“You were a kid.”
“My father taught me better.”
Lyssa pressed her lips to his cheek. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“My mother taught me not to be a coward. But what have I done? Spent ten years running, tail between my legs.”
“You were just a kid when you lost your family. No could have expected you to start a war.”
Lyssa’s mouth softened. “Yeah?”
He shook his head. “Don’t use logic on me.”
“Logic doesn’t exist, times like these. You react from the gut, then pay for life.” She lay back down again, snug against his side, naked and warm. “So. Based on the way you spoke to your mom on the phone. . that man, Matthew Swint. .”
“Is out of prison.”
“And you’re here with me. Jesus. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. If I had stayed. . I think I might have killed him. It could still happen.”
“You’d be justified.”
His smile felt crooked. “No warnings to be a better man?”
“No.” Lyssa stared him dead in the eyes. “You’re already the best man I know. You can take a dent and still be the best.”
Her words almost killed him. A hot bolt of tenderness and wonderment shot straight through his raw, broken heart.
“But I’m the only man you know,” he said.
Lips quirked. “Don’t get uppity.”
Eddie leaned down and kissed her — gently at first, then deeper, harder, overcome by desire for this woman who could listen to his darkest secrets and just. . take them. He could hardly believe, or trust it. . but when he pulled back just enough to look at her. .
Lannes can go to hell, he thought fiercely. She’s no demon.
Lyssa paled. “What?”
He hesitated, taken aback by the shock in her eyes, “I didn’t say anything.”
But I thought something, he realized.
She struggled to sit up, movements jerky, rushed. He held out his hands. “Hey.”
Her gaze refused to meet his. “We should probably find some clothes.”
Eddie gripped her shoulders. “Can you read my thoughts?”
She tensed and gave him a reluctant look. “Sometimes.”
“Well,” he said, then stopped, staring at her. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Like what?” Lyssa batted him away with her left hand while keeping her right tucked in a fist against her stomach, a return to her defensive posture. “No one wants to hear that their mind is. . exposed. Besides, it only happened a couple times.”
“A moment ago?”
Her mouth tightened.
“Listen,” Eddie began, but she stiffened, then swung around to stare at the partially open door behind them.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Someone’s coming.”
He pulled away. “Stay here.”
“Like hell,” Lyssa muttered, standing with him and searching for clothes. Not much was still intact, except for his jacket. She slid it on and wrapped the remains of a charred blanket around her hips.
Eddie didn’t bother with clothes at all. He crept to the door, listening as gravel crunched. Light footsteps, careful.
But Lyssa suddenly made a small, pained sound — and ran past him, out the door. Eddie couldn’t catch her in time, and chased her.
Only to find himself staring at Jimmy.
The boy stood at the bottom of the stairs, clutching a flashlight in both hands. Huge eyes, as he stared at Lyssa. When he saw Eddie, his mouth dropped in shock — but that lasted only a moment. He was trembling, his hair stuck to his sweat-soaked forehead. Eddie saw a dark smear on his cheek.
Blood.
Lyssa crouched and grabbed his shoulders. She didn’t seem to notice or care that her right hand was exposed, and Jimmy fell into her arms, hugging her with a choked sob. She sat back on the step, holding him tightly, silent and tense.
“Tell me,” she said. “What happened?”
“They took my mother,” he whispered.
Eddie went back inside to find clothes. His options were limited. He jammed his feet into his boots and found another blanket that he wrapped around his waist. While Lyssa went to dress, he sat with Jimmy on the stone steps.
“Details,” he said.
“We got to the airport,” he whispered, and Eddie heard a whimper beneath the boy’s sweatshirt. “Private plane, like you promised. We drove up, and some men were waiting. They had g-guns, and they sh-shot the man dr-driving us. And my dad.”
Jimmy’s voice choked, and he drew in a shuddering breath. Hands shaking, he fumbled beneath his sweatshirt. He wore a T-shirt underneath, tucked into his jeans, and there was a squirming bulge against his belly.
He pulled his T-shirt free, and Icky tumbled into his lap. Eddie bowed his head, rubbing the back of his neck as the boy hugged the panting dog. Tears streamed down his face.
“Jimmy,” he said, as softly as he could. “What else can you tell me?”
“They put us in a car,” he said haltingly. “And took us across the river out of the city. There was a big house in the middle of trees, and it was quiet.”
Lyssa emerged, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Her left hand was full of a fluttery pale scarf that she wrapped around her neck. On her other hand, a glove — and his jacket.
Jimmy twisted to look at her, and his face crumpled. Lyssa tried to smile for him, but Eddie could see the strain on her face. She sat down beside the boy and wrapped her arm around his shoulders.
“Icky,” she rasped, as the dog whined.
“I hid him,” he whispered, and dug into his pocket for a piece of paper. “I was told to give you this.”
Lyssa hesitated before she took it. “You were telling Eddie about a house?”
“Some ladies were there.” Jimmy stopped, swallowing hard. “They were scary. They separated me from my mom, then c-cut me.”
Eddie watched rage flit across Lyssa’s face, quickly swallowed into a flat mask. “Show me.”
The boy pulled up his sleeve, revealing a thick white bandage wrapped around his forearm.
“They used a black knife.” Jimmy shuddered again, and gave Eddie a desperate look. “Then licked off my blood. It was. . g-gross. They said they’d kill my mom if I didn’t find you.”
“Those women knew you would,” Lyssa said, her eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. “It’s okay, baby. We’re going to get your mom back.”
She pushed off the step, fingering the still-unread note. “Eddie, wait here. I’ll get you some clothes.”
Without another word, she walked into the darkness of the subway tunnel and was swallowed up almost immediately by the endless shadows. He couldn’t even hear her feet on the gravel.
“How did you get here?” Eddie asked.
“Two men drove me back into the city. They’re waiting above.”
“And because those ladies have your mother. . they don’t think you’ll go to the police?”
Jimmy looked scared. “It was the police who drove me.”
Cold sweat broke out over Eddie’s body. “They took orders from the women?”
“Yes.”
“Do they know how to get down here?”
“I don’t think so.”
He stood and stared into the darkness of the subway tunnel. “I need you to be brave again, Jimmy. Can you stay here?”
The boy hugged his dog tighter. “No. I need to help.”
“You are.”
“No,” he said again, more firmly, rubbing tears from his eyes. “I have to be there.”
Eddie stared at him. “How old are you?”
Jimmy straightened. “Twelve.”
Twelve was still a kid. Twelve years old meant he should be nowhere near this kind of danger.
But he was also old enough for heartbreak. Old enough to start living with regret. Making a kid feel helpless was another kind of crime.
“Lyssa’s word is final,” he s
aid. “You know that, right?”
The boy nodded. Eddie walked back inside the workers’ station for his backpack. All he needed was his wallet and cell phone.
“Come on,” he told Jimmy. “Let’s go find her.”
They walked fast across the uneven ground, flashlight beam swinging wildly across the shadows. Squeaks echoed off the walls, and the air smelled like rotting garbage, accompanied by the occasional whiff of feces.
Jimmy gave Eddie a sidelong look. “Are you Lyssa’s boyfriend?”
His heart squeezed. “I hope so.”
“You don’t know?”
“Do I have to go through you first?”
“Maybe. I like her.”
Eddie smiled to himself. “I’ll arm wrestle you for her heart.”
“You’re bigger. That’s cheating.”
“Can you blame me?” He heard voices ahead of them, and saw the reflected flicker of fire against the tunnel walls. “Wait.”
“It’s okay. I know them.” Jimmy began to lurch ahead, but Eddie grabbed the back of the boy’s sweatshirt.
“Wait,” he said again, firmly. “Give me the flashlight, and stay back.”
The boy’s scowl wasn’t quite lost in the beam’s glow, but he lingered in the shadows as Eddie strode across the rough gravel. He listened for Lyssa’s voice, but all he heard were men laughing coarsely, and the hum of a radio.
“Jimmy,” he said, over his shoulder. “What did that note say? The one you gave her?”
The boy hesitated. “No message. Just a piece of fur stapled to the paper.”
“Dammit,” Eddie muttered, and began running — right into a tent city that reminded him of some apocalyptic way station for humanity. When and if the end of the world came, this would be what it looked like: homes made of cardboard and trash, and broken furniture that held up nothing but air. Fires burned in barrels, and a few men were huddled around them.
They stared at Eddie with surprise and wariness as he approached, clutching that blanket around his waist.
“Lyssa,” he said sharply. “Did she pass through here?”
A tall black man blinked heavily at Eddie. “Like a bat out of hell. She mentioned a naked man might come this way. Left money for clothes, but there’s not much to give you.”
Eddie gritted his teeth. “I’d appreciate anything you can spare, sir. I can pay, as well.”
“Hmm,” he said, just as another old man saw Jimmy and bared his teeth in a brutal hiss that sounded like the death throes of a decrepit snake.
“Fucking little thieves,” he muttered, coughing on a snarl. “I’m ready for you and that dog.”
The boy sputtered. Eddie stepped in front of him. “You touch this kid, and I’ll break your arms off.”
“Hey, now,” said the black man, holding up his hands. “No need for bad feelings. Mack, maybe you should go sit down. Take a load off your bad back.”
The old man, whose skin was the color of snow and ash, made a wet grunting noise and gave them all a dirty look. He didn’t leave the circle of heat but looked down at the flames with a stubborn jut of his chin.
Two minutes later, Eddie was forty dollars poorer, and dressed in jeans that were loose in the ass and short in the leg. His red sweatshirt smelled like mildew and concrete and made his skin itch.
“Lyssa said to tell you not to follow,” said the black man, rubbing his knee with a wince. “But that she knew you would, and that she was sorry for trying to get a head start.”
“I bet,” Eddie replied.
“Women,” he added. “They’re killers.”
Chapter Eighteen
Handcuffs were cold, even on dragon skin.
Lyssa’s glove was still in place, but the soft portion covering her wrist had ridden down just enough for the metal to rub against her scales. She ignored the sensation, watching red taillights and the two police officers riding up front, who did not speak to her or talk with each other.
It was still night, which surprised her. Time never meant much underground, but this day had been one hammerblow after another.
Life hates the complacent, her mother had told her. Almost as much as the complacent hate living.
Are you talking about me? Lyssa’s father had asked, grabbing his wife around the waist. If I’d been complacent, I’d never have caught you, darlin’.
Her mother had a beautiful laugh. Sometimes it was hard to remember what it sounded like.
You knew this would happen, thought Lyssa, wishing her mother were here. You knew you weren’t the last of your kind.
You knew someone would come for you, one day.
And if not you, then me.
Lyssa wore Eddie’s jacket, and it felt like a suit of armor. His warm, smoky scent still clung to it — and her — and she breathed deep as she listened to the radio crackle, and the squeak of the vinyl beneath her, and the jangle of handcuffs.
Eddie, she thought. Eddie, don’t look for me. Jimmy, don’t tell him anything.
Stay away. Please, stay away.
The two police officers had done their best not to show her their faces. Only during that initial approach on the sidewalk had she gotten a good look at them. The driver was middle-aged, white, with a downturned mouth and milky blue eyes. His partner was Latino, young and handsome, and six inches shorter than Lyssa. He kept giving the other man nervous looks.
Both had been waiting outside the neighborhood Laundromat, a nondescript hole-in-the-wall between an Italian deli and a convenience store that sold more comic books and cigarettes than milk and bread.
The building that housed the laundry — and, to some degree, the deli and convenience store — had been built over the second entrance to the abandoned subway tunnel. Or rather, there was a door in the laundry’s basement, which descended into a mechanical room that held another door that opened into a corridor filled with pipes — leading to yet another hall that had a metal grille in the floor — which, when lifted, revealed a ladder that descended into a hand-dug corridor that spilled out into the subway tunnel.
One had to be very brave or very stupid — and sometimes lucky — to find certain secret places. It also helped that the owner of the Laundromat was sympathetic to folks who lived underground. Mostly because they washed all their clothes at his place.
Lyssa had not felt brave, stupid, or lucky when the cops pointed guns at her. She felt no surprise, either, not even when a tall, African-American woman in a red jacket glided from the shadows.
Nikola.
The men handcuffed Lyssa while she watched, and their scents washed over her in a wave of body odor and sweat, and nauseating fear.
No rights read. But why would they? Rights didn’t exist. Not here, not now.
All that mattered was power.
“Lyssa Andreanos,” said Nikola, and the police officers flinched at the sound of her voice.
“That’s me,” she said, staring the woman in the eyes. “Sorry about Betty.”
Nikola punched her in the stomach, then grabbed her hair, yanking back her head.
“You will be sorry,” she whispered, then frowned when Lyssa’s only response was a quiet laugh.
Nikola drove a red Corvette. During the ride over the Hudson, she pulled alongside the police sedan and looked into the backseat at Lyssa — who stared back, straight into her eyes, with a smile.
You can’t make me afraid of you, she thought. Not unless I choose to be afraid.
The witch’s frown deepened, and she gunned her Corvette ahead of them. Lyssa kept smiling but for a different reason.
Five minutes after crossing the bridge that spanned the Hudson, the police took an exit off the freeway and cruised down a series of twisting streets that carried them into a quiet riverside neighborhood filled with expensive homes nestled in expensive gardens, where a person could smell the money in the breeze, and the breeze smelled good.
At the end of the street, the police pulled into a long, curving driveway that wound up an increasingly steep hil
l. Delicate lights illuminated the way. Lyssa didn’t see guards or security cameras, but it was night, and there were a lot of trees. Anything could be out there.
The house was too big to take in at one glance. It seemed to sprawl over the hill in climbing layers of glass and stone, and the light from within shone in the night with a warmth that would have been, in another life, comforting.
The Corvette was parked in the driveway. Nikola leaned on the hood and watched, unmoving, as the police helped Lyssa from the back of the sedan. The men did not speak as they unlocked her handcuffs. Both kept their gazes down, and oozed sweat.
Nikola sauntered close. The men trembled, cowering like abused dogs. Lyssa knew they had no control over their reactions. It would have hit them like a bomb in their heart. If the witch asked them to, they would crawl on their bellies into the river and never come out.
Nikola, however, did not look at them. Her focus remained on Lyssa.
She stared back, her gaze flat and calm, and unflinching. It wasn’t difficult. Rage might have had something to do with it. Maybe she should have snapped before this, but discovering that Jimmy and his mother had been kidnapped, his body cut, blood consumed. . that he could have been subjected to emotional torture. . put her on a whole new level that transcended anything she had felt since her parents’ murder.
And then, there was that scrap of fur stapled to the note in her pocket. Another reminder of what Estefan had suffered — as if she hadn’t already seen enough.
“You’re not afraid,” Nikola said to her, trailing an elegant hand over the younger police officer’s shoulders. He squeezed shut his eyes, shaking violently as her fingers stroked his hair.
Lyssa gritted her teeth because she was very afraid and determined not to show it. “Why would I be?”
Nikola frowned. “Just like the young man who saved you from the fire. I don’t like mysteries.”
She pushed the police officer away from her, and he stumbled against the car, one hand on his weapon, the other clutching his chest as he panted for air. Lyssa felt the break in the air around them, a release of tension — the witch pulling back her influence.
The difference in the men was immediate — as if the hands squeezing them to death relaxed enough to let them breathe.
Within the Flames d&s-11 Page 25