When Wicked Craves

by J. K. Beck

  She pressed her lips together, and he braced himself for an argument. “Why Paris?” she asked, the question taking him by surprise.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You betrayed the guy, and then you two parted ways. How do you know he’s in Paris? Alliance connections? Have you been keeping tabs?”

  “He stays under the radar, actually, though I’m sure the Alliance could find him if need be.”

  “Then how?”

  “He remains human, and he lives in the human world. But he’s immortal, and so must reinvent himself every generation or so.”

  “Right. Fake death. New name. What of it?”

  “A few centuries ago, I sought him out.”

  “Yeah? Why?”

  “I wanted to apologize for the past, and to see if we could make amends.” He realized how stiffly he was sitting, and forced himself to relax.

  “Why then?” she asked, and he was struck once again by how perceptive she was. Because that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Why then, indeed.

  “Nicholas?”

  “Because I understood then how it felt to be betrayed.” To have someone he trusted turn on him. To have someone he loved destroy so much that was sacred to him. He’d understood … and he’d hated himself all the more for the deep loss that must have accompanied the horror he’d brought upon Ferrante.

  “Someone betrayed you,” she said, her voice low. “So you found Ferrante?” she asked, and he was grateful that she didn’t ask about the nature of the betrayal. “How?”

  “He had traveled, remaking himself in various countries, but in every place he would make himself available for certain humans.”

  “Alchemists?”

  “No. Once he discovered the secret, I don’t believe he wanted to share.”

  “Who, then?”

  “Sorcerers,” Nick said. “Humans who practiced black magic. They would come to him seeking help with spells or concoctions. He would guide them, help them find rare ingredients, that kind of thing.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “My connections are varied and broad, both in and out of the shadow world. As a PI, surely you can appreciate that.”

  “You keep your finger on the pulse,” she said. “Got it.”

  “I asked the right questions, met the right people, and learned the protocol for getting in touch with him.”

  “Which was?”

  “A chalk mark upon his tomb in le Cimetière de Passy.”

  “His tomb?”

  “As you can imagine, he has died many times.”

  “So you make a mark and then come back the next day to pick up a message about where to meet him.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Very James Bond. Did it work?”

  “To an extent. He saw the mark. He responded.”

  “He said no.” Her voice lay flat and heavy.

  “Essentially, yes. I went to the meeting place, and he didn’t show.”

  “He was watching, and when he saw it was you, he blew you off.”

  Nick didn’t bother acknowledging the truth of what she said.

  “So what makes you think he won’t say no again? Assuming he’s even still in Paris and checking that tomb.”

  He considered the value of presenting himself as the optimist, and knew that she would see right through it. “To be honest, I hope that he will be intrigued by your presence with me. Either because you’re a beautiful woman, or because the stories of who you are and what you’ve escaped from have not only reached him, but interested him.”

  “In other words, we’re going to follow some set of instructions we pick up off a grave, and then stand stupidly around some Parisian corner while an immortal alchemist checks us out and decides if he wants to give us the keys to his clubhouse?”

  “That would be a fair summation, yes.”

  “Dangerous,” she said, eyeing him with narrowed eyes, as if daring him to disagree. “We’re fugitives, remember? What if he’s hooked up with the Alliance?”

  “I think it’s worth the risk.” He hesitated, and then, because he truly wanted her opinion, asked, “Do you agree?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I guess I do. But keep your spidey sense turned on, you know. Just in case.”

  “I’ll be wary of even the slightest tingle,” he said, but his mind wasn’t on his words. Instead, it was on the girl.

  “Hey, did I lose you?”

  He shifted, and realized that time had passed, and that he’d been watching her, thinking about her cleverness and her instinct for self-preservation. He stood abruptly, driven by the need to be alone and clear his head. “You should get some rest,” he said.

  Her brows lifted. “Wow. That was out of the blue.”

  “I intend for us to use all of the night. With your human constitution—”

  “So now you’re handling me? Great. I’m not that fragile, you know.”

  “You really don’t like anyone taking care of you, do you?”

  She looked at him hard. “You’re not really interested in taking care of me. You just want to find a cure for your friend.”

  And with that she pushed her seat back and closed her eyes, leaving him to face the unexpected fact that although her words would have been true when they had started this journey, he couldn’t deny that things had changed.

  And that was one hell of a remarkable thing.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Something’s going on with Serge.”

  Lissa snapped her head up as Rand walked into the conference room, his notebook computer open in his hands. “What? What is it?”

  He lifted the computer, as if words weren’t an adequate answer and he had to show her. He set the thing down in front of her, then stood behind her so that when he bent to put his hands on the keyboard, his chest pressed against her back. She closed her eyes, comforted by the feel of him against her. Everything was going to hell around them—Serge a monster, Sara arrested, Nicholas and Petra on the run—but no matter how horrible it got, she knew she could find comfort in Rand’s arms, and she was grateful for that every day.

  “See?” he said, tapping the screen. He’d opened the monitoring program and was running the video feed from about half an hour prior. She watched, heartsick, as Serge stormed about in the cell, clawing at the concrete wall and banging on the glass. The walls were littered now with nonsense words written in his own blood, and over and over again the number three, scrawled on the wall with no apparent context.

  He loped and ran and slammed and raged throughout the small space, everything about him screaming violence. The way he moved, the way his eyes flashed, the way he ripped into the food that was lowered into his cell, not the least bit affected by the sedatives hidden in the meat.

  “What am I looking for?” Lissa asked.

  “Coming up,” Rand said, as they both watched Serge stand in front of the insanely thick glass wall and beat his palms upon it. The volume on the computer was turned most of the way down, but still Lissa could hear Serge’s animalistic wails, and they ripped straight through her heart.

  “Do we have to watch? It’s so—”

  “Here.” He pointed at the screen, and Lissa sucked in a breath. The camera had caught Serge in the middle of a horrific frenzy, beating at walls, ripping apart the carcass that was the remains of his lunch. He was wild and angry, and then, suddenly, he wasn’t.

  He simply went still and stood there, motionless, in the middle of the cell. A moment passed, then another, and he looked down at his body, then held his hands out in front of him.

  And then, through the speakers, Lissa heard the coarse, whispered voice asking, “What the hell?”

  “He’s okay?” She squeezed Rand’s hand. “Oh my God, Rand, he’s okay.”

  She started to stand, wanting to run to the cell and see in person what she couldn’t quite get her mind to believe, but Rand’s strong hand on her shoulder held her down. “Wait,” he said. “And watch.”

  O
n the screen, Serge stood for another beat, his expression baffled. And then, as quickly as it had come, the humanity disappeared. Serge tossed his head back and wailed—a gut-wrenching sound that ripped a sob from Lissa’s throat as well—before he went back to battering the cell, slamming against the cement walls, pounding on the glass, and then lifting his eyes and snarling straight into the camera.

  “What happened?” she asked. “Why did he change like that? He looked himself again, and then … oh dear God …”

  “I don’t know. Something, but—I don’t know.” Rand shut the laptop, cutting the sound and erasing the image, but even so, she could still see the pictures clearly in her mind. The Serge-creature thrashing wildly.

  The creature with pure evil in its eyes.

  Evil, and dark, raw power. Real power. It coursed through the creature. Filling it. Fueling it.

  So potent that its touch alone left a hand-shaped imprint etched in the glass.

  The glass was thinner now. Weaker.

  Soon, the monster thought, with rare clarity.

  Soon it would be free.

  “Your report?”

  Tariq sat across from his uncle, Tiberius, and the para-daemon Trylag. A triumvirate of power, and he forced his chin up high and his eyes to meet each man’s. This was an opportunity to prove himself, and he knew it. He wasn’t going to fuck it up.

  “Sara Constantine’s in custody, as you know, but we don’t have any indication that she knows where Nicholas and the girl have gone.” He focused his attention on Tiberius. “Division’s being uncooperative about allowing us to use a Truth Teller, but if you could push on that, we might learn something new.”

  “I doubt Constantine knows,” Tiberius said. “I know Nicholas well. He would not be so clumsy as to leave bread crumbs.”

  “I agree,” Tariq said. “But we will still pursue the lead.”

  “Not our priority, I hope,” Trylag said. “If Constantine is most likely a dead end, I don’t care to see us wasting time arguing with Division about the appropriateness of a Truth Teller.”

  Tariq nodded, feeling more on the spot than was comfortable. “Right. Of course. And Constantine is not our primary concern.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve ordered multiple teams into the field. I have agents searching Montegue’s known residences, monitoring cellular communications, observing Montegue’s associates, the works. I have teams in other cities ready to move at a moment’s notice, as well. But none of that reflects our primary plan of attack.”

  “And what is that?” Tiberius asked.

  “The girl’s brother,” Tariq said. “Our observation has led us to believe that he has the ability to locate her. Some spell most likely, though possibly related to the fact that they’re twins. The reason is irrelevant at this point. What’s important is that if we follow the brother, we’ll find the girl.”

  “Then you are following him, I assume?” his uncle asked.

  “We are,” Tariq said, sitting up straight. “I’m personally leading that team. At the moment, the brother is asleep. Passed out, actually. The universal counterbalance. He pumped out a lot of magic getting across town to his sister’s earlier location.”

  “Where you missed her, if I read your report correctly,” Trylag said.

  Tariq forced himself not to ball his hands into fists. “That is accurate. We were not aware of his ability at the time. We expected the sister would be coming to him, not the other way around. But as a result of that failed mission objective, we gained valuable intelligence. Follow the brother, we find the girl.”

  “When will he be on the move again?” Tiberius demanded.

  “I can’t be certain, but we believe it will be a while before he has the energy to go after her. In the meantime, my team members Elric and Vale continue to monitor his home. They’ll contact me if anything pops.”

  “Good.” His uncle nodded with approval, and relief surged through Tariq. “In the meantime, what else have you learned?”

  They were seated at a corner booth in a bar overflowing with humans. Tiberius and Trylag passed easily, but Dirque and Tariq had tossed up glamours—the power of illusion wielded by even the youngest and weakest of the jinn—to hide their unusual eyes and the inhuman pallor of their skin. The glamours layered their conversation, too, so that to other customers, the shadowers appeared to be businessmen discussing nothing so interesting that it required even a second thought.

  Dirque had dragged the group to the bar, ignoring Tariq’s protests that the high examiner’s temporary office at Division was a secure location. Then again, there was a reason Dirque was the Alliance chairman. The man took nothing for granted, accepted nothing as fact, and questioned every convenience or bit of good luck.

  It had kept him alive for centuries, and it was an approach to life that Tariq tried to emulate. Tried, but often failed. His impetuousness had kept him tied to RAC as a team leader instead of moving up to commander or even transferring to a position with the Alliance itself.

  Now, though, he had an opportunity to prove himself to his uncle. And his uncle was able to get Tariq a position pretty much anywhere he wanted.

  So, yeah, if Dirque wanted to drag him to some human-infested bar, then Tariq was all over that plan.

  A waitress in a white shirt and skintight black pants sidled up to the booth. “Lawyers, right?”

  “How did you guess?” Dirque said, his voice as smooth as shark skin.

  She grinned at him, but her focus was on Tariq, who smiled up at her, the kind of smile that he knew women liked. “You have that sharp, deadly look,” she said.

  “Sweetheart, you don’t know the half of it.” Just for fun, Tariq let the illusion drop from his face. No more than a split second, but it was enough for her to see his yellow eyes and diamond-shaped pupils. Enough for her mind to register that these men weren’t lawyers. For that matter, they weren’t human.

  Or maybe her eyes were just playing tricks on her.

  She took a step backward, looking at the four of them as she fumbled for her notepad. “Sorry. I—it’s been a long shift.”

  “We understand,” Trylag said. “Scotch,” he said. “Neat is fine. He’ll have the same.”

  She nodded, then turned as if she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Tariq hid a smile … which faded as he met his uncle’s eyes.

  Dirque leaned back his huge body, putting a strain on the booth’s bench that only Tariq could see. “Well?”

  Tariq cleared his throat and looked at the three men. “I’ve been thinking about why Montegue would risk rescuing that human, and I can’t come up with a damn thing. Not unless we alter our premises.”

  “What premises are those?”

  “What if Sergius isn’t dead?” Tariq asked.

  Tiberius cocked his head and Dirque leaned forward. “Go on.”

  “I’m just wondering if the fire was faked. There was never a body, just DNA. Granted, Sergius is a vamp, but I’m still dubious.”

  “We’ve seen this type of monster before,” Trylag said. “It tears a path across the earth. If Sergius were alive, we would have heard of it. Hell, the destruction would be the lead story on every human news channel.”

  “Unless he was captured. Unless he’s being held. Montegue was with him right after the change, isn’t that so? And Lucius Dragos was there, too. I think it is reasonable to assume the two of them would do whatever is necessary to protect their friend.”

  “You think they somehow subdued the monster, and now they hold him captive as they search for a cure?”

  “No,” Tiberius said. “Dragos is my closest confidant. Montegue is my personal advocate. I would know.”

  Dirque looked at him. “Would you? Then perhaps you do.”

  The vampire’s face grew hard and his eyes darkened. Otherwise, he didn’t move, but nonetheless Tariq could sense the daemon rising. “Do you accuse me?”

  “I say nothing,” Dirque said. “I’m merely playing with the hypothesis my nephew has raised, as
I assumed you were doing.” He smiled, so cold and menacing that even Tariq, who couldn’t give a shit about Tiberius, had to stifle a shiver. “If Sergius is alive, and you speak the truth that you were not told, that says something itself, don’t you think? Either you’re lying to us, or the bond between you and those highest among your ranks is fraying. More’s the pity.”

  Trylag looked at the other two. “Enough. Now is not the time. Our goal is to terminate the girl. Once we do that, it will not matter if Sergius is alive. Upon her death, he will be restored.”

  “Trylag speaks the truth,” Dirque said. He turned to Tariq. “Go back to your team. Continue your surveillance. Direct your subordinates as you have been doing. With luck, you will be on the move soon. With even more luck, your efforts will not even be necessary.”

  Something sharp like fear cut through Tariq. “What do you mean?”

  “Things have been set in motion,” Dirque said. “High-level things.”

  Tariq sat up straighter. “Sir, it is my job to—”

  Dirque cut him off with a hard swipe of his hand. “We are after the same result, nephew. You search for the girl in your own way,” he said, and a thin, smug smile stretched across his face. “And I’ll seek to destroy her in mine.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “What’s going on?” Petra asked, as Nicholas came back from the cockpit where he’d answered a radio call from Rand.

  He didn’t answer right away, but nodded to Pyre, silently signaling for the weren to return to the front and take the controls off autopilot.

  “Rand thinks our injured friend might be recovering,” Nicholas said once Pyre was gone.

  “Why?”

  “Apparently there was a moment when our boy was himself again. Said he could see it in his eyes, his posture, everything. Rand said it was as plain as day.”

  Ripples of cold understanding flooded her. “But?”

  Nicholas cocked his head as he looked at her, as if wondering why she was so damn certain that there was a “but” coming. “But then it passed,” he said. “The moment passed and he was … ill again.” He studied her. “But you already knew that.”