The Apaches circled overhead like noisy carrion crows. I was about to take aim at one of the engines when a loud, familiar voice boomed over a loudspeaker.
“Hold your fire, soldier!” a familiar voice bellowed. “We’re not here to attack you.”
I nearly sagged into a pile of boneless goo. Roland Preston had recruited me when I was just a snot-nosed kid struggling in basic, too powerful for my own good and itching to prove myself. He’d done the same for Nat, years later.
Two armored figures descended from the attack helicopters. They moved slowly as if afraid we’d start shooting. When none of us made a hostile move, the lead figure pulled off her helmet.
Catalina Valdez looked quite a bit like her sister, clad in body armor and sporting a firearm. I expected elation from her. Perhaps even a tearful reunion with Findlay. Instead, she tucked the helmet beneath her elbow and jerked her head toward the helicopter.
“You need to come with us, Dom. And rustle up Nat from wherever she’s hiding. Another Apache will be by in a few minutes to pick up Louis and Cayman.”
Dread spiderwebbed through me.
If Cat needed me and Nat and not Louis, something was seriously wrong.
“Nat’s gone,” Findlay choked out.
Cat stiffened, but kept her composure.
“Ewan too I take it?” Roland asked, putting a hand on her shoulder.
I nodded.
“Then that’s one less thing to worry about,” she said.
“What’s happened, Cat?”
Her face clouded over with grief for a moment and unshed tears glistened in her eyes.
“House Grieves has launched an offensive against all Trust strongholds, starting with the Palace of Westminster. They blew it up. I was one of only six to survive.”
chapter
25
Dom
I’D BEEN IN A HOLDING cell for the better part of a day, waiting for the Trust’s defense council to make up their minds about our route forward.
Alright, holding cell is probably an exaggeration. It was a damn sight nicer than most places that I’d laid my head over the years. But the fact is, it was the size of a matchbox, windowless, and I was handcuffed to the only chair. The fact I could watch television whilst stuck inside is a moot point.
I’d spent the time in a numb haze, while opioids and the healer’s magic go to work in my body. Cat estimates it was going to take at least six sessions to get my hand back up to functionality and I may never be quite the same again. The news didn’t help calm my frazzled nerves. The world had completely lost its shit, with every talking head screaming at his or her world leader to do something as their people were killed and their monuments toppled to the ground.
The news only confirmed what Cat had told us. What I could have extrapolated on my own, given enough time. House Grieves had gone on a rampage, and it had smashed the delicate balance of global politics into a thousand tiny pieces. The U.S. president had signed an executive order to have all vampires rounded up and kept away from the general populous, stuffing them into the evacuated zones where the werewolves had once been. The vampires reacted with force, which had resulted in full-scale military action in every city they occupied. Thousands were dead, and thousands more would continue to die if nothing was done. Demis were being slaughtered at an alarming rate, just because they’d been caught up in the initial panic.
A knock came at the door and I swiveled my head toward it, slurring, “Come in.”
The reinforced steel door creaked open and Cat stepped inside my cell. Pity flashed across her face when she saw the state I was in. I probably looked like shit. I had pretty much given up caring for the time being. Everything had gone wrong, and there was very little chance anything I could do was going to fix it. In fact, some of this had probably been my doing.
“You need a shower,” she said with a soft laugh. “You kind of reek.”
“We spent weeks traveling through the Yucatan and then several more going through the shittiest conditions possible. Forgive me for not smelling like roses.”
The amusement drained away from her face and she took my hand, squeezing it lightly. She plucked the remote from my uninjured hand and clicked the television set off.
“We need to talk, Dominic.”
“About what?”
“About what’s going on out there. The Trust has come to an agreement, but we need you to sign off on it as well.”
The Trust had come to an agreement in twenty-four hours? I found that hard to believe. If they were capable of this much efficiency, we’d have accomplished a lot more than we had in the decades I’d been serving.
“And what’s that?”
Cat looked down at her shoes, chewing her lip. Never a good sign in a Valdez woman. Cat and Natalia liked to shoot straight whenever possible. If she was keeping something from me, it was because it was bad.
“The defense committee is going to drop the charges against you. You won’t be charged with treason, theft of Trust property, or murder if you sign this document.”
She produced a folded up square from her back pocket. It was printed on thick, official-looking paper. She plucked a thick felt pen from behind her ear and offered both to me. I just stared at it, lip curling in disgust. I knew what this has to be, and I wasn’t going to be a party to it.
“If the Trust wants to scapegoat someone they can use me,” I snarled. “I’m going to have to retire anyway if the hand doesn’t heal right. I’ll stay a political prisoner if that’s what it takes.”
Cat made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat and shoved the paper at me. “Believe me, they’d love to. But we need your help, and you need to be squeaky-clean when the PR company we employ starts spinning this.”
I gave her an icy stare. “Who are they throwing beneath the bus this time?”
Catalina’s eyes flitted down to her shoes again. “Nat. It’s got to be Nat.”
I seized the pen and flung it across the room. My strength still appeared to be better than the average man’s, because it exploded in a shower of ink across the far wall. “Never. Not in a million years.”
Cat groaned and scrubbed at her face. “God, Dominic. Could you be a little less of a drama king, please? You didn’t let me finish. They’re going to perform a sham funeral for Nat. But I’ve been authorized to create a new identity for her should she ever turn up again.”
She rummaged in her back pocket again and withdrew a thick, laminated ID card. On it is the name, Talia M. Finch. A picture of Nat has been plastered onto one side, though it had been doctored to give her auburn hair and blue eyes, instead of her natural color.
“Everyone knows what Nat did for humanity, Dom. Everyone with half a brain cell knows you are telling the truth. We examined the bracelet she made over and over and there’s no other way for them to explain it except that Valerius was real, and that he inhabited Nat. But the non-magic public needs someone to blame. They’re not going to believe in Aztec demons and apocalyptic battles. So we have to give them something, someone to blame for this mess.”
I understood what she was saying. I really did. It was the same cold pragmatism that had allowed me to look the other way when she was exiled two years ago after her crimes came to light. Someone had to be blamed, and it had to be Nat. But I didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.
“And they’re fine with that?” I demanded. “Dishonor her memory and then what? What’s the story about me, Cat? What role do I play in this?”
She sighed. “Because of Nat’s death in Belize and subsequent reappearance with fangs, we’re going to claim she was turned by a member of House Grieves. It will fit the overall narrative that the defense committee is trying to weave.”
I just stared at her for a few minutes, stunned that she could be this cold, especially where her own sister was concerned.
“She risked everything for you, and this is how you’re going to repay her?”
“Don’t you dare act like you loved her more than I did, Finch,” she hissed, furious tears hazing her eyes. “Because I was willing to kill myself rather than inflict that demon on her. You didn’t even bring her back from Mictlan.”
“Well, it looks like we both failed then, huh?”
We shared a tense standoff for several long seconds. I could tell she wanted to slap me silly. I wanted to shake her and ask how she could just write Nat off like that. In the end, neither of us moved toward the other. We didn’t blink and we barely breathed.
It was Cat who eventually looked away. She produced another pen from lord-only-knew-where and shoved it into my hand. “This changes nothing, Dom. If she ever returns from Mictlan, we’re going to make sure she’s well-compensated. Just sign the damn thing so we can get around to saving the world, okay?”
“I’m going to need all the details.”
Cat blew out a breath. “We’ve constructed a plan with Landon’s group of mercenaries. We believe we can take out House Grieves in one decisive blow. They’re regrouping at their stronghold in Chicago. Our window of time is limited. When they disperse again we’ll never be able to get all of them. Landon’s gang will only work with you or Nat. And as Nat isn’t here, that means our only hope of ending this quickly lies with you. We think we can get the other vampire houses to fall in line if we show them just how easy it would be for us to eliminate them in total.”
I shook my head with a bitter smile. I’d always thought Nat could be heartless. Her sister could be downright scary when it came down to it. But I took the pen and signed the document.
“Alright,” I conceded. “But I’m going to need some provisos.”
“Name them,” she said at once.
“After this? I’m not taking any Trust bullshit. I want a seat on the committee. I want to reassemble and run the Five. And I want Nat to have every goddamn cent I make in an account when she returns.”
“Done,” Cat said. She smiled then. “You know, I could do a lot worse for a brother in law.”
I rattled the handcuff at her with a scowl.
“Unchain me and I might consider taking that as a compliment.”
Cat produced a key from her interminable pockets—I was beginning to think there had to be a dimensional enchantment on them—and released me.
“Ready to save the world?”
“No,” I said, rubbing my wrist with a wince. “Nat already did that. This is just garbage patrol. It’s time to take out the trash.”
chapter
26
Dom
“ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE UP for this?” I asked, speaking into my watch. It was one of Natalia’s devices, snatched from her house just a few hours before. The corresponding silver earpiece was fixed into the massive pointed ear of the aquamarine dragon I sat astride.
Normally Landon would be non-vocal in this form, but with Nat’s innovations and the help of Horst, trapped inside the watch, we were able to communicate just fine.
The grumpy German house spirit spoke a few moments later, translating the reptilian rasp that was dragon speech for my human ear.
“Smoking a few thousand of these bloody bastards? You bet your ass. They’ve killed most of my kind. I’m not going to be sorry to see them go. The question is, are you ready? I know a man with a death wish when I see one. You better not flake on me at the last second, Finch. I was impressed with you at the Alps. That was the only reason that I agreed to this.”
“It’s not a death wish,” I countered. I scowled down at the dragon’s scaly hide. “I’m just pissed it’s going down this way. Nat deserves better.”
“Natalia would have understood and encouraged this.”
“Don’t act like she’s already dead,” I snapped. “She’s coming back.”
The dragon’s silence was enough. I didn’t need to have Horst’s commentary to know what he was thinking. We’d barely survived getting into Mictlan the first time. It would be nothing short of a miracle if Nat managed to get out on her own.
I dug my fingers beneath one of the sharp blue scales and grit my teeth, nudging Landon’s sides. We lifted into the air and soared into the air above the stronghold of House Grieves. It reminded me a lot of the brief glimpses I’d gotten of Chateau Lamonia before it was torn to shreds by Nat and Valerius. This place was also made of weathered stone, but instead of a genteel sense of old-world respectability, the vampires of House Grieves had decided that the place needed to look more medieval. The battlements were lined with spikes, though there weren’t any heads on them—yet. The portcullis was down and a staggering number of vampires were gathered in an array of dress uniforms on the front lawn.
“Everyone in position?” I hissed over the com. I was met with a round of affirmatives. Landon swooped in lower to hear what was being said. He was remarkably quiet for a creature of his size. If I’d been the same height and width as a Humvee, I wouldn’t have been moving as gracefully.
Landon’s plan was nothing if not ruthlessly efficient. First, his teleportation specialist, Declan, would create a gate around the compound that fed back into itself. Several stones had to be constructed and placed discreetly onto the grounds. Declan was powerful but not powerful to surround a compound that was miles wide.
Second, we’d descend from the sky while Findlay and a group of others attacked from the ground. Trapped in a bubble of space and time, the vampires would be trapped inside with us until we could slaughter every last one. And the kicker? It was going to be broadcast live to every vampire stronghold in the country, just so Cat could show them what happened if they ever fucked with the Trust again.
The signal went off, a high-pitched wail that made all the vampires whip around to face the newcomers and would temporarily deafen their keen senses. They turned to face the offensive coming from the ground at exactly the moment Landon and I descended from the sky. I had exactly two seconds of warning before the dragon opened its maw and began to belch fire.
Landon’s entire body warmed as fire poured from within him. I drew my burned hand away from his neck. I was already sensitive to heat on that side and didn’t need the fresh burns.
I slung my legs over the side of Landon’s massive bulk, riding sidesaddle until we were directly above the wooden balcony of the upper floor. It was about a six-foot drop and I took the liberty of lining up my first shot before wishing Landon a hasty, “Good luck.”
Then I launched myself off his back and onto the balcony, which contained a fuming Barabbas Grieves. I loosed my shot and it hit him square in the right knee. I’d been aiming higher, but the vampire was too fast. It would have to do. I hit the ground, rolled, and pushed to my feet, bringing the CZ-75 to bear. I’d stocked up on as much ammo I could get, and it weighed down the pockets of my coat. Even with the extradimensional space we’d engineered into it, I wasn’t sure I had enough to deal with the entirety of House Grieves.
I’d just have to find out.
Barabbas was a wily bastard. He didn’t immediately go for my throat, as I’d feared and expected. He circled me with a slight limp. His leg was already twisting back into place with that liquid, maggot-like slide beneath the skin that constituted vampire healing. He smiled tightly at me.
“I heard about Natalia. I need to send flowers to whoever took out Iron Heart.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. He was baiting me, trying to get me closer so he could twist me into a headlock and tear my carotid open with his teeth.
All around us, fire consumed the grounds. Most of the vampires stood their ground and were mowed down by machine-gun fire from Trust agents and Landon’s remaining assassins, or being mauled by their own rottweilers, courtesy of Findlay. He seemed to be taking Nat’s sacrifice as a c
atalyst for real change. The mousy little bureaucrat had been chomping at the bit to join us on this mission, despite his wife’s objections. I had a feeling that Cat was going to chain him to her couch the moment this was through.
A few vampires tried to escape into the woods surrounding the stronghold, only to be bounced back into the yard; slingshotted through the air and back onto the ground by the perimeter of portals.
“Give up, Barabbas,” I said with a calm I didn’t feel. I wanted to pound this smug vampire into oblivion. The bombing at the Trust embassy in London had cost so many lives. I’d lost friends and colleagues I’d known for years. There had been at least a hundred more werewolf fatalities, bringing their numbers down to the low thousand.
“Come quietly and you may even live. If you don’t, I’m going to tear your head off with my bare hands and burn the soup you turn into until you’re nothing but a crisp.”
Barabbas fixed a look of mock terror onto his face for just a moment before the sly grin slid back into place. “If you could have done so, you would have already parted my head from my shoulders, Tempest. Face it. You need your girlfriend here to do anything of real value.”
I drew a circle in the air with my wand and a small silver disc the size of a dime began to form. I waved it beneath my back until it could grow large enough to fly through the air. Barabbas casually drew his weapon, a long, custom-made saber. He gave me a mocking bow.
“Wife,” I corrected. “And she’s not dead.”
I struck before he could make a move on me, surprising him with the strength and speed of the attack. Natalia’s charmed bracelet was still somehow able to lend me strength, and I used every bit of it to wrestle the sword from Barabbas’ grip. He fought me tooth and nail, literally. Blood dripped from the inches-long furrow he tore in my cheek, splattering his face. He licked it away with relish.
The vampire shoved his hand clear through my body armor and his witchy nails groped for my heart. I let out a cry of pain and shoved my knee into his chest, trying to dislodge him. The disc is almost large enough now. I decided it would have to do. My alternative was to allow this undead son of a bitch to tear my heart out of my chest cavity, and I refuse to die like Ewan. Screaming and fountaining blood.
Agent of Magic Box Set Page 63