakness.” Spittle and the priest’s blood flew from Soccer Mom’s mouth. “Everyone has them. Especially those who say they don’t.”
Was Sydney enough of a weakness for Baal to exploit? Certainly not. She did amazing things to his senses, but when the amplio wore off he’d be back to square one.
Uninterested in anyone or anything.
Perhaps by the next time he saw her, it would already be a thing of the past.
Nevertheless, he’d have to be careful so Baal didn’t find out about her.
Soccer Mom’s neck arched, her mouth dropping open on a scream that should have hurt like hell to release. Spencer’s fingers itched to spew fire. A physical sensation that was independent of his mental apathy. It was as though his Guardian element was on auto-pilot, ready to continue the fight, but his will had tapped out.
Thing was, this sack of ass never ended. Instead, it only seemed t
o get worse. Were the Guardians going away—elementals like him who’d decided the endless fight wasn’t worth salvation?
They were losing the war.
Nate had always counseled him to pay more attention to the underground news. Once upon a time, he had. But a lot of things had been going by the wayside in the last few years.
When Atamu returned and finished bandaging Father Angus’s arm, the white-haired priest wiped the blood off his Bible and approached the Devil’s Trap. Pepper and two members of security had used holy water to get Soccer Mom’s wrists and ankles into iron shackles soldered into the floor.
Atamu looked questioningly at Spencer before heading back out to the club where dancers and party-goers were well on their way to their next bad decision.
Father Angus laid a crucifix on top of his bible. “Evil one, you will not win. You underestimate the power of light.”
Soccer Mom snorted. “Light you say? Stick-up-his-ass-guy’s soul is black. If you can’t see the darkness in your midst, you’re even more damned than I.”
Pepper looked at Spencer as a knock came at the door. “I will be the first to admit I am partial to black,” he said, approaching the door. He pulled it open to find Shadow with a false smile and taut skin around her eyes. The hairs on the back of his neck rose in apprehension. “What catastrophe is upon us now?”
Shadow leaned forward. “She’s here,” she whispered.
“She,” he repeated, though his sudden racing pulse told him who it must be.
Shadow’s dimple peeped out as she pressed her lips together like she was pondering how to respond. “The one you, ah…sent the flowers to.”
Pepper snorted. “Nice save, Barnes.”
“Where have you tucked the lovely Ms. Ashby?”
“She’s waiting in the tech command office downstairs. Want me to tell her you’re busy?”
“No,” he said a little too fast. He took a moment to straighten his tie before continuing. “Give me five minutes. I shall escort this problem demon into the purging room with the others. Then I’ll come for Sydney.” As unpleasant as it would be to move Soccer Mom—there was no way he was letting her stay one more minute in his office and Father Angus would never let him release her back into the city—the thought of seeing Sydney filled him with pleasure.
He got it done in record time and only suffered a broken arm and punctured lungs in the process. He moved down the hallway slowly to give his body time to heal before he reached Inferno’s tech hub. His gut did an unfamiliar flutter as he stood outside the door. When he opened it, it was like an artist had top-loaded all his paint bottles with dynamite, which detonated simultaneously as soon as Spencer’s gaze landed on Sydney.
Color everywhere. So bright it hurt his eyes.
And in the middle of it all, Ms. Ashby in ass-hugging denim and a tie-dye t-shirt displaying the most beautiful amalgamation of colors he’d ever seen in all his centuries across the globe.
She stood up and moved toward him like water flowing over river rocks. Effortless. Her lips were moving. Her finely-shaped, light auburn brows pulled down in distress or...
Annoyance?
Her finger came up to point at him. Definitely annoyance.
“There’s something afoot, Spencer. I can feel it in the ether.” Pepper’s voice filtered through his head.
A slight vibration under his feet that was more than the DJ’s music. Spencer frowned, trying to piece it all together.
“...look like a tramp in front of my staff.”
What? He refocused on the dazzling, pissed off female before him. “I do apologize. I never meant to cause you—”
A fizzle pinpricked his fire element.
Something’s terribly wrong.
He lunged for Sydney as the building shuddered. The blast seemed to go on forever, reverberating through the walls, across the floors, rattling wire shelving, fritzing out the dozen computer screens throughout the room, and extinguishing the lights.
Spencer hunched over Sydney, chunks of drywall and ceiling tile raining down on his back. People were screaming in the hallway and out by the bar. The emergency generators kicked on, lighting the chaos.
When Sydney shifted beneath him, he sat back on his haunches to give her room. She twisted around to sit on her butt, looking around as the sheetrock dust continued to settle.
He did a quick scan of her body, then her face. “Are you alright?”
She nodded, lips parted, mutely handing him his broken spectacles.
He tossed the glasses in the rubble heap and ran his hand down her dusty hair. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Earthquake or bomb?” she asked.
Rephaim, likely. “Remain here whilst I investigate.” But she followed him as he got to his feet. He frowned at her. “I really must insist that you stay here.”
Sydney frowned right back. “No. I need to check on my family and the shop.”
“I’ll arrange to have someone do that for you. You’ll be safe here.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “If that was a bomb, I wouldn’t exactly say this place is safe. And besides, I don’t do the helpless female thing.” She pushed beyond him, moving toward the door, skirting fallen chairs.
He sputtered for a moment, face heating in disbelief at being so summarily disobeyed. He caught up to her, scooping an arm around her waist. “You are being imprudent, madam!”
“And you are being a controlling asshole!” she hollered, struggling against his hold, twisting this way and that, though it was futile against his superior strength.
“I’m happy to be a blackguard if you cannot be sensible.” A waft of apple blossoms from her soft hair dispelled some of his aggression. He exhaled roughly, loosening his hold a bit.
Pepper reached out telepathically, asking for help on the dancefloor beneath the second-floor balcony and planting images of wide-eyed, staggering club-goers being hustled out of the hallway by members of security. Dozens of patrons had apparently tumbled in the explosion. There would likely be many casualties from this latest rephaim enterprise.
Sydney swiveled in his grasp, her eyes dark with anger. “Let go of me!”
Spencer gritted his teeth, striving for calm. How could this five-foot-five-inch slip of a thing make him lose his cool in such an undignified manner? “If I relinquish your arm, will you be reasonable?”
Sydney’s eyes narrowed, sending a sliver of alarm up Spencer’s spine. Ridiculous.
“Reasonable?”
“No cause to be shrill. If it was an earthquake, this building meets all current safety codes. And if it was a bomb, it wasn’t on the premises. Full body scans at both entrances ensure a safe environment for every— Ooof!” He bent violently at the waist as her knee connected with his groin. He shook his head, trying to dispel the stars bursting in his vision and the nausea churning in his gut as she fled the room.
“Dammit, Sydney!” he bellowed after her like a common gob shite.
He breathed through the pain, sending the flaming nerve impulses straight into his fire element, feeding the energy, bulldozing through the club until he’d caught up to Sydney as she passed the secondary bar close to the club’s entrance.
Because damned if he’d be all talk and no trousers.
He. Would. Keep. Her. Safe.
He reached for her belt loop. Her arm started to swing wide until he captured it in a bear hug against his body. Breathlessly, he hustled her backwards to the wall next to the potted ficus tree, bringing one of his palms to her flushed cheek. “Somnus!”
“Wha—” She blinked at him, those furious blue eyes clouding until the lids fluttered, then dropped. She sagged in his arms.
Good God.
He closed his eyes on a long blink. What he’d intended as a smooth seduction had turned into a transcendent disaster.
He cradled her body and streamed at molecular speed to his upstairs quarters where he laid her on his bed, adding another sleep command when he felt her consciousness rise. Cr
ikey. How could she fight his power like that? It was unprecedented.
He scowled at her for a lingering moment before adding one last sleep command. Outside the door, he layered three of the heaviest protection wards he knew. Massive overkill by normal standards. Katherine would flay his male ego and serve the bloodied strips as hors d’oeuvres if she ever learned of such folly.
Still, he nearly added a fourth ward.
Right. Now, he’d see what had hit the fan, fix it, and get back to Sydney before she awoke. Otherwise, there’d be some explaining to do.
And he wasn’t an explaining kind of guy.
Chapter 7
Sydney rubbed her temple as she drove into her parents’ neighborhood. She hadn’t had a headache this bad since her ex-boyfriend had humiliated her with his ‘popsicle-fucking’ comment at the Mercedes Benz dealership where she’d been an apprentice technician.
Sure would be nice to be respected by a man not related to or employed by her. Would be nice to remember what had happened last night after the bank bombing, too.
The last thing she remembered was Spencer shielding her from falling debris. The next thing she knew, she’d woken up in her own bed during the middle of the night, feeling fuzzy and slightly ill. She thought it might have been a dream, but when she checked the local news, they were covering the bombing.
How did she get home? Should she ask Spencer about it, or just let it go?
Curiosity killed the cat, Syd. So they said.
Whoever they were.
Carry on. She needed to put the whole Inferno interlude out of her mind and focus on the big picture things: Joaquin’s medicine, dad’s unemployment, and how long it would take to re-fund her expansion plans.
The entire east side of her parent’s block was filled with vehicles belonging to her siblings and her siblings’ friends, so Sydney reversed in a neighbor’s driveway to park on the opposite side of the street. When she leaned over to get her purse off the passenger side floor, she smiled, anticipating Joaquin’s surprise when he saw the beautiful feather she’d found on Baker Beach.
