by Scott, Amber
Jen popped her head around the corner. “Hey, guys. Feeling better, Sadie?” She waltzed into the room as though no one had been yelling in it.
“What if I break his heart, Heather? Ever consider that one? I’m not a child and not some weak invalid, no matter how much you want me to be.”
Heather’s eyes welled with angry tears. “I don’t want you to be sick,” she grit out.
Jen put an arm around Heather’s shoulders. “Hey, girl. Did you get my message? I called you this morning. Is Elijah still here?”
Sadie buried her surprise, almost forgetting Jen knew Elijah from her three day blackout. “He’s getting dressed.”
“Ooh la la,” Jen said. “Heather, hey, it’s alright. You forget I’m here for Sadie, too.”
Heather nodded, swiping at angry tears. “Yeah. I forget she has you.” Resentment laced her words. “And now that you’re here, and I’m once again the bad guy, I have to go.”
“Heather,” Jen said. “Come on. Don’t leave mad.”
Sadie let them go, Heather stalking off and Jen following, shaking her head.
She walked back to her bedroom, half thrilled, half scared about what she would find in it. Elijah stood leaning against a wall, contemplation creasing his brow.
“Thanks for disappearing,” Sadie said, wishing he was still wrapped in a towel. Or less. “I owe you one. But did you have to come back like that?”
“Seemed the quickest way to get back to you. An immortal is nearby and they have far from friendly intentions toward you.”
“Who? Like what? What have I done to piss anyone off?”
Elijah shook his head. “You mentioned dreams. When did they begin?”
Unease rippled through her. “I did?” She gulped.
“In every single painting of me in there, I have wings. You’ve either seen them longer than you admitted to, which I doubt. You’re a terrible liar. Or you’ve been dreaming.” He approached her. She fidgeted. “Of me. Sadie, I need to know.”
A flock of butterflies seemed to awaken in her stomach. He’d seen her paintings. Did he realize she’d been obsessing over him all this time? “I’m not sure when the dreams began exactly.” Liar. “Three or four months ago, maybe?” Six months, four days.
He reached out, cupping her cheek and forcing her to look in his eyes. “The truth, Sadie.”
Sadie’s first shift at the library flitted through her memory. His chocolate silk gaze holding steadily to hers. “They started the first day I saw you on campus.” The butterflies quieted. “Six months ago.” She didn’t want to ask, but had to know. “Why?”
~ ~ ~
Chapter Twelve
Fuck. “Six months?” Elijah said, careful to mask his frustration. He’d been in the presence of a messenger changeling six long months? Why hadn’t Holly picked up on Sadie’s transformation sooner? All that wasted time, hunting, waiting, even going through mortal texts looking for signs of the Book of Sorrows in their history.
Sadie hesitated. “Is that bad?”
“I won’t lie. If I’d known you were transforming six months ago, so much more could have been done.” They’d have kept her status a secret, for one. The changeling following her wouldn’t be. “But it doesn’t matter now, does it?” He couldn’t waste another minute. He had to get her to safety and guide her transformation in whatever way possible. “How quickly can you get dressed?”
Sadie looked down at her pajama-clad body. The wet spots he’d left were drying, her dusky nipples no longer peaking through. “That depends,” she said. “Tell me why I’m in danger.”
He stepped closer, so close he could see thin gold flecks in her sky blue eyes. “Do you remember the night something chased you past the park?”
Her eyes widened. She perceptibly swallowed. “A werewolf?”
“No,” Elijah said, not wanting to correct the mortal term and create even more confusion. “I thought she was a shapeshifter, but she claimed to be a changeling. And that you are, too.”
“It doesn’t sound like you’re sure I am.”
“I wasn’t. Until now. The changeling has been following you. I can’t get a strong enough trace to hunt her again.”
“She wants me dead?”
“I don’t think so, but she wants something. She’s waiting, watching.”
Her hand went to her throat but her gaze hardened. “That’s why you want me to come with you?”
“Yes,” Elijah said. “There are immortals who would kill you just to keep the realms pure. Half-breeds aren’t tolerated in the immortal realm. They’re seen as inferior, tainted perfection by many. A changeling would be far worse. Right or wrong, your existence threatens both realms. The fact that I’m not the only one who knows you are transforming puts you in higher danger.”
She threw her hands up and started yanking drawers open, tossing clothes aside. Impatient but not angry.
He took in her every move, listened to the even keel of her vibration. She sounded resolved. Elijah’s worries subsided. She was far sturdier than he’d first assumed.
She paused but didn’t face him. “And?”
“And there is a faction—The Illeautians—who consider humankind parasitic. They want the human realm destroyed. If humans start evolving….”
She pulled off her tee. The smooth bare skin on her back, two crescent shaped scars at her shoulders, filled his vision. Elijah couldn’t look away as she strapped a bra around her slender ribcage and put her arms through the straps. His gaze caressed the slope of her back. Two hollows above her ass peaked out from her bottoms. His imagination filled in what he could not see.
His body tightened against his will. He had no business wanting a mortal.
Even a changeling one. Because a part of her might always be human.
Humans died. Immortals lived.
“If you’re right and I’m not going to be human anymore, why would anyone care what I am?” She brought a snug blue shirt over her head then glanced meaningfully over her shoulder.
He should turn around, give her privacy. “Because, what are realm lines for if humans are evolving? Mortals live, they die, they do not become immortal. In human terms, it could be seen as the first stages of Armageddon. Only this wouldn’t be a war between Heaven and Hell.”
She dropped her pants to the floor and stepped out of them. The bottoms of her cheeks showed beneath the blouse. Elijah reacted, stiffening in the wrong place.
Even if she successfully evolved, she was off limits. Too much depended on his actions. On hers.
“Instead of angels and demons, immortals and humans?” Another drawer shut, the sound of clothing moving above the sound of her body’s sweet hum.
“Two worlds becoming one. Myth aside, separation of realms, most immortals have never lived long enough to know any different. The idea that we once shared a realm is considered folklore now.” Elijah rubbed his neck, unable to look away as she dug each leg into tight jeans.
She faced him. Impossibly, seeing her dressed only made his reaction worse. “Live long enough. That makes it sound like immortals aren’t immortal at all.”
She’d taken all this in serious stride. Part of him worried over the fact. “There is no such thing as forever. We simply live far longer, have powers, skills not found in human DNA. Or, perhaps it is simply buried, waiting for the right triggers. I’m on uncertain footing with this, too.”
She considered him for a moment. “If they know I’m here and they want me bad enough, how can anyone protect me?”
“With everything I have,” he said, meaningfully. But what he’d vowed begged the question, why. He didn’t want her to ask. “We don’t have much time. How does your head feel?”
She rubbed her temples. “Like elves are tap dancing on my brain.”
“Is that normal?”
She furrowed her eyebrows but grinned. “A little. Feels like a hangover, I guess.”
“You should eat.” A soft rumble from her belly confirmed it and sent a pret
ty flush into her cheeks. The changeling’s distant vibration shifted, getting closer. “Grab whatever else you need now. We have to go.”
“Our location has been compromised? Is that how it goes?”
She was teasing him? He found the fact at once amusing and unnerving. “Something like that,” he said, leveling his gaze on hers. “You’re handling all of this better than I thought you would.”
She maintained her cool façade but shadows flashed over her eyes. “Trust me. I’ve been through far scarier.”
Elijah bit back the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss away whatever pain she’d ever known. The urge itself sent his heart racing. What was she doing to him? He had to get her to the safe house. Before his libido proved as big a threat to her transformation as the changeling following her.
She stepped into his arms, a strange look in her eyes that sparked a thousand questions in him. He refused to ask even one.
Within seconds, he plunged them skyward.
Sadie tangled around him. He rushed through the cloudless sky, avoiding traces of energy so as to remain cloaked. The safe house wasn’t far by flight. For all her bravado, Sadie wouldn’t be immune to the stress of her world gradually flipping inside out.
She didn’t speak when they landed on the front stoop of the remote stucco mansion.
Or when he took her inside the opulent foyer.
Or when he led her to his bedroom.
When he told her he’d return with food, she merely nodded. Something was at work behind those placid eyes. He could feel it, he could hear it. He blamed the chaos of the day.
Any minute, Lyric would project his and Holly’s location. Elijah told himself Sadie would be safe. Astrid would leave her be but report any issues. Still, he hated leaving. Lyric and Holly would be waiting, though. He had to find that changeling.
Elijah handed Sadie her cell phone, his number programmed in. “If you need anything, promise me you’ll call?”
Taking another bite of the Alfredo pasta, Sadie nodded. “So, it’s a cell phone? It just didn’t look like a phone. Gold. Really skinny.”
He nodded, nowhere near ready to explain the ins and outs of realm technology. “Promise me? Good. Try to rest.”
“Promise me you’ll wake me up the second you get back? If I fall asleep?” Her vibration revealed her inner tension. “You owe me a billion more answers, Elijah.”
Dark shadows showed under her eyes. A new image, one of parishioners gathering, the sermon beginning filled his mind. Lyric’s projection. Elijah had to go. “I promise. I’ll answer every one.”
Sadie set her food aside and lay back in the bed—his bed. With a deep breath and a silent prayer, Elijah transported, leaving her behind.
*
The three rusted, boxy crosses pointing at the sky would make any cult proud. Elijah teleported at the rear of the barn converted into a church, cloaked in shadow. He drew in his wings and energy, surveyed the area, then joined Holly and Lyric inside.
Among all the various immortal vibrations, he detected no sign of the changeling. He couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing, though.
“Welcome, friend,” a flannel-shirted mortal said, offering Elijah a pamphlet.
Gritting his teeth, Elijah wove through the niceties and greetings, focusing on his breathing. The energetic confusion in a place like this could easily drain him. Holly was doing little to hide her worry. Lyric looked uneasy.
It took no time at all to realize Lyric had brought him into a feeder den.
Religious rapture might as well be blood to a feeder. No shifter or seeker or elemental like Holly would be seduced by the high. But Lyric and any other immortal like him would be.
As Elijah went to voice his rancor over Lyric’s location choices, the feeder interrupted.
“I made contact with someone I think can help. She may have information on Crusoe,” Lyric offered.
“About Crusoe or the changeling myth?” Holly asked.
They walked. “Maybe both. I know in my bones she’s connected to the Illeautians. If she’s not one of them, she’s got strong ties.”
Elijah didn’t speak. He breathed. The buzz among the feeders scattered amid the devout humans. Based on the noise, he could imagine the fat, rich emotion and pain ready for easy consumption.
Lyric’s jaw muscle ticked. “If there’s rumor of anything, Illeautian or changelings or otherwise, Charity will know.”
“How is Sadie?” Holly asked.
“Safe.” Elijah gave his guts a moment to settle. “She needs rest.”
“I’m surprised you left her.” Holly stepped closer to his side so that her arm rested against his. “How much did you tell her? How did she handle it?”
“Not enough. And surprisingly well.” It went against everything within him to sit and act complacent in a place like this. But he did so, taking a metal chair between Holly and Lyric. He almost missed Holly bristling over his answer. Odd.
“How direct are we going to be here?” Lyric asked, giving Elijah a welcome distraction. “I’m against outright asking about changelings.”
A shrill whine ground at Elijah’s senses. A wave of nausea swelled upward. He fought to isolate the noise’s origin. Stronger, louder, it battered his brain.
Holly placed a hand on his arm. “What is it?”
He couldn’t explain, reinforcing his shield, he blocked the offending noise. It wasn’t human. No mortal could create such a sickening, sinister pitch. And it was intentional.
As rapidly as the reverberation struck, it ceased.
The fragrant scent of roses swept by. Elijah turned toward it. A woman joined them, sitting next to Lyric. Lush couldn’t contain the scale of curves that filled his vision or fully define the sweetness in her sound. Too sweet.
She teased a lock of Lyric’s long, raven hair between two pink-nailed fingers, sweeping the tips over her neck. She bent to Lyric. He whispered to her. She listened, touched his arm like a lover. But her eyes went to Elijah and stayed there.
Holly’s hand dug into his muscle.
A guitar hymn filled the room. Parishioners stood, joined hands.
“Charity, I presume,” Elijah said, as their row took hands, doing as the others did, blending in. A feeder like her would never fully blend in.
The fiend smiled and blinked once. Slowly. Again, she whispered to Lyric. He half laughed, half sighed. Nodded. Holly’s eyes implored Elijah’s. The glow in her hair licked blue.
Every molecule in Elijah’s body screamed in alarm.
Charity’s rose didn’t overpower. Her scent seduced. Her simple cotton dress heightened the allure. Her heavy arms and thighs and hips were a siren’s sweet enticements. Lyric wasn’t the only one suffering the effects. Holly’s lip trembled. Two feeders to the rear sighed. The humans were drawn to her like ants to honey. They stared, transfixed yet undisturbed by what would otherwise be deemed a spectacle—bizarre—in any realm.
Charity’s sultry gaze fell to Elijah’s lips and she beckoned him with a single long nailed finger. In his chest, beneath the muscle and bone, he felt a tug. His gut told him to play along. When she stood, he followed, leaving waves of envy in his wake.
He’d never met such a powerful feeder.
Outside, the moon hung half full against a cloudless night sky. Crickets chirped. The distant sound of traffic hushed and shooshed. Another faint sound, one he knew all too well.
The changeling.
The sound eased his worry for Sadie. He focused on Charity, on getting information on Crusoe.
“Elijah, is it?” Charity asked, her long red curls moving with each swaying step as she led him into a short field of high grass.
Irritation coursed through him. He didn’t acknowledge her question. “Lyric seems to think you know about the Illeautians.”
A waft of roses met his nose. “Who doesn’t?” The breeze billowed her long skirt.
“True enough. Lyric was wrong then?”
She clucked her tongue.
“What would you like to know?” A tendril of smoke—or was it steam?—clung to her, glowing eerily in the darkness.
“I would. I want Illeautian names.”
Her head tipped back in silent laughter. “Ah, yes, as do many. Truth be told, they are everywhere and could be anyone. Why, Lyric himself could be involved and no soul would ever know.” She rocked her hips. “But you already suspect as much.”
His wings tightened. Rumor spoke of membership crossing realms as well, bleeding through somehow to the spiritual and human realm. Elijah doubted the verity of such a thing. “I’m seeking someone specific.”
She stepped toward him. “Intriguing. Who?”
Part of him itched to tell her. It felt as though doing so would solve everything. Even the turmoil he felt over Sadie’s change. “They’re hunting for the Book of Sorrows’ lost verses.”
Her dark eyes glowed from deep within. His chest tickled and he let his guard down so that she could taste his magnetic energy. Keeping his mind blank, his shield strong, he met her gaze unwaveringly.
The night’s chirping lullaby crooned around them.
Charity drew close. She reached for the chain about his neck. She palmed his compass. “The hunter has lost his prey?” she asked. “Or is he captured in the game?”
Her eyes leveled on his, waiting, mocking. He turned to leave before his anger broke free and she fed on it, weakening him. His chest tugged again.
“The particular sect you seek is here, drawn to the desert vortex, just as you are. They are looking for the Book. And for more.”
He stopped. Crusoe’s last words to Elijah had meant something, then? “Why the vortex?”
Her lips curled and she shrugged. “Perhaps because of the myth of the end of realms.” She stepped close again. “Who can know?”
He could feel her game beginning anew. “How many?”
A pastor’s voice echoed from inside, cheers and applause carried in spurts. Elijah blocked the dizzying buzz of its energy. It coalesced. The feed had begun.