Concrete Savior

by Yvonne Navarro

  “Your nephilim? I’m sorry—I didn’t see your name tattooed on his forehead.”

  “I suppose you’ve also talked to—”

  “Gina Whitfield. Yes.” When Jashire said nothing, Brynna added, “We told her that her husband is dead. I don’t think she’s going to be as easy for you to manipulate in the future.”

  “Damn you!” Jashire paced back and forth in front of Brynna on the rooftop. “You ruined everything.”

  “Sorry. No—wait. I’m not.”

  “You’re going to be.”

  Jashire changed suddenly, slipping back into her demonic form as quickly and easily as water pouring out of a pitcher. There wasn’t much time to think about anything else but Brynna still had that millisecond to feel that same sense of appreciation for Jashire’s beauty that she inevitably had. Her form, Brynna thought, had always been so much more beautiful than any of the forms that Brynna could take. It was no wonder that Lucifer occasionally amused himself with Jashire or for that fact, any of the others. When Brynna saw herself, in any form, she didn’t see a particularly attractive female. She was tall and lean, small-breasted and hard-bodied. Jashire, on the other hand, was curvaceous, soft on the eyes and soft to the touch. And, of course, Lucifer had never been monogamous. But neither had cared about the other’s flings through the ages, be they male or female.

  Her nostalgic thoughts splintered as Jashire swiped at her with her sharp claws. She missed when Brynna leaned back, and it was a good thing; otherwise Brynna might have been gutted from sternum to pelvis. The tar surface of the roof was hot beneath Brynna’s shoes and foul-smelling in her nose, an incongruous contrast to the luxurious blue of the sky overhead, the same sky that perpetually worried her because of its natural openness.

  But that was nothing she could think about now, not with Jashire headed toward her in a form much stronger, sturdier, and infinitely more deadly than her own breakable human one.

  Brynna changed, going instinctively into the build she felt was best suited for this rooftop battle. As she had the first—and only—time Redmond had seen her change, this body had strong, massive wings, long limbs, and deep-set golden eyescovered by protective third eyelids to keep her vision from withering under the heat of Hell itself. Her lips were so deeply red they were nearly black, their edges melting into the dark pigment of her skin. A pointed fingernail the color and hardness of a ruby tipped each elongated finger. Ironically, the remnants of her human clothes still clung to her body, the top held on by the sleeves although the base of her wings had ripped through the garment’s back. She could feel the heavy muscles of her thighs straining against the denim jeans and her height had increased so much that the bottom edges had become nearly a foot too short. Her shoes had been squeezed off her feet, punctured by toenails that matched the bloodred nails on her fingers.

  Jashire leaped at her and Brynna met her in midair, her powerful wings scooping up the smaller demon and lifting her just enough to turn her before flinging her away. Despite everything, she still had no true desire to hurt Jashire, and certainly no wish to kill her. Although Jashire had been indirectly responsible for so many human deaths, it was not Brynna’s place to condemn and certainly not to pass judgment or punish. All she really wanted was for Jashire to go back where she came from.

  Jashire tumbled to the rooftop and screamed in frustration. She picked herself up and ran at Brynna again. Three-inch talons extended like rapiers from her fingers. Brynna swatted Jashire aside but still felt the streak of pain as two of Jashire’s nails raked across one arm. Jashire snapped at the air where Brynna’s arm had been a moment earlier with teeth that had elongated and re-formed to points inside her mouth. Brynna knew that if she got close enough, Jashire would do her best to rip her apart. All demons liked to bite when they fought. After all, all those jagged teeth were natural weapons.

  If Brynna had thought Jashire would be an easy opponent, she had sorely miscalculated, and it was a painful reminder not to underestimate the inhabitants of Hell. She and Jashire circled each other on the roof. The sun beat down, bright and hot and miserable, but it was still worlds apart, literally, from Lucifer’s kingdom. She didn’t know if Jashire wanted to kill her—she rather thought she did—but Brynna did not feel the same. Even after all the injuries she’d sustained thus far in this battle, she could tell by the tense set of Jashire’s shoulder that the female demon was about to leap at her. She prepared herself for the impact, but suddenly Jashire pitched backward instead, her scarlet-colored eyes going wide as her gaze cut to something above Brynna. Despite the visual warning, Brynna had no time to react before a body, heavy and incredibly hot, slammed her to the black, filthy surface of the roof.

  Hunter!

  She had grown so very careless, or she would have never let Jashire catch her on this roof. Bad enough that she had followed Casey up here, but she should have lured Jashire back into the building, even at the increased risk of battling in a smaller space. Perhaps Jashire had even known what would happen. Maybe she had revealed Brynna’s whereabouts or the probability she would try to save the nephilim to Lucifer so that he would send one of his soldiers to retrieve her. But the whys and hows of it all didn’t matter—right now all that counted was surviving. And surviving did not necessarily stop at staying alive. It meant getting away from the Hunter so that it did not drag her back to Hell.

  Not all Hunters were the same, and this one was bigger and stronger than the one she and Eran had killed in his coach house. The basic long, gangly body was still there, and the heavy jaw, but it had an extra set of arms, more claws, and the teeth on this one were not flat and blocky. The jutting lower jaw was home to two four-inch, scalpel-sharp tusks, upside-down versions of a saber-toothed cat’s incisors. Between the four grasping hands and the teeth snapping within inches of her face and neck, when Brynna fought back she found herself always on the defensive, with no chance to inflict any damage herself. Had she been in her human form, she would have already been captured and hauled away.

  Desperation made a natural heat accumulate inside of her. She felt it in the palms of her carbon-black hands, knew rather than saw her skin turn a deep crimson. When fire erupted from her fingertips, she sent it toward the Hunter’s eyes. There was a moment’s rest as it careened backward, then one of its flailing arms knocked her off her feet and sent her skidding across the rooftop to slam into one of the ventilation ducts. The impact didn’t hurt—very little of the battle had except for the few skin-opening wounds—but she would tire long before the Hunter. When she did, the creature would take her back to Lucifer or, perhaps to satisfy Lucifer’s anger over his last soldier, this Hunter would simply kill her. The latter seemed more likely.

  As if to confirm this, the Hunter swiped the back of one hand across its face. Brynna could see where the flesh around its eyes had blistered from her fire-strike, but it wasn’t enough to do more than slow it down a little and it certainly wasn’t blind. It straightened, then shook all four hands in front of itself. As it did, each of its wrists sprouted a slender, nearly transparent spike. Brynna knew that no matter how flexible they looked, these cartilage spikes were as hard as iron rods. Fluid dripped from the tip of each, and should the point of any one of those spikes penetrate her skin, a paralyzing agent would eliminate all resistance. She would lie helpless while the Hunter eviscerated her and played with her entrails. As dense as her skin was, it would still part at the barest touch of one of the points. What had been a desperate enough fight a few seconds ago had now literally become a fight for her existence.

  She scrambled back to her feet, wings flexing behind her. Thoughts of Eran flashed through her mind, this human man who had found his way so deep into her soul. She didn’t want to go back to Lucifer, and she didn’t want to die. She wanted to go back to Eran. Did she dare try to fly out of here? No—that was a foolish proposition that would only get her killed that much quicker. She would be the sparrow, the Hunter the hawk—it would always be faster and more accurate in the ai
r.

  Without warning a ball of flame arched past her and slammed directly into the Hunter’s face.

  Jashire!

  Brynna gasped but didn’t hesitate, following it with one of her own. She didn’t know why the female demon was helping her, but she wasn’t going to stop and ask right now. The Hunter roared and fell to its knees, then clambered back up and lurched toward Brynna. She built up heat again and launched another fireball, bigger this time, straight into its throat just as Jashire did the same. They pummeled the creature in tandem, over and over, hurling strike after strike until their combined heat rivaled the summer sunshine and made the worn layer of tar on the rooftop bubble and spread as though it had been freshly applied.

  At the end of it all, when all that remained of the Hunter was a pile of fine black ash dissipating in the wind, Brynna turned to Jashire to thank her. But before she could even open her mouth, the female demon stepped away and morphed back into her human form. “Don’t,” Jashire said. Her voice dripped with hatred.

  “Why?” Brynna asked. “Why did you do this if not for—”

  “Friendship?” Jashire cut in. “Maybe. It was you who pointed out we were once friends. But not anymore. You’ve gone your way, and I’ve gone mine . . . and those paths are certainly different. Why did I help you? For old times’ sake, I suppose. For the friendship we once had.” A corner of her mouth lifted in an unattractive sneer. “I thought you deserved better than to die at the hands of one of the lowest creatures Lucifer could send.” She tossed her head. “But I won’t do it again, Astarte. Don’t count on me. And don’t cross me again. I won’t help you, and I won’t show any mercy the next time.”

  And just like Lahash, Jashire was gone.

  Brynna slipped back into her human form with surprising ease. Then she stood there, panting in the hot sun while she tied the remaining pieces of her shirt together and watched as the last granules of the Hunter were carried away on the humid Chicago breeze.

  Epilogue

  Nothing.

  It had all been for nothing. All those people had died, all that agony and misery, all the people left behind whose loved ones were gone forever. People had died in fear, in pain—one woman and her son had been beaten to death by a madman—and Vance had died anyway. That bitch had lied, had probably been deceiving her the entire time. How long, Gina wondered, had her husband been dead? When exactly had that horrible woman killed him?

  There were so many questions, such as how had she been able to kidnap him in the first place? Why hadn’t Vance been able to overpower her and get away? Had she used something on him, drugs, or maybe a stun gun? Or had Vance really been having his own little affair with her, as she once claimed? It would be fitting, wouldn’t it, serve her right for what she had done, for cheating on him. But no . . . wasn’t her guilt punishment enough? Wasn’t the fact she had lost him anyway the ultimate punishment? Had he died because of her—was the entire thing her fault? It must be. She had been such ready pickings for this woman, so easy to manipulate because of her deception. Had she not cheated on Vance to begin with, his killer would have had nothing to use as a tool to control Gina.

  But Gina had cheated, and the woman had been able to use that as leverage.

  And Vance had died.

  There was no comfort in this apartment anymore. Not in the bright morning light or the cooler, softer shadows of nighttime. Seeing things ready and waiting, the boxes here and there that he’d never had a chance to unpack because they had lived together for such a short time before he’d been taken. Too short. There was the cheating, and it had been done to both Gina and Vance. They had been cheated out of their love for one another, their time together, and their eternity. But boy, they had gotten the until-death-do-us-part end of it right, hadn’t they?

  Why her, why Vance? These were unanswerable questions. Gina knew that, but she still asked them in her head and in her heart. The future stretched before her, bleak and lonely, full of unrealized wishes. She longed to talk to someone about how she felt—someone who wouldn’t judge. Someone who wouldn’t condemn. And after a few minutes, a name came to her, an old friend from years ago in college: Mia Grimwood. They had been roommates at the University of Texas at San Antonio, sharing everything except boyfriends. Mia would empathize—Mia would know. Because of her own unique abilities, Mia was the only other living person on this Earth before that man had walked into the tailor shop back in July who had any inkling about Gina’s visions, and even that had only been a suspicion. But because of the things Mia had seen, and done, Gina knew suddenly that Mia would listen but not criticize. Gina could be honest with Mia—she could tell her here wag and Mia would accept her, empathize with her mistakes even if she didn’t truly understand, and she would forgive. Jesus, Gina thought, I should have talked to her about this way back then, instead of holding it inside, instead of hiding it, all these years.

  She hadn’t, but she couldn’t change that now. The best she could do was try to go forward, talk it out as she tried to pick up the pieces and start over. Gina had always thought she was alone, but that wasn’t true. There really was comfort to be found.

  Gina dug out her old address book, crossed her fingers that Mia’s number hadn’t changed, and picked up the telephone.

  AT A QUARTER AFTER five p.m., all the bus stops at the intersection of Kedzie and Lawrence were crowded with people who’d gotten off the Brown Line train down on Kedzie and were waiting to transfer to buses. Brynna and Eran stood against the building on the northeast corner, watching a fashionably dressed young woman on the edge of the group, about ten feet to the left of everyone on the sidewalk. Her name was Karen Volk, and she was brunette and pretty, with up-to-date clothes and makeup done in the way that showed almost all of her focus in life right now was on herself. A designer purse dangled from one shoulder while she pecked away at a text message on her phone, glancing up now and then to see if the bus was approaching.

  Beside her, Eran turned his head and looked east. Just coming into view about two blocks down on Lawrence was the #81 bus, heading toward them at a fast enough speed to indicate the driver was behind on his timetable. Brynna’s pulse quickened but she told herself to stay where she was, to just let things roll on without her interference.

  She felt more than saw Eran’s change of heart, and when he shifted his feet and started to step forward, she was ready. “Don’t interfere,” she said. He hesitated and glanced at her, giving her the perfect chance to lock one hand around his wrist and pull him back.

  He looked from her to the approaching bus, his expression dismayed. “Brynna, I can’t just let this happen.”

  “You have to, Eran,” she said urgently. “You have to.”

  “But she’s just—”

  “This is an accident,” she told him in a low voice. “One that’s meant to take place. No one is supposed to save this woman, because no one is supposed to know about it. Not me, not you. No one. It’s not for me to know why, but fate has decided—”

  “Fate?” Eran’s expression was cynical but at least he had stopped trying to pull free.

  “The Creator, then. He has decided that it’s preferable to take Karen Volk rather than all the ones who will die because of her.”

  “So you know what she would do if she lived?”

  Brynna was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I do. Gina told me.”

  “What? If you tell me, maybe it’ll make it a little easier to take.”

  Brynna opened her mouth to answer, then she spotted someone else at the edge of the small knot of people waiting for the bus.

  Jashire.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told Eran.

  “Brynna, what—”

  “Stay here.” She headed down the sidewalk to her left almost too fast for anyone to notice. Then she was standing slightly behind Jashire, whose gaze was fixed intently on Karen Volk. The bus was almost here, Karen Volk was texting like mad, and Jashire was moving into place to snag the strap of Karen’s purse and p
ull the girl backward. Karen turned her head to the right and smiled, lifting her chin as her gaze fixed on someone she recognized across the street. A quick check to Brynna’s right showed Eran looking at her quizzically, but at least he was focused on her now, rather than the young woman.

  Jashire leaned forward just as Karen raised one hand to wave at the person across Lawrence and started walking forward, but Brynna’s hand clamped down on Jashire’s shoulder hard enough to bruise flesh, then she dug in when the female demon would have yanked free. Jashire spun, her face twisted in fury. “You!”

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  “Imagine seeing you here,” Brynna said brightly. “It’s so good to run into you.”

  A couple of people at the bus stop were looking at them now, instead of the bus that was nearly upon them. “What’s it been?” Brynna continued. “Months? Years?”

  “Let me go, you—”