“You’re here, aren’t you?”
This time, he looked down. “I used to lose a lot of friends that way. After a while they all started saying the same thing that I was crazy or something. They made my parents think that and the counselors at school.”
Her hands slipped from his shoulders; he missed the light weight of her touch. Evelyn dropped to a crouch in front of him, maintaining eye contact. “You’ll eventually feel the same as they did.” Daniel said with a surety that stung him inside. It was always the same.
“Who is to say who’s sane and who’s not?” Evelyn stood up, her look enigmatic. “I’ll be upstairs. If you need me, call the extension.” She nodded to the phone mounted on the wall. “get some rest,” She repeated before leaving.
***
Evelyn felt she needed sometime to process her thoughts and feelings. Alone, she wandered through the quiet building, her mind uneasy. Daniel was unstable, she was certain of that now, or as close as she dared to admitting it. He needed help, more help than perhaps she could give.
Through the elevator, she went upstairs to the training room below the office level. In the women’s side of lockers, she changed into sweats and a black sports bra. The rooms were heated against the chill, warmer than perhaps necessary, she’d have to talk to Reno about setting the thermostat. So many things to discuss...things she’d been putting off.
Quinn hadn’t been shown the massive training room yet. He was a near-perfect shot, better than she could’ve hoped for a hunter. From the dossier compiled by Julian’s studious hand, she’d seen that Quinn’s father had been an ex-military man with several tours of duty under the belt until a medical discharge was granted for some kind of injury sustained out in the field.
Those skills had translated well into his son’s benefit.
For the time being, she’d decided to avoid pressuring Quinn into advancing. He was still flighty, easily scared. Without controlling those emotions, he could easily make mistakes. Evelyn took a wooden bokken from the rack beside the inner door. In one corner, punching bags hung suspended by chains, weight-lifting gear occupied more space across the way.
Evelyn took up basic form on the rubberized mat section of the huge room. With each swing and swish of her training sword, she thought back to her childhood spent in the care of nannies. Her mother had lived a glamorous life, keeping her older daughter with her during parties while her husband worked the company to the best of his ability.
She changed into a defensive stance.
It was at her father’s funeral...
Good sweat beaded on her skin, bare arms begun to ache with strain.
That they -
The floor shook; Evelyn stopped mid-cut, her eyes darting to the side where the window pane rattled behind sealed blinds. “What the - ” then, she flew backward. The floor had buckled, rolling in cascades of concrete and bent steel, steel that bent beneath a crushing force. Landing hard on her back in a flat spraddle, sprays of rock battered her arms and legs. Evelyn flipped over, covering her head from the worst hits.
The ceiling erupted in a shower of tiles. Blinking through the choking dust, she cautiously looked upward, searching for the cause of the destruction. A flash of something blighted her vision, disappearing through the fissure splitting the floor and ceiling. Just a flash - so fast her mind could barely comprehend what she’d seen.
Then, as if a spell had been broken, she ran to the edge of the giant fissure splitting the training room’s floor in half. Below, through the jagged edges, she could see the torn up lower level. Shattered glass littered the floor, sofa cushions were ripped apart, stuffing scattered like spilled guts. She tilted her head up, regarding the damage mirrored on the floor above her.
The seals, the impenetrable wards woven into the very fabric of the Tower, had been irrevocably shattered.
This can’t be happening.
She cast a thought to her manner of dress then decided there were more pressing things to worry over. Grabbing a green-hilted katana from the wall of the bokken training swords, Evelyn ran for the stairs. Time seemed interminable for her, winding up seven flights to the door opening into the corridor of her private office. Ms. Dupri was nowhere in sight.
Barely pausing to unlock the next door, Evelyn reached the last set of stairs, climbing past the fortieth level. Her blond hair had fallen from her messy ponytail, the strands sticking to her gummy skin slick with sweat and concrete dust. She emerged in the covered dark twilight of late night, dusk wasn’t far on the heels of a vibrant purple-streaked sky visible above the dome.
“Stop! Stop where you are!” Evelyn shouted, glaring in the wake of the darkly shrouded being sweeping toward the edge of the railing. At the sound of her shrill voice, a responding sweep of energy washed over the dome. She heard the crackling sound of a million fractures spreading across leaden panes, bracing her body, she charged forward, opening fire.
Glass fell in sheets around her, the largest pieces exploded into millions of fragments from the bursts of gunfire. One Magnum round surged past the barrier of twisting metal and ruined framework. She reloaded in seconds, pulling the cartridge from her belt.
The bullet tore into winged flesh.
Remnants of the glass rain struck her. Arms cut shallowly, bled thin red trails down her fair skin. She ignored the pain and raised the Magnum revolver. “I am the hunter of dark creatures, Evelyn Cecilia Blackwood. State your purpose for setting foot on this consecrated ground!”
A low noise of discontent rattled from a throat she could not see.
“Daughter of Eve, my grief does not lie with you.” Its voice was a low growl, neither distinguishable between male or female.
Eve. Few had called her that once.
Someone stirred in the tattered folds of the creature’s trailing cloak.
“Mine does.” Evelyn grimly said, squeezing the trigger. In the seconds it took for her arms to recover from the violent jerk of the handgun; the bullet had been flung back, pinging uselessly against the pitted concrete floor. A blast of pure heat washed over her, superheating the metal in her gloved hands. Evelyn threw the gun aside in surprise. The revolver skidded across the rooftop, the metal smelting into itself.
“What are you?” She demanded recovering, reaching for the scabbard slung over her shoulder.
“What I am does not concern you, daughter of Eve.”
“Like Hell it doesn’t!” Her eyes went from the glinting tang to the warm tingle of power embedded in its core, challengingly lifting to the inhuman form. A saint relic...a Holy relic. Saint Valeria’s sword. The weapon was imbued with the strength of a martyr, it wouldn’t shatter against a creature of darkness...nor light.
“Eve-”
“Go to Hell.” She snapped, sweeping in with a low strike. The creature parried back, thrusting its human burden forward. Evelyn thanked her quick reflexes, leaping aside. Daniel landed hard, unconscious. A fringe of dyed blond hair flopped onto his brow. He was otherwise unharmed.
The katana in her hands leapt with her as a flash of light, laying bear the arm of rippling muscle. Leather and cloth ripped with each slash. Glass cracked and crunched beneath her quick footwork, evading the vicious lunges and swipes by the cloaked figure. “Tell me who you are!” She bit off, sidestepping the blackened ochre drenched slash. The ground sizzled, the spatters eating away at the concrete where they fell.
Not eaten. She saw amazed. Burned.
“Who are you?!” She shouted, ducking, twisting her body like a dancer. The creature contented itself in silence and burning eyes like two pinpricks of blue flame. Angered, Evelyn danced away from the edge of the railing, answers she could live without for now. Sometimes answers complicated things. She didn’t need much to understand the creature was after Hurain. Whether to send him to his death from the top of the Tower heights or take him to some distant place, was impossible to know.
Evelyn placed herself between them, having only seconds to prepare her strike
before it was upon her. She slashed mightily upward, feeling Valeria cleave through flesh. The hilt revolved in her hands, completing the complex wheeling sword dance. Rokuren. The tattered raiment unraveled in the sharp wind, flesh made of burning light seared her sight with a brightness only equitable by the sun itself. Evelyn stumbled back with a cry, throwing her arm over her face. Blackness dashed her vision to nothingness and she believed for a moment that she had been stricken blind.
“You have revealed me, daughter of Eve.” The being said, irradiant light surrounded its androgynous body like a glistening halo of pure fire. Evelyn felt the tears stream down her face, she blindly waved Valeria before herself. “You’re an Angel...,” memory pricked her consciousness. The last thing she’d seen...she knew the symbol she’d seen emblazoned on its proud chest.
Fire. The heavenly sigil of fire used in a summoning ritual for -
“You - you’re the Archangel Michael!”
She fell backward, crashing heavily onto her backside. If there had been a response to her exclamation she heard it none, stunned beyond belief for she had wrestled with none other than the Commander of Heaven’s Armies. Amazed in another way for she had survived the encounter.
***
When Zac strolled into the Tower the next morning he wasn’t prepared for the sight of Hurain surrounded by copious amounts of police tape and masonry workers milling around the lounge area. “You! What’re you doing here?”
Hurain parted his mouth to speak, but Blackwood headed him off, appearing from the door to the emergency staircase, dressed in a crisp white blouse and slacks. She carried a clipboard and walked with more than a pronounced limp to her step. “He’s my guest and will stay wherever I choose.”
Zac shrugged to her hostility. “Hey, meant no offense. By the way, what happened here? Looks like a tornado disaster zone.” Reno came out of some indistinct corner, annoyance written plainly on his face. “It did in a manner of speaking.” Then, he jerked his head upstairs. Leading the way, Evelyn moved toward the staircase, Reno following closely at her heels. Hurain brought up the rear, dressed in baggy jeans and a pullover sweater in dark grey. Zac was last, tucking his hands in his pockets, glancing over the damage to the floor and ceiling.
“We have a problem.” Reno announced after they’d congregated in his private office. “Someone or something attacked our headquarters last night, something that shouldn’t have been possible.”
“Why?” Zac questioned; Blackwood avoided Reno’s probing look. Hurain merely looked uncomfortable, lingering by the door, ready for flight. “Because,” the older man rolled his gaze over, sarcasm twisting his mouth into a sneer. He stood behind his desk, hands braced into the desk top. “The Tower should be impregnable to forces of darkness.”
Silence reigned; Zac struggled to process what he’d just heard. Protections, he thought suddenly, remembering the reading he’d done. The family had protections and wards built into the foundations. That’s right, it should’ve been impossible, but -
“It wasn’t a creature of darkness that came here last night.” Blackwood replied, deathly seriousness radiating from her aura. “What’re you saying?” Reno countered, staring at her openly. “You told me nothing, saying you’d explain everything when Quinn got here.”
It was his turn to stare at her, appreciative somehow for she hadn’t wanted to exclude him. Blackwood pursed her lips, folding her arms beneath her spare bosom. “I don’t know myself, only...only that it wasn’t something from the darkside.”
Reno looked less than convinced. “But, it was after Hurain?”
“No.” She answered a little too quickly; Hurain’s brow creased when he gazed at her. Zac looked between them, sensing a tension he hadn’t known before. There was awkwardness in the air. Blackwood knew her lie had been caught because of her sloppiness.
“We can’t know, not exactly.” She hurriedly explained. “It didn’t do anything to him, perhaps it was only after something it thought we had?”
“Like what exactly?” Zac tried to hide the fact that he was afraid of something that could crash through cement floors .
“Objects made from Saint relics.”
Then, he remembered. “Your ring...?”
“Among others.” Blackwood cleared her throat uncomfortably, failing at putting off Reno.
“Only the Vatican would have an interest in the company reliquary and their retrievers would be human at that.” Reno remarked sensibly, caustic.
Blackwood could say nothing to that and lapsed into frowning silence.
The chief seemed to sense he was getting nowhere fast and tried a different tactic, one that even Zac appreciated for its simplicity of solving the most important question at hand:
“Why is he here?”
“I - I was going to recruit him into the fold.”
Anger sparked in Reno’s eyes. “Hurain, Quinn, give myself and the CEO a moment of privacy, please.”
“S-Sure thing.” The one thing he knew for certain was that he never wanted Reno’s temper directed at him. Hurain seemed lost in his own little world, drifting out into the waiting room in the lobby. Ms. Dupri had retaken her seat sometime during the discussion. She seemed to ignore the argument of her superiors, going on beyond the closed door. Their raised voices were audible, but the words were indistinct somehow.
Remembering his prior experience, he avoided looking directly at the fey, keeping his head down, attention wandering to the third occupant in the room. Hurain noticed her, wandering from the circle of chairs to the secretary’s desk. “Hey, is there a bathroom on this level?”
Zac had half-risen, thinking to warn the other man. She was one of the fey - would he believe it? Slightly vindictively, he wished the other would fall prey to the woman’s glamor. He had been here first, he was the one they should be focusing on, training him and stuff like the manual from the archives said. The booklet was from the fifties, quaint, old-fashioned from a time when Colt and Smith & Wesson were producing their classics.
The fey had been absorbed in her work, surprised as well when the shadow fell over her.
“- ah.” A soft exclamation; Hurain waited, the cast of his face turned fully toward her. Zac wanted to see his expression out of curiosity. Then, slowly, rather than speak, the fey lifted her elegant hand and pointed to the wall chart of the upper floor hidden by the elevator - Zac remembered seeing it.
“Thanks...,” Hurain said, slightly mystified. He went on his way, without further comment. Zac kept watching Ms. Dupri, who covered her face with her hands in an attitude of fear. What’s going on? Zac made his way forward, pretending to snatch a pamphlet off the desk, from the corner of his eye, he saw Hurain had stopped beside the chart and was studying it intently.
This guy - I have to admit - there’s something strange about him.
Reno was unaffected by the fey - but, wait, did that mean Hurain was as well? How? What was so different about them?
Zac let the other go on ahead, disappearing down the hallway to Blackwood’s office, through the metal door to the stairwell. He followed him down, staying at a discreet distance. The sounds of drills and hammers echoed from several stories down leading him to assume the workers had begun renovations. Hurain disappeared through the door to the lower level.
***
Circles were the predominant design of the thirty-eighth floor bathroom. Circular mirrors above round bowl pedestal sinks. Round tiles in different oceanic blues formed splashing wave patterns on the walls. The urinals were in a discreet corner made of powder blue ceramic. Four stalls were of another pale seafoam color and the floor was a peaceful golden sand color.
The wedge holding the door open had slid across the floor, blocking the panel from swinging shut on its track. Zac could see Hurain through the gap left behind, splashing water on his face. Shaking out sodden bangs, then running his fingers through the short strands. Hurain stared at himself in the mirror, scowled and hung his head.
�
��What am I doing here?” He questioned himself, rubbing the back of his neck.
At the treble of his voice, the round sheet of plain glass exploded inward. Startled, Zac jumped back from the door, heart pounding. What the hell just happened? He struggled to make sense of it. Hurain hadn’t touched the mirror, he hadn’t even been looking into it. Hearing footsteps crossing the floor, Zac hurried away and hid on the next landing, flattened against the wall. What the hell was going in here?
His mystification grew throughout the course of the day. Blackwood and Reno hadn’t come to a consensus, nor had they given up ground. Reno was for ousting the young man from the building, citing a severe lack of skills among other inconsistencies. Zac felt more than a little pride with the acknowledgement of a few skills placing him higher than Hurain and verily agreed with Reno.
At least I can shoot decently, he thought, surveying the pale Asian, who appeared slightly less there after the mirror incident. The triumph was a shallow one, however. Blackwood had final say regardless of his or Reno’s wishes. Hurain would stay in their protection and fulfill the much-needed capacity of medic. He could take his classes online from the company terminals, either live in the building or take an apartment in Cartier Tower II where she lived. She talked so convincingly of her plan that Zac was brought around to see the practicalities of it.
Only Reno wasn’t convinced, but kept the majority of his opinions to himself.
Blackwood didn’t seem to savor her minor victory as much as he’d thought she would. She spent the most of the day keeping Hurain in sight, refusing to hear his weak arguments why he couldn’t stay there. Many of them were simple protestations over the way his life had taken a sharp right turn - he had no family to speak of, Zac was surprised when he learned that, sympathizing with the parentless man the same as he would another in his own situation. The point of that was moot, the company preferred hiring people without families, with deceased parents. It was better that way, cleaner for closing the books when they died out in the field. It was cold, that rigid line of thinking, but necessary to avoid difficult questions if the company accepted agents from normal American households.
Toward the end of another long day of looking through old records; Blackwood left her office, smiling from ear to ear. That smile instantly put him on alert and he looked to Reno for confirmation. Reno had been engrossed in explaining an unusual First-Aid kit to the third member of their small party. He paused when she came toward him, expectantly.
Dancing in Darkness: The Damned Page 4
