“And to meet you in such a public place!”
“—bitch,” Jashire hissed under her breath. Behind Jashire there was a sudden, sharp screech of heavy-duty brakes, then someone screamed. Jashire whirled back to face the street again, where Karen Volk had stepped off the curb without looking and now lay crumpled beneath the front end of the bus.
“Damn it!”
“Let it go,” Brynna said quietly. “Let things happen as they were meant to.”
Jashire pulled against Brynna’s grip, and this time Brynna released her. “You’re a fine one to talk like that,” she ground out. “You’d be dead if I’d done that yesterday. You’re not even meant for this world.” Around them people were rushing forward and someone was shouting instructions to call 911.
“I’m not meant for Hell, either.”
“Lucifer doesn’t agree.”
“We’re all entitled to our own opinion. In the meantime, in this world there are some things that need to just be left alone.”
“This isn’t finished, Astarte.” She was gone before Brynna could blink. Brynna turned and saw that the crowd’s attention was concentrated on Karen’s body, so no one had noticed their short but heated exchange. As she headed back toward Eran, who was wisely letting others on the street deal with Karen Volk’s body, Brynna realized that she had heard that threat from Jashire before. And she had no doubt that someday Jashire would do her best to make good on it.
the humans to their puny emergency actions. But after a few moments, she felt calmer, more in control. It didn’t matter that Karen Volk hadn’t survived. She had been just one human among billions in the course of history. There would be more than enough others, always, like a single bee that escaped when the hive was destroyed and the queen was killed—eventually that bee would die on its own. Humans were just like that.
Besides, Jashire thought, she still had the copy of the list of nephilim names that Lahash had given her, which was what had led her to Casey in the first place. Lahash, of course, had the original, given to him by some human pawn who was now rotting in prison. How ironic was that?
She and Lahash needed to get together, have a good old human heart-to-heart about what to do with his list and all the elaborate possibilities that it offered. It was time for Lahash to let go of his cowardice about Astarte. She simply wasn’t such a badass—Jashire had seen that. Lucifer’s Hunter would have killed her this time had Jashire not stepped in to help. She’d taken an enormous chance in doing so, one which could have severe repercussions should the Dark Ruler find out. But that knowledge would never come from her, and since Astarte didn’t talk to Lucifer anymore, he would assume that this second Hunter had also fallen at the hands of his former lover.
If the timing and feelings were right, Jashire might even share that tidbit with Lahash, because if they joined in their efforts, she and Lahash could sidestep this entire Astarte problem and have as much fun with the humans as they wanted. The last time Lahash had paired with another fallen angel, he had chosen low in the hierarchy, probably because he wanted to control his colleague. But Gavino had been a stupid and immature boy with almost no experience trying to dabble in the battles of Hell’s higher-class soldiers. This time Lahash would have the opportunity to team up with someone—her—who had just as much experience as himself, but who could be infinitely more dangerous.
Yes, the two of them would make quite the formidable adversary for Astarte.
THE LOVEMAKING WAS OVER, and they were both sated and sleepy. For Brynna, each time was more fulfilling than the one previous, and while she loved it, reveled in it, she also thought, in a dim and insistent part of her subconscious that she wished would just shut up, that it might be a very, very dangerous thing. As if to remind her, memories turned over in her brain, sluggish at first, then snapping into crisp, nearly painful perfection in her memory:
In Heaven there was blue, there was white, and there was gold. The blue of ocean water, the soft white of clouds, golden sunlight warm upon her skin even as a cool breeze carried the slightly tangy salt scent of the sea. Every surface felt good beneath her feet but no impact, no binding by the laws of gravity because there were no such laws there. She was weightless, and enormous white wings folded smoothly along the curve of her spine and carried her anywhere she wished to go instantly, just because she wished it to be so. It was a miracle, one of many, just like life itself. That moment when inert cells begin to move, when the heart begins to beat, the millions more where it continues to do so, the every movement of a body that obeys without conscious command. There was a perpetual feeling of contentment and well-being, of serenity down to her very essence. It was endless, and eternal, but it was never boring. It was completion, and Brynna missed it with every beat of the human heart within her chest.
Hell was the crimson flipside of Heaven, the turning over of a bright and shiny object to see its dark and insidious under-surface. Like Heaven, everything in Hell saw everything else . . . but not in a good way. It breathed and it bled, and nothing and no one could be trusted. There were rivers of fire and lakes of molten lava bordered by cities constructed by demons as places to rest after tormenting the damned souls. The creatures that roamed these cities and the passages within them were unspeakable, more than the human mind could perceive or tolerate. Even the lowest of the low, the alley demons that ripped into the souls trying to escape, were too hideous to comprehend. Hunters created from the streams of undulating lava and Lucifer’s own breath slid along the avenues with unspoken promises of things even worse. Stinging winds swept below scarlet clouds tinged with a blacker shade of red, spewing lightning and fire upon those below. Mountains surged without warning from the crevices and cracks in the burning ground, jagged and impaling anything in their way. Like Heaven, Hell was also endless and eternal, but it seethed with hatred and pain and misery. Few of the fallen were truly happy in that abominable place, only existing with what they had been given, trapped by their own choosing of Lucifer in a never-forgotten or forgiven war.
And Earth. Ah . . . It was a strange conglomeration of both Heaven and Hell, a twisted melding of the best and worst of both. Beauty and ugliness, charity and greed, simplicity and decadence. Here were the brightest and most gentle of humans and the worst that human existence ever had to offer, both often enduring punishment they did and didn’t deserve. It was here that Brynna searched for her path to redemption. How long or what it would take to accomplish it was as much an unanswerable question as if she could even do so. Earth was a round rock created by God’s own hand and teeming with lives caught between the realms, a battleground for those who would claim its inhabitants for their own. Brynna felt a sort of reluctant empathy for the fragile humans, an impossible desire to somehow save them before the inevitable Apocalypse. The sights and sounds of it had changed so much throughout her visits over the ages. Science, technology, medicine—on the surface it all seemed so good, but each beget its own evil. Each increased the greed and the lust for power in those most apt to be corrupted in such ways. Communication made the impossible possible. Four thousand years ago a greedy man who wanted another’s tent might be able to take it. Now a greedy man who wanted what belonged to others could sometimes take a country without so much as a second thought. Their progress was full of terrifying and deadly implications. She might or might not find her own redemption . . . but what of the human race?
Eran shifted by her side and she slid away before they could touch, because that would lead to other things instead of the sleep they both needed. “You know,” he said in a quiet voice, “standing there and doing nothing this morning while I knew that woman was going to die was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.”
She exhaled. “I understand. And now both you and I can empathize with what Casey Anlon went through with Tate Wernick. He didn’t know what Wernick would do, or what he was capable of, any more than you knew what Karen Volk might do.”
“But that’s just it—I didn’t know.”
“But I did,” Brynna reminded him.
She felt the bed shake as he jerked slightly. “That’s right—you said that. But you never had a chance to tell me.”
Brynna sighed and looked down at where her hands were folded on top of the sheet that she had pulled up and tucked below her arms. For some reason, talking about what was going to happen but now never would seemed a little like dishonoring the dead. But if she didn’t tell him, she knew Eran would never be able to accept that doing nothing to save Karen Volk had been the right thing. “I don’t know for certain, of course, but I think Karen Volk was probably no worse of a person than any other average young man or woman,” she finally said. “But she liked to party, and when she partied, she liked to drink. And being young, she hadn’t yet learned that taking a cab when you’ve had too much—in her case at the upcoming Oktoberfest street fair, way too much—is a much better choice.” When Eran said nothing, Brynna knew she had to continue, to complete the picture so that he could close the door on a sense of guilt he shouldn’t be carrying. “She was going to lose control of her car. I don’t know the details of why or how, but the car would’ve ended up in the middle of a packed food tent at the Oktoberfest celebration in Lincoln Square at the end of this month. A lot of people, maybe some who had bigger and more important things mapped out for them in the future, would have died.”
“Oh,” was all he said. Finally he added, “I guess I can see why now. But it’s never easy, is it?”
“No,” she answered softly. “It never is.” He didn’t say anything for a long time, then a question that had been working at her now and then finally made its way out. She glanced over at him. “Have ou heard from your brother?”
He blinked at the ceiling, then frowned slightly. “Yeah, actually I did. He called and left a message on my cell. Said his wife was in town, but they’d decided to head back to Ohio.” He gave her a sidelong look. “He said he was sorry for everything. That he’d . . .” His frown deepened. “ ‘Lost his way’ or something like that.”
Brynna nodded. “Good. I’m so glad.”
Eran’s head turned toward her. “And you? Him?”
She knew what he meant. “Probably shouldn’t meet again,” she said. “I’m betting that inside he’s a good man.” She hesitated, then decided to just go on and finish it. “But he’s weak inside. And around someone like me, that’s a very dangerous fault.”
Eran nodded, then settled back and closed his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said. “I kind of feel that whole long-lost brother thing is a lot like Karen Volk and the others.”
Brynna tilted her head. “I don’t follow.”
“It just wasn’t meant to be.”
She inhaled but said nothing, relaxing and letting the night move in and fill the spaces around them with quiet. She had a few—too few—minutes to enjoy it, then for some reason her belly started itching insistently. There was no ignoring it, so she slipped her hand under the sheet, trying to find the spot. An instant later she felt her fingers slide into that space in her central core, that secret area that only she could access and where she kept her precious duo of angel feathers, the one she had brought with her when she’d escaped Hell and the one she had earned by helping Mireva at the beginning of August.
But something was different. There was soft resistance, barely a tug, but definitely tangible. There was something else in there, and the idea that someone, or something, could do that—put something inside her without her knowledge—was outright terrifying.
Her fingers curled around the object and, trying to keep her breathing even so that Eran wouldn’t notice how petrified she suddenly was, Brynna carefully pulled her hand free and eased it out of the covers.
“Oh,” she gasped.
“Mmmm?” Eran murmured sleepily beside her. “What?”
“Eran, look.”
He turned his head toward her again and opened his eyes, smiling. His smile melted into an expression of amazement. “Wow—look at that!” They both stared at the handful of radiant feathers clinging to her palm. For a moment he looked like he was going to reach for one, then he changed his mind. Instead, he asked, “Where did those come from?”
“Where do they ever come from?” she countered.
He pulled himself to a sitting position and bunched the pillow behind him. “Well, the last one fell out of an open sky,” he reminded her. He gestured at the bedroom ceiling. “A little different this time, I think.”
“They were just . . . there,” she said. She sat up next to him and held the sheet around her chest with one hand. “With the other two, although I can’t tell the difference anymore.” She peered at the glowing white pile on her hand. “The one I brought with me from Hell had a singed area on one side, but that’s gone now.”
Eran blinked. “All those were inside you somehow? In . . . what? Like a pouch or something?”
Brynna had to laugh. “I’m not a kangaroo, Eran. Honestly, I can’t explain it. It’s just a kind of secret space, somewhere no one else can get to.” She smiled. “That’s why I was so surprised to find these.”
“Ah,” Eran said. He was smart enough not to question her further. “Well, this is good, right? Like you said the last time, it shows you’re doing something right.”
She cupped her hands on her stomach, staring at the glowing pile of whiteness in the center. “I guess.”
“You don’t sound very happy.”
" colorIt doesn’t feel like I really deserve these,” she said after a moment. “Although I tried to help, look how many people died this time. It’s not supposed to be like that.”
Eran looked at her, then touched her arm. “In some respects, you weren’t any different than Casey Anlon,” he reminded her. “There were things that were out of your control, and you had to adapt to them. That situation in front of the State of Illinois Building—the Thompson Center—I don’t think you realize how big that was, Brynna. Hundreds, no, thousands, of people could have died that afternoon, if you hadn’t stopped that truck from exploding.” When she said nothing, he added, “Plus don’t forget that you were the one who first picked up on the connection between Casey as a nephilim and the rescues.” When she still stayed silent, he continued, “Do you really think anyone would have picked up on this but you?”
“Sure,” she said. “Maybe not as quickly, but by the time he tried to save the Myers girl, he had to give his name.”
“Yes, he did. But that would have been the first time. No one would have realized he was the same guy involved in Klinger’s rescue, or Gaynor’s. And Tate Wernick . . . man, there would have been a disaster.” He shook his head, then slid his hand down and squeezed her wrist. “It would have gone on for as long as Jashire could have managed it. Who knows what she would have done to Gina Whitfield to keep her cooperating. I’m convinced the only reason she didn’t just grab Gina like she had Vance was because of you. Jashire knew you’d find Gina, that she’d never be able to hide.”
Brynna looked at him and saw his expression soften. “Don’t give up, Brynna. You’re on your way to redemption. You’re holding the proof in your hands. Remember how the newspaper called Casey the ‘Concrete Savior’?” He let go of her wrist and touched her on the cheek, the tips of his fingers almost as light as the brush of the feathers in her hands.
“They had it all wrong. The real Concrete Savior is you.”
Table of Contents
C
ontents
P rologue
O ne
T wo
T hree
F our
F ive
S ix
S even
E ight
N ine
T en
E leven
height=" welve
T hirteen
F ourteen
F ifteen
S ixteen
S eventeen
E ighteen
N ineteen
T wenty
T wenty-one
T wenty-three
E pilogue
Concrete Savior Page 30