by Kristie Cook
And he was probably more powerful than any of us.
Blossom and Sheree returned to the Conversion Center, and Vanessa and Owen showed us to our sleeping quarters. Several sections made up the residential area, each section divided into fourteen individual rooms that could sleep up to four people each, according to Owen. They gave us a room in the back, away from everyone else, and our mattress we’d brought from our beach house had been placed in it, along with some linens.
Although it wasn’t technically our evening to shower according to our last name, they allowed us an exception. Probably for everyone else’s benefit as much as our own. Timers regulated the water, so there was no standing under the warm stream for relaxation, nor was there much privacy in the communal bathrooms. I fleetingly wondered if Tristan and I would ever be able to enjoy a shower together again, but at the moment, I was just glad to be clean. Blossom used the spell to clean and refresh our fighting leathers, but we’d been provided a few sets of Norman clothes, too. Although my leathers fit like a second skin, it was still nice to hang out in yoga pants and a hoodie for a change.
As I lay on the same mattress I’d woken up on in a very different place this morning, I thought about how much everything had changed in the last sixteen hours. Well, actually, nothing had changed except Tristan’s and my perspectives, and I had a feeling mine more than his. He’d remained much more optimistic than I had, believing that we’d eventually find what had found us—other souls that weren’t swimming in evil.
For months, I’d been focused on saving Tristan and Dorian so that I could convince the Angels to allow all three of us into Heaven, because there was nothing left in this world worth staying for. In a matter of hours, I’d learned that not only were my closest friends—aka my extended family—still alive, but so were thousands of my people and millions of Normans. And to top it off, a new life grew inside of me. Not only me, either, but perhaps thousands of Norman women harbored a new generation in their wombs. Would the Angels be so cruel to give us such promise for a future when they knew it would all be destroyed in the end? I certainly hoped not. All of these new developments made this world worth more than just staying for—it made this world worth fighting for.
If only we could figure out how.
We spent the next few days settling into a routine with the rest of The Loft’s residents and finding our places in the workload. Tristan, of course, belonged in the Training section, teaching various classes from Aikido to weapons to everything about the Daemoni, including each creature’s weaknesses. I, on the other hand, floated all over the place. As official leader, I worked with Charlotte in running the place, although she really did most of the work. I helped Tristan, Brogan, and the others with some training classes, too, and when the hunters and Amadis brought Daemoni in, I’d help Sheree with conversions. A few times, when being underground twenty-four/seven began grating on the nerves, Tristan and I would go out with Alys, Sonya, and hunters to find more Daemoni to convert. But I was needed for the conversions that followed, so escaping the compound was a luxury.
Weeks passed, Robin returned with news of more groups found throughout the world, and my army was growing in both number and strength. Except the most significant improvements were in the Normans, who trained diligently, and I still didn’t want to involve them in any war waged on Lucas, the Daemoni, and the Demons, if at all possible. Every plan Tristan devised included the Normans, though, and I’d make him go back to the drawing board.
“They want to fight,” he’d told me repeatedly. “They tell me this every day in training. It’s why they come to training and work their asses off. This is their world, too, ma lykita.”
“And if we let them go against the Daemoni and the Demons, there won’t be any of them left by the time it’s all over.”
“You underestimate the Normans.”
“You underestimate Lucas and those vile creatures. And you, of all people, should know better. How can you be so willing to risk their lives?”
After enough of these arguments, he stopped answering this question because I always ignored how he explained his optimism.
“We need more Amadis,” I said. “More converts.”
I ordered all Amadis who Robin and her fellow messengers could reach to become more aggressive in finding Daemoni who wanted to convert, and we did build our numbers that way. According to Robin’s reports and what we learned through the ham radio, we’d add a few dozen new Amadis each week. But that was hardly anything compared to the Daemoni’s numbers.
And there was still no word about Dorian.
This was both good and bad. Good because it meant he hadn’t joined the Daemoni yet, and as each week passed, that meant more converts for us and more training for the Normans before Lucas made his next move. But bad because it was another week that I’d heard nothing about my son. Another week of wondering and worrying about him. Another week of not being able to show him where he truly belonged—with us.
“I just can’t imagine where he could be,” I said to Sheree one afternoon after we’d completed a new conversion. We sat in the dining area, drinking tea while I waited for Tristan. We were going to see Carlie for a minute, and then he’d give me what I really needed after a conversion—the kind of true, deep love only a soul mate could provide.
“Do you think he could have gone back to Noah?” she asked as she ran her long, thin finger over the rim of her ceramic cup.
“I doubt it. When we saw Noah, Dorian had already been gone for weeks.”
“If Noah was telling you the truth.”
I rested my chin on my hand. “He seemed to be.”
“But he’s Daemoni and therefore a liar.”
I started to nod, but then frowned. “I don’t know that he’s ever lied to me, though. At least, when he wasn’t under Kali or Jeana’s control. Besides, the last time we saw him, Demons were taking him away. For all we know, he could be trapped in Hell.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but the overhead buzzers rang out an alarm. Our walkie-talkies lit up with Charlotte’s voice.
“New converts you’re going to love,” she said. “Tristan and Owen, I need you here stat. We’ll need all the help we can get. Over.”
Although we’d just completed a conversion, Sheree and I had no choice but to jump up and respond. We rushed to the Conversion Center in time to meet Tristan, Char, and Owen struggling with three conscious Daemoni—one woman and two men.
“Warlocks?” I asked in surprise as the three new mages whipped their bodies against the bindings holding them, murmuring spells under their breaths.
Tristan’s chest rumbled. “This will be … interesting.”
Chapter 20
“You don’t need to tie us up like this,” the black woman, whose Caribbean accent reminded me of Solomon, seethed as she arched her back against Owen’s hold on her. “We came because we wanted to.”
“We’re not taking any chances,” Tristan replied calmly as his power moved the black male warlock to a bed.
“You want to convert?” I blurted, although they wouldn’t be here if they didn’t. I just couldn’t believe this.
“I don’t know. Are we coming to the stupid side?” The white man with black, curly hair snapped. His arm suddenly jerked free of Charlotte’s hold, and a spell shot wildly across the room. A glass bottle on a shelf exploded.
“If you don’t want to be here, we’ll take you out,” Owen growled, and the way he said take you out, you couldn’t be sure if he meant out of The Loft or out of the world.
The woman’s eyes bulged and glowed red as she looked at me. “No. Please, no. You don’t know what they’re doing … what they’re planning. Please help us.”
Her plea hit me right in the soul, and I rushed to her side. My heart swelled with love and concern as I placed my hand on her arm. She jerked and cussed when the Amadis power hit her, and a spell surged out of her palm. A ceramic coffee cup on the makeshift desk melted into a puddle of goo. These were
going to be some of our hardest conversions ever.
Vampires were easy to subdue—stab them in the heart with a silver knife or stake and don’t remove it until they were tightly bound with silver cuffs and chains. Weres were a little more difficult during full moons, but in general, they could also be contained with silver. Mages, on the other hand, could be tied up with silver rope from neck to toe, but as long as their mouths could move, they could shoot off a spell. Many could do so without their mouths. And during conversion, there was no telling what they’d do when the evil fought back.
Mages who wanted to convert were a rare score, though. Vampires who came to us had usually been turned against their will, or in a few instances when they’d wanted to be turned, they’d regretted their decision soon enough to save their souls. Most of the were-creatures who came to us had been bitten and infected, and like the vamps, usually against their wills. Some Weres, and all mages, however, were born, so Daemoni or Amadis from birth. All the Daemoni mages had ever known was evil and darkness. They learned dark and black magic from an early age, and delighted in the powers they could use for personal gain. Rarely would they give that up to come to the other side. And that natural Daemoni blood made their conversions all the more difficult.
“What’s your name?” I asked the female warlock.
“Call me Molita.”
“Okay, Molita, we’ll help you,” I promised, and the look she gave me—full of fear and determination—reminded me of when Sheree had been so desperate to convert.
As expected, the conversions pushed us to our limits, and I’d already been so drained of power. Every Amadis with any amount of power had to come help at some point or another, just to give us a chance at beating the evil drenching their souls and coursing through their blood. The baby inside me must have grown accustomed to the dark energy several conversions ago, because she no longer reacted like she had the first time, and now she seemed to have retreated completely, becoming quiet. Probably sleeping like I wanted to after days of staying with the mages.
When I could finally leave, knowing they were going to be okay, the woman’s dark hand wrapped around my arm, stopping me. Her black, bloodshot eyes, ringed in red, rolled up to me.
“Thank … you,” she whispered hoarsely. She closed her eyes and swallowed, and I thought she was done, but when I started to pull away, her grip tightened and her eyes opened. “There are more of us. More Daemoni who want to convert. Lucas … has gone too far. Others know … too. They just don’t know … how … to leave.”
All at once, my heart felt like it shrunk with the desperation in her voice and exploded with the news. I placed my hand over hers and gave her a squeeze. “We’ll help them. I promise.”
But as soon as I uttered the words, inexplicable fear sent me into a sudden panic. How could we help them? How could we help anyone? There was no way. We would fail again. I would fail again! My heart raced way too fast. My breaths came quick and shallow. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my knees knocked together from the tremble in my weak legs. Gray splotches crept in on the edges of my vision, and then blue and black dots wavered and grew until I could see no more.
Strong arms caught me as I went down.
“You need a break,” Tristan murmured as he carried me out of the Conversion Center. “Too much dark energy.”
“I just need you.” I pulled on his love as his concern poured out of him and into me, and I could already feel a difference. “I need you to hold me, to strengthen me.”
His jaw clenched as he looked down at me. “I want Carlie to look at you.”
“I’ll be fine,” I argued. “It’s just been a long, exhausting week. You know how I get with these conversions.”
His steps paused, and I realized we were already at the Medical station. He looked down at me, worry written all over his face.
“Just let me regenerate with you tonight. I promise to see her tomorrow. I’m just too tired to deal with prodding right now.”
His lips pressed together for a moment, then he finally nodded. He didn’t put me down, though, but carried me to our room.
“You know how worried I’ve been,” he said after he laid me down on the mattress. He pushed the hair away from my cheek and leaned down to press his lips to my forehead.
I sighed with the relief that small kiss brought. “I just need more of that.”
He took off my boots and leathers, and he gave me exactly what I needed—love and comfort. After a night with him and regenerating in his arms, I felt fine the next day. But as I’d promised, we went to see Carlie. He and Charlotte had been concerned for a while, anyway, and, honestly, I couldn’t argue. I had to admit something had changed in the last week or so.
“She feels more active to me, but Tristan can’t feel her anymore,” I explained to Carlie as she had me lay on the exam table.
“I still can’t believe either of you felt her as early as you did,” she said.
“She’s our power baby.” Tristan gloated from my side as he held my hand like any good expecting father would do.
“She has to be to come into this world,” I mumbled, and Tristan frowned.
“I’m worried about her heart, though,” he said. “None of us can hear it anymore. If Alexis didn’t still feel her kicking around …”
He trailed off, unable or unwilling to voice the worst-case scenario of another pending miscarriage. Carlie frowned, too, as she pushed around on my nearly flat belly.
“Unless I just have bad gas, trust me, she’s still alive and kicking. Literally.”
Without a reply, Carlie donned a stethoscope and placed the cold disc against my skin. She moved it around several times, the crease between her brows deepening with each move.
“That’s odd,” she murmured. “I can pick up the heartbeat, but it’s really faint. And there’s something … Tristan, there’s another scope in that box. Come listen.”
Tristan shouldn’t have needed a stethoscope, but he found the one Carlie indicated in a box on the counter, and then both of them hovered over my belly, sliding their discs around.
“Huh.” Tristan looked up at me with interest in his eyes. “I can hear it now.”
“It’s so faint,” Carlie said. “And now come over here.”
She moved his end an inch or so over. After a moment of listening, his eyes darkened and his mouth pressed into a scowl.
“I don’t like that look,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
“You hear it, too?” Carlie asked Tristan, and he nodded. “Well, lucky for us, Owen was finally able to fix the ultrasound machine the hunters brought back weeks ago. Let’s take a peek.”
A few minutes later, after Carlie turned off every light and electrical device in the medical unit so she could power the ultrasound machine, I again lay on my back with cold jelly being smeared on my abdomen.
“I’ve had a little training on reading these things, but it wasn’t exactly my forte,” she warned as she pressed the wand against my skin. “Do you know how, Tristan?”
“Not so much, but between the two of us, we should surely be able to figure it out.”
They took turns moving the wand around while strange noises sounded in their throats.
“I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Tristan said.
“The placenta seems unusually thick, I think.” Carlie’s brows pinched together. “Would that be possible with you guys?”
Tristan’s forehead wrinkled as he looked at me, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Maybe she has a little more supernatural protection after what happened last time.”
The Angels? I wondered. “Well, that would be nice. Good news for once. So why the frowns earlier?”
A moment later, when Tristan moved the device lower, Carlie answered with a little squeal as she clapped her hands together, her eyes transfixed to the screen. “There it is!”
I studied the monotone image, trying to figure out what she saw in the gray blobs surrounded by a black area at the bottom of what
looked like a tunnel of more gray. “What?”
She placed her hand over Tristan’s on the wand and moved it to highlight one of the gray, peanut-shaped blobs. Something small flashed in it. “One,” she said, and then she moved to the other peanut with another pulsing smudge. “Two.”
My breath caught as I realized what she meant, and my eyes remained locked on the screen. My own heart forgot to beat for several of those blips on the monitor.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, refusing to believe it. “This can’t be.”
“You’re having twins, Alexis!” Carlie said excitedly.
I shook my head harder, tears springing to my eyes. My voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “That’s not good. I can’t do this again.”
“Carlie, can give you us a moment?” Tristan asked as he passed her the wand, and then picked up my hand between his and brought it to his lips, his darkened eyes never leaving mine.
“Of course. Just let me take a quick look.” She moved the wand around for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a minute or so. My lungs refused to function, and my hand tightened around Tristan’s with every second that passed while I tried to suppress the tears. “From what I can tell, everything seems to be okay. I can’t see gender on the one, though. He or she’s behind the—” She paused and looked at us. “Do you want to know?”
“We already know,” Tristan said quietly.
“Oh. Um, okay.” She handed me a tissue to clean off my belly. “I know twins are a lot of work, but if anyone can handle it, you two can.”
She squeezed my shoulder before leaving us.