Empower

by Jessica Shirvington

  A sideways glance at Carter told me he viewed it all quite differently. In fact, he looked positively thrilled as he appeared to mentally catalogue the bars he planned to return to.

  “Really?” I commented, watching as he eyed a girl hanging out of one of the clubs in nothing but a teeny-tiny bikini.

  He gave me a wink. “When in Rome…”

  “I’m sure even Rome has clothes,” I mumbled.

  Lincoln, who had been walking behind us with Gray and Ray, laughed. I shot him a hard look, and he just shrugged, laughing again.

  “I don’t think I like this place,” I said.

  “It’s not all bad, Violet. You must be able to sense that too?” Gray asked.

  “Yeah, well, right now I’m not feeling it.”

  He snorted. “Right now all you’re feeling like is a prude. You of all people should know that everything has a balance. For all the bad you see here—and you will—there’s just as much that’s good. And apart from that, we could all do with a few drinks to take the edge off.”

  “Hear, hear,” Carter agreed.

  “What edge?” I asked.

  “You don’t feel it?” Gray asked, raising an eyebrow.

  I looked at Leila and Ray, who were watching us carefully, and then at Lincoln, who actually shuddered.

  “I feel it,” he said, looking unhappy about the admission. “I don’t know how you guys can stay here. It’s as if…”

  Ray nodded. “It’s not easy, but you learn to push the sensation aside.”

  I let out a breath, relieved that I wasn’t the only one feeling the urge to turn around and run away—and never, ever stop.

  “We aren’t welcome here,” I said, finishing what Lincoln had been about to say.

  No one replied. There was no need.

  A shiver of uncertainty ran down my spine and, as if sensing my concern, Lincoln subtly moved closer to me. And damn him because my soul instantly responded, at once both calmed and ignited.

  “Have you been here before?” I asked Lincoln as we dropped back a few paces behind Ray and Leila.

  “I have. After my mom died. But things didn’t feel like this back then.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d come to this place for back then—and if he’d found it.

  Reading my reaction, he chuckled, which he had started doing quite a bit over the past couple days. It worried me, the way he seemed always to know what I was thinking. Mostly because it made me feel like we were still just us—yet everything had changed.

  “How about after dinner, I show you one of the reasons people flock to New Orleans?” he asked.

  I raised an eyebrow. “You mean apart from the hardcore nudity and debauchery?”

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Apart from those.”

  “Okay,” I whispered, unable to resist, even though I knew I should. But there was something in me that needed to see this other side to New Orleans—and even more so, that wanted to see it through his eyes.

  “For we have already said, That wickedness dwells here.”

  Hermes Trismegistus

  Over dinner, Leila and Ray painted a dismal picture. Since they’d arrived, their team had been plucked off one by one, leaving them nowhere to hide. Tonight was the first time they had returned to the safe house in months, too afraid to give up the location without the manpower to defend it. As a result, they, along with Roman, had been in constant hiding.

  “Why didn’t the Assembly send reinforcements?” Lincoln asked. “How could I not know about this?”

  Leila shrugged. “We sent out what communications we could. We hoped they got through, but you can’t trust anything here, and we suspect that exiles control most facets of technology and communication. We sent word out, but we never heard back—not until this morning when the Academy’s navy contact found us and told us you were coming.”

  Lincoln, pulling apart his bread roll, listened quietly, but I could tell he wasn’t satisfied. I decided to wait until we were alone to ask him.

  Alone. Hell, I need to get a grip.

  “How did they make contact?” Gray asked.

  Ray barked out a laugh. “A military chopper landed on the roof of the building we were hiding out in for the night. They’d locked on to the GPS trackers we keep in our phones. He told us that an evacuation team was headed our way and to have transport ready at the airport within eight hours. We figured it must be something big.”

  “It is,” Chloe blurted out. “I mean, he is. Important, I mean. Spence.” Her cheeks reddened. “I mean, he’s my partner and we have to get him back.” She pushed her plate away—a rice dish called jambalaya that reminded me of paella—and took a nervous sip of her drink. “What’s in this thing, anyway?” she asked, looking at Carter, who had ordered it for her.

  Carter’s smile said it all. “It’s called a hurricane. Local specialty. Drink up,” he said, while Ray and Leila simply shook their heads.

  I moved her glass away from her. “Maybe stick to water from now on,” I suggested. Chloe nodded just as her elbow slipped off the table.

  Good God. How many of those things has she had?

  “Look,” Ray said, picking the conversation back up with a heavy sigh. “We understand you want to get your man out of here, but this place is crawling with exiles and their armies. You’ve brought an impressive team with you, but frankly…” He shook his head, making it clear he thought we were lacking in numbers.

  “Armies?” I asked. “Do you mean the Nephilim?”

  Ray sucked on a long claw of shellfish. “I do. But it’s not just the Nephilim they control. They’ve turned this place into a turnstile. People come to New Orleans from all around the world to let their hair down and have a good time, and that makes them prime targets—susceptible to influence.”

  Lincoln nodded. “I saw the shadowing on the walk here.”

  Leila’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re a shadow finder?”

  Lincoln nodded again.

  “I’ve never met one before,” said Leila, clearly impressed.

  “Neither have I,” Lincoln replied, reinforcing how rare his skill of seeing the marks exiles leave behind on humans really was.

  “Humans,” Gray said, putting it together in the same way that I was. By Ray and Leila’s silence, we knew we were right. All the trails led here. All to Sammael.

  “What about the humans?” Carter asked.

  Gray described to Carter the suicidal humans we had encountered in New York, and their commitment to doing Sammael’s bidding. With a look of disgust, Carter put down his spoon and rubbed his forehead. Apparently even he wasn’t immune to everything.

  “Do you know where the exiles are?” I asked.

  Leila looked me over then settled back in her seat, showing her first hint of attitude. “You seem young to be in charge of this mission.”

  “I am,” I said, smiling to see that she had no idea who I was.

  “What’s your strength?” she asked, cutting to the chase.

  I shrugged. “I have a few.”

  “How about you give me the highlights?”

  Choices, choices.

  I could feel everyone watching me—especially Carter and Chloe. Leila didn’t realize she was asking everyone’s favorite questions.

  “Well, for one, I don’t need direct contact with an exile to strip their power and make them only human.” I let this sink in, watching Leila’s poor attempt to hide her surprise, then I added, “And they don’t have to will it.”

  Her eyes went almost as wide as Ray’s.

  “What rank are you from?” she asked, watching me carefully.

  “Yeah, purple, exactly what rank are you from?” Carter threw in. This was the first time he had heard anything like this from me. Rogues did not share.

  My eyes locked with
Lincoln’s, and through them, I felt his strength and support. As Grigori, we were partners. Despite what I tried to tell myself, that would never change.

  I could feel what he wanted me to do, and I wanted it too. This was not the time to hide. I unclasped and removed my bracelets, revealing the markings that were already swirling like rivers of liquid silver. “My maker is one of the Sole.”

  Leila dropped her fork. Ray stopped chewing, his mouth hanging open. Though I’d never admitted this to Gray, he wasn’t surprised. Lincoln held my eyes with warmth and something so much more that I had to quickly look away. Chloe looked in awe. And Carter…he spat his mouthful of gumbo all over us.

  “You’ve gotta be shitting me!”

  I smiled slyly at him. “Now, now, Carter. Try to be respectful to your superiors.”

  His shoulders dropped and his eyes narrowed. “Aw, hell, Gray. Tell me she ain’t that chick everyone’s been whispering about the past two years.”

  “She ain’t that chick everyone’s been whispering about the past two years,” Gray deadpanned.

  “She’s the chick, ain’t she?” Carter replied.

  “Yeah. She’s the chick,” Gray said, trying to repress his smile.

  “But you and her…”

  Gray cut Carter a sharp look. “The only time I ever tried to touch her, she broke my nose and near took my arm off.” He looked at Lincoln. “I swear it.”

  Lincoln knew this too now, but that didn’t stop his jaw from tightening, as if merely the thought of me being around Gray for the last year—even just as friends—was intolerable.

  Carter looked at Gray before holding up his hands, perplexed, and gesturing toward Lincoln and me. “And what are those two, then?”

  “Partners,” Gray said. Then, obviously deciding that it was a tell-all kind of day, he added, “And soul mates.”

  Carter fell as silent as the rest of the table for a few beats, his gaze settling on Lincoln curiously, but I had seen how Lincoln’s shoulders had relaxed, as though hearing the confirmation of our status had helped.

  Finally, Carter looked back to Gray. “Mate, I’d be guessing you’re lucky she didn’t break something a whole lot more important.”

  Gray took a deep drink of his beer. “I’ve considered that.”

  I rolled my eyes while Lincoln now appeared quite pleased with the conversation. Thankfully, things changed direction as Leila and Ray went on to tell us they believed that the exiles’ main base of operations was down by an old deserted power plant on the river’s edge. If they had Spence in the city, that was where he would most likely be by tomorrow night.

  “We’ll stake them out at first light,” I said. “Just Sal, Zoe, and us. Everyone else can move over to the military accommodation and start preparing for the incoming Grigori,” I added, glancing at Gray.

  Lincoln nodded, confirming he was well aware of Gray’s Rogue activation. “Once we have the lay of the land tomorrow, I’ll put in a call to the Assembly to give them our green light.”

  “You might not get a message out,” Ray advised.

  I caught Gray’s eye, wondering if his text had made it, but his relaxed expression indicated he understood my concern but didn’t share it.

  Lincoln shrugged, also unperturbed by Ray’s comment. “The navy has satellite equipment. We’ll be fine,” he said.

  We spent the rest of the meal outlining a strategy for the next day, and we even managed to have a few laughs.

  Just as we got up to leave, Carter had a rare light-bulb moment, grabbing Gray’s shoulder. “That’s why you call her princess, isn’t it?”

  Gray smiled mysteriously. “One of the reasons.”

  • • •

  When we were back out on the street, Lincoln said something quietly to Gray, who nodded and then addressed the others. “Let’s get back to the safe house so the others can find something to eat.” His eyes met mine. “First light, princess.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Must everyone have a nickname for you?” Lincoln asked, a small smile playing on his lips as the others started to walk away. I took a step in their direction and returned his smile.

  “It must be because I’m so warm and fuzzy,” I said.

  Lincoln laughed and grabbed my hand, pulling me in the opposite direction.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I told you I was going to show you some of the other reasons people come to New Orleans.”

  Intrigued and petrified at the same time, I let him lead me down the busy road, dodging bodies, and then down a significantly quieter side street. “Is it why you came here?”

  “No, but it’s what I found.”

  With that cryptic message worthy of my angel maker, he opened a painted black door and pulled me down a narrow staircase, keeping hold of my hand the entire time. My world was suddenly submerged within the sounds of a slow drumbeat, a smooth piano, and the overwhelmingly sensual tones of a saxophone.

  I paused at the base of the stairs. “I…wow.”

  “Yeah.” Lincoln squeezed my hand. “Wow.”

  He pulled me into the dark bar, dominated by black furniture and red curtains, toward a small, round table in the corner that had a small love seat wrapped around it.

  A waitress in a short black dress and dangling earrings was with us before we sat. “Can I get you two some drinks?”

  “I’ll have a beer,” Lincoln said, looking to me.

  “Me too,” I said. She nodded and asked to see my identification. I showed her my fake ID, which listed me as twenty-one.

  Lincoln noticed it. “Evelyn?”

  I nodded. “She has a lot of contacts. When we…” The word left lodged in my throat. “She, um…she took me to one of her contacts, and he’s been looking after me ever since.” I didn’t elaborate, but I’m sure he’d worked out in the time he’d been trying to find me that I had more than a few aliases and passports. If I needed to, I could disappear quickly.

  But do I need to?

  Our drinks arrived and we sipped slowly while we listened to the sounds of the band rebounding off the walls. I was in overdrive, so fixated on the man sitting next to me that I swear I could feel the rise and fall of his chest with his every breath. Hell, at one point, I thought I could hear his heart beating. I really needed to get it together.

  “So, this is jazz?” I asked. I’d never really heard it like this—live. No, alive.

  Lincoln leaned close to my ear. “No, Vi. This is New Orleans.”

  And then, forcing myself to ignore the warmth of his breath against my neck, I started to understand.

  For all the bad that might be here, this city had a soul.

  And with that realization came the solidification of my role in this fight.

  I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand by and watch another soul break.

  We sat in silence for a while, and I watched the musicians do their thing. The trumpet player stood out in his black-rimmed glasses, faded brown shorts, and loose T-shirt. He looked awkward beside his band members, who all wore crisp tuxedos, and yet he drew attention from the crowd. He was a trumpet geek and somehow that worked for him, made it real. He wasn’t performing. He was at home, doing all he’d ever known or wanted. I recognized the far-off look as something I might once have had when I held a paintbrush. I hadn’t painted since I’d left home.

  I envied him.

  He was so content, as if through his music, it all made sense. It was thrilling to see. And devastating.

  My throat tightened, the air surrounding me becoming too thick to breathe.

  Lincoln was suddenly standing, pulling me to my feet so I was close to his body. I could feel the heat coming off him, my body zapping it up hungrily.

  “Enough?” he murmured, and even over the sounds of the band, his voice was clear.

  I licked m
y lips as I looked up at him. His eyes held mine, and I was shocked by the realization that his reflected no fear.

  “Linc?” I whispered.

  He let out a sigh. “Vi,” he said softly.

  I was lost in his eyes, engulfed in sun-warmed honey.

  “Do you still dread me?”

  His left hand encircled my waist, and I knew I should be moving away, but I didn’t—not even when his other hand moved up to cup my face. All I could do was watch him as he said, “I stopped trying to deny this love a long time ago.” If possible, his eyes became even more intense. “I’m not afraid of us being together anymore. Not one bit. Violet, I…I breathe you. I live you. I love you.”

  I swallowed, locked in his gaze.

  He moved closer, so his lips were just millimeters away from touching mine. “The only thing I dread is another moment of my life without you as mine, the way I’m forever yours.”

  Spellbound, I waited for his lips to collide with mine, to take what I knew he wanted, but he held so still. So close. And yet I realized quickly that he might have done all the work to get this far, but he wasn’t going to close the last distance.

  That was my bridge to cross.

  My heart hammered so loudly, I was sure the entire bar could feel the pulse.

  Lincoln breathed heavily, his breath grazing my lips. But he stood his ground.

  Desperate to find some kind of control and stop my runaway mind—and body—I blurted what I’d been wondering earlier. “Why don’t you have a nickname for me?”

  Lincoln smiled, his hand tightening around my waist. And when he spoke, his voice sounded raw and not like anything I’d ever heard from him. “Oh, but I do, baby. I just wasn’t sure you were ready to hear them.”

  Them.

  Oh.

  Lincoln won. I closed the distance. A voice in the back of my mind whispered that I was going to regret it, even as my blood ran hot. My body fitted to his as he made a sound and pulled me closer. Memories of everything right with this world, of being alive, being human, flooded me as I flashed back to the night he’d held me in his arms—me as his, him as mine.