Valentine coughed and Morgan’s frown deepened. “It would seem so—but I’d like to know just what in hell you were thinking.”
“Well,” I temporized. “Are we good? Are the shields on the nexus intact?”
She gritted her teeth. “Yes.”
“That’s good. I was hoping the world wouldn’t end. I’m really looking forward to the new Avengers movie.” Morgan made a face, and something told me she’d be tapping her foot if we weren’t on grass. Quickly, I continued, “A wise lady once told me that a person who prefers power over wisdom is the kind of person you shouldn’t trust with that power in the first place,” I shrugged. “So, I put her to the test.” That was only half the story, though, and I wasn’t sure how to explain the strange relaxation I’d felt through the entire process. “Another person, who is also far wiser than I, informed me that I needed to forgive Mo—my mom. Not going to lie, I struggled with that. But I guess when you forgive someone, that kind of takes the wind out of their, well, betrayal sails.”
Morgan closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her index fingers. “We talked about this. Breaking the spell creates a feedback loop for the accumulated energy—oof.”
“Sure,” I said. “But I didn’t break it. Mother did. Something told me that would keep things in house, so to speak.”
She leaned over and jabbed a finger into my chest to emphasize every word. “Do not do that, ever again! We’re lucky this town isn’t in orbit right now.”
Valentine touched her shoulder. “Not luck,” he murmured. He nodded toward the woods.
We turned to follow his look. Predictably, my dad—well, something that looked like him, anyway—leaned against a fallen pine tree. “About time he showed up,” I muttered. Pushing myself to my feet, I looked around. “You guys coming?”
“He’s here for you,” Eliot said. The agent had a strange little smile on his face. “He’d look different for any of us.”
I stared, waiting for him to continue, but the other man had nothing else to say. “Okay.”
Lightning strikes had left the field blackened and brittle in intermittent spots. For some reason, I wove through them, sticking to the fresh green grass and reveled in the sound of it whisking against my shoes. It was a nice reminder of what we’d almost lost, and despite all the pain she’d brought to me, a lump thickened my throat at the thought of my mother. If only—but that was a pointless road. She’d taken the steps on this journey on her very own, and while the effects on my own life had been at times horrific, would I change it if I had the opportunity?
I had every right to be fatalistic, but instead, my experiences had left me with the powerful conviction that no matter how bad things got, they usually turned out all right. Not perfect—but okay.
Someday, something might happen to change that sentiment, but for now, I was going with it.
Stopping a few feet from the figure, I nodded my head in greeting.
“Let me guess, you’re here to angelsplain, again.”
Even knowing it was an affectation, the familiar smirk of amusement put a subtle pain in my heart. I don’t know if he realized the effect it was having on me or not, but he stilled his features and said, “That does seem to be the way these things work, doesn’t it?”
“Well, in this case, I get it.” I thought back to Father Rosado’s talk on forgiveness and shrugged. “Rumors to the contrary, I’m not a complete imbecile. I do have one question, though. Why not stop her in her tracks months ago? All the people that she killed between here and there, all the chaos she caused—why not just zap her like Melanie?”
“You make the mistake of assuming this was all about your mother.”
That stopped me in my tracks for a moment, until I managed, “Who, then?”
“Why, you, of course. A man stands at a crossroads. He’s lost everything—he’s at the end of his rope. But he’s not helpless. This man is blessed, though some might call it a curse. In spite of that blessing, he still has free will. What will he do with it?”
“It was never about stopping her?” I cocked my head and looked at the entity wearing my father’s face. If he was still pissed off about how I’d acted the last time we spoke, he didn’t show it. That was more like my dad than even the visage he’d borrowed.
“Her success or failure wouldn’t have changed much, from our perspective. The end will come when it comes, and no mortal can say when. A soul teetering on the edge of darkness is another story entirely. I’m Michael, by the way.” He touched his cheek warily. “I hope your father’s face doesn’t bring you discomfort.”
“Well,” I said. “I guess knowing your real name helps a bit. What do I do now?”
He looked surprised. “I’m surprised you have to ask. I’m not here to give you orders, boy. Just encouragement.”
“Encouragement, huh?”
“Well, you weren’t granted these talents to scam fools out of their money by banishing imaginary ghosts from their homes.”
“In my defense, they could afford it.” I glanced over at Cassie and the surviving Division M agents. At my team. “And I think I’m past that, at this point.”
Michael smiled, but the suddenly intense cast of his eyes belied what might have otherwise been an expression of mirth. “For today, a great victory is won. And yet, evil persists. What are you going to do about it?”
“Hope for the best, I suppose. But I’m guessing I don’t get that luxury.” I made a face and shrugged. “Hey, how bad can it be?”
“I’ve got bad news, kid. To whom much is given, much is expected. You ain’t seen nothing yet. Still interested?”
I thought about Tlaloc, running free somewhere. I thought about an organization of faceless beasts that called itself the Void. The mystery of the crew who bombed the Leesburg annex. All the people out there, waiting for the firefighters of Division M, who more often than not didn’t make it before the metaphorical house burned down. Up until this point, I’d been doing this on my own, but I sensed in the hanging question something more official. Call it a job offer. If I survived, I was liable to be at it for a long time. But if magic was to curse me to live for centuries, at least I wouldn’t stand alone. “Bring it,” I said.
He grinned fiercely. I’d given the desired answer. Light flared suddenly, and through a squint, I could just barely make out the fire-tinged outline of an enormous blade.
Man with a flaming sword makes you an offer you can’t refuse, you accept it. With a sonorous voice, the being wearing my dad’s face intoned, “Kneel, Paxton Locke.”
My knees hit the grass. An intense, comforting warmth tapped me on one shoulder, and then the other. Michael lifted the blade, then lowered it and rested the flat on my upturned forehead.
“The charge is accepted. Rise, Paxton. Rise, paladin.”
I stood blinking, suddenly alone. I turned back to my companions and took in expressions ranging from pride to awe. Valentine gave me a knowing nod. A grin exploded across my face, and I strode across the scorched field. Shoulders back, head high—full of purpose.
It was time to get to work.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Liliana—Saturday night
Ft. Lauderdale, Florida
They called it a gentleman’s club, but it was nothing of the sort. Of course, the work was a lot less dangerous than serving Knight—to say nothing of the lack of strings attached to the money.
Sure, there was the occasional customer who thought they could get more than a peek at the goods. Inside, that’s what the bouncers were for. At least one creep had waited for her in the parking lot after her shift, but that was all right. She’d been hungry anyway, which solved the problem of disposing of the body.
As ever, she found it ironic that the human woman didn’t care much for her. They had better survival instincts than their male counterparts, and even if they didn’t realize it consciously, something told most of them that a predator walked in their midst. Her fellow dancers kept their distance, and that was
fine by her.
Except for all the damn glitter, it’d be a perfect job. I should have been doing this all along.
Garter overflowing with bills, she swept off the stage and strutted toward the locker room to raucous catcalls and the booming voice of the club’s DJ. “Let’s hear it for Eve, everybody!”
It was an ironic appellation that only she could appreciate, but that was fine, as well. She was starting to see the appeal of a low profile these days.
She ignored the cocky nods and waved hands of the customers demanding her private attention. She was due for a break, and—she stumbled, just a bit, on the absurdly high heels as she noticed the redhead standing next to one of the secondary stages, staring at her.
It wasn’t that she was a woman. A surprising percentage of the club’s clientele were female, but there was something about her that raised the hackles on the back of Liliana’s neck. She watched her out of the corner of her eye, trying to ignore the stare.
Halfway to the to the exit, it hit her. One of the other dancers, a brunette with the unlikely stage name of Chyna Rose, walked through the redhead and plopped herself down onto the lap of an intoxicated college student.
Liliana kept her head straight, turning her eyes toward the exit. The club was shy of three-quarters full, but she had no difficulty picking the pair of suited men out of the crowd. They flanked the main doors with their backs to the wall. She inhaled, trying to ignore the scents of perfume and lotion, and swallowed as she got a scent of cordite and ozone from the hard-faced man on the right side of the door. She’d never seen him before, but that scent was legendary in certain circles.
The gunfighter—and if he’s here, it’s time for me to head for the hills.
She swept into the locker room, heading toward her belongings. There were a few other dancers inside, but they pointedly ignored her. Which was good, because it gave her the opening to tear the shank off the combination lock securing her things. An over-sized shoulder bag held sneakers, sweats, and her wallet. She shoved the money into the bag and threw on her street clothes, thankful to kick off the ridiculous shoes. It might have been easier to manifest her work clothes, but she’d adopted the human garb as part of her disguise.
Liliana’s sudden departure did arouse questioning looks from a few of the dancers, but she ignored them and hit the safety bar for the rear exit. A narrow alley ran along the side of the club. To the left, a block wall separated it from the front parking lot—the dancers who smoked used the resulting nook to get their cigarette breaks in.
She turned right, heading toward the fenced-in employee parking lot. Her sneakers scraped on the pavement as she broke into a run. I’m going to make it—
Her ankles slammed into what felt like a steel cable, and she ended up sprawled flat on her face. The impact knocked the wind out of her, and she rolled onto her back, groaning.
Metal scraped on stone, and something massive hit the ground in the smoker’s nook. She raised her head and blinked as something that looked like a massive suit of armor straightened, glowing eyes fixed on her.
She cursed a guttural snippet of the old tongue and climbed to her feet. As she turned to run from the armor, a pair of figures blocked her path to freedom.
The man was tall, slim but muscular with close-cropped hair the white of dry bone. The glowing cerulean blade stretching out from his clenched fist told her all she needed to know. Wizard.
His companion was blond and female. Though not much shorter than her companion, the short pixie cut and her athletic curves made her seem much younger. Not as much of a threat, she judged, tensing to jump toward her before she realized the other woman cradled a brutally-short shotgun in her arms.
“It’s the old tricks that work best,” the wizard said. “Remind me to teach you that one, Cass.” He stepped forward and grinned at Liliana. “Mystical tripwire—just needed to get you running where wanted you to, eh?” The expression made her realize how young he truly was—the white hair must have been bleach.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She snuck a little Valley Girl into her voice, hoping to put them off guard. “What’s going on?”
“Drop the act, Boobs McGee,” the girl said. “We know what you are.”
“Been to Virginia, recently?” The wizard’s grin faded. “Let’s talk about the bomb you planted.”
She froze, debating whether to keep up the act or switch gears. Liliana did the math, didn’t like what she came up with, and stammered, “He’ll kill me if he finds out I talked to you.”
“True,” the blond said. “Interesting.”
“It won’t be if we take care of him first,” the wizard said with a grin.
She stuck her chin out in defiance. “Good luck with that,” Liliana sneered. “I’ll never talk.”
“Now that,” the wizard’s companion said. “That is a lie.”
An Excerpt from HELL SPAWN
While you’re waiting for the next Paxton Locke book, try reading HELL SPAWN by Declan Finn!
Chapter 1: Odd Saint
My name is Detective Thomas Nolan, and I am a saint.
This is neither boasting nor an exaggeration.
I only had an inkling on the morning I chased Anthony Young, purse snatcher…again. Kid was your years older than my son. Young Anthony (see what I did there?), a 20th time offender, had upgraded to double duty, on this day both snatching the purse as well as the iPhone of Malinda Jones. Malinda was one of many careless New Yorkers who are so deep into their phones that they barely registered oncoming traffic, to heck with noticing a thief running up on them.
My radar was already up after Anthony bumped against me as he brushed past. I didn’t bother checking for theft. I had nothing in the pockets of my tan overcoat, and my pants pockets were out of the reach of even a skilled thief. I merely continued my morning offering as the Opus Dei had taught me and was about to go into the Our Father.
Then Anthony charged forward, sweeping Malinda’s purse from her shoulder, and plucking the iPhone from her hand. It was the latest model, over a thousand dollars’ worth of technology in one easy-to-steal package.
Obviously, Anthony didn’t see the all-caps NYPD emblazoned in gold letters on the front AND back of my policeman-blue baseball cap.
To make matters worse—for him—was that he did this in front of the mental health court for Queens, heralded by the black wrought-iron fence about ten feet high, which was serviced by the NYPD as their security. Further down the block was a housing community with its own private security.
In short, there was no real way that Anthony was going to get to the end of the (admittedly very long) block.
I was still under an obligation to chase the idiot. “Freeze! Police!” I barked before I took off after him. As expected, it made him run faster, but he obviously heard me, so he had his fair warning.
I pounded along the pavement behind Anthony, who was built for speed over anything else. He was short and slight, but he could run. I was bigger, a bit over six foot, and broad in the shoulders. Every big man will tell you one thing—running was just a great way to destroy your ankles and your knees if you do it right. I was a lumbering truck chasing after a motorcycle, but the moment Anthony ran out of gas, the impact would be similar.
As I ran, I mentally recited the Our Father and was on the Hail Mary when the strangeness happened. Suddenly, I could see myself ahead of Anthony… while at the same time, standing in front of him, I saw myself chase behind Anthony. It was a strange, vivid experience, with each view of Anthony as clear as the highest definition television—with almost more clarity than real life.
It was odd, but I was also too busy to ponder it. I held out an arm, leaned into it, and Anthony just ran into my arm. He clothes-lined himself so hard, his feet left the ground. I swept back under him as fast as I could, catching him just before his head hit the concrete. It wouldn’t do for him to have brain damage over a stolen purse—it wasn’t like he had little gray cells he could afford
to lose.
I smiled into his face. “Hi Anthony. Would you like to tell me your rights? We’ve done this dance too often.”
He merely smiled widely and shrugged, even as I hauled him to his feet. “Eh, you win some, you lose some. Still ain’t gonna serve any jail time.”
Anthony was a poster boy for juvenile recidivism and a great example for anyone who agitates for prosecuting all criminals as adults. He wasn’t necessarily a bad kid, but he could use an extended stay in Boys Town—or an overnight in Rikers Island to scare him straight.
“It would help if you won any,” I suggested.
“Can I cuff myself this time?” he asked as I took his wrists behind his back and cuffed them. “Guess not.”
I rolled my eyes. “Anthony, have you considered that if you want money, you get a real job?”
He laughed. “You mean work for a living? Hey, that’s racist, yo.”
I shook my head and sighed. This kid was going to give me a headache. “Meet me halfway, find a crime you’re at least good at?”
Malinda caught up to us at long last. She was 48, 4’9”, and 180 pounds, so it took her a while. She looked at the perpetrator and frowned. “Anthony Young! I should have known. Just wait until I tell your gramma! Wait until I tell Father Pawson!”
Anthony finally looked concerned. “Aw, come on, Missus Jones, do you have to? I didn’t know it was you.”
Malinda wound up for a smack to the back of his head, and I twisted him around to put myself between them. “Mrs. Jones, you can’t do that. I’ve got him cuffed already.”
Malinda glowered. “Fine. But you take him right to the station. I’m going to meet you there. Taking my stuff. How dare you, Anthony!”
She stormed off ahead of us, not even waiting for me to hand her stuff back. I pocketed her phone and slung the purse over my shoulder—it was big enough to be a satchel, if worse came to worse.
“How’d you get in front of me, anyway?” he asked. “I don’t remember you being that fast.”
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