How badly had he hurt his child in his effort to protect him?
The warm scent of apple blossoms and fruit-laden wine curled into Lucien’s nostrils. He lifted his arm from his eyes and accepted the moisture-beaded glass Hekate offered him. “Thank you.”
She nodded, then sipped from her glass of ruby red wine. She gave Lucien a sidelong glance, long silver-and-frost lashes shading her eyes. “My mother hated you for ages,” she murmured. “And Gabriel worked hard to make sure I’d despise you.”
“And you don’t?”
“ ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ ” Hekate quoted, holding Lucien’s gaze.
Lucien chuckled. “You are your mother’s daughter.” He took a long, cooling swallow of wine, tasting the clean bite of lime beneath the pomegranate.
“No, I’m nothing like Lilith. I have no desire for power. I don’t understand why anyone would crave to rule a dying land anyway.”
“It wasn’t always dying,” Lucien said softly.
“But that’s all I’ve ever known—a dying land, a stagnant people, endless wars.”
Disappointment curled through Lucien. A spy for Gabriel, after all. Albeit a radiant and alluring spy, even if a bit clumsy.
“And all you’d need to fix that is the creawdwr,” he commented, voice flat. “I don’t know where he is, nor do I care.”
Rosy color blossomed on Hekate’s cheeks. “That’s not what I meant,” she said.
Lucien laughed. “Tell me, what did Gabriel mean for you to say? Perhaps you should’ve practiced a bit.”
Indignation and chagrin chased across Hekate’s lovely face. “I am not speaking for Gabriel,” she said, chin lifted. “Only for myself.”
Yes, very much Lilith’s daughter. And yet …
Hekate crossed to the purple-cushioned bench and sat down, her back straight. She cupped both hands around her stemless wine glass. “I’ve been Gabriel’s hostage for most of my life,” she said, her voice low. “Well-treated, yes. I’ve lacked for nothing. Except my freedom. Oh, Gabriel never would’ve stopped me from winging to the mortal world to see its wonders. But he would’ve hung my parents from hooks in Sheol until I returned.”
Lucien sat up. “I didn’t know.”
A hostage to ensure the good behavior of Lilith and the Morningstar. But that still didn’t explain why Lilith had never mentioned Hekate.
A dark possibility brewed in Lucien’s mind. Maybe she never told me because she hoped to trade my son for her daughter; every word uttered from her lush lips a lie.
Lilith of Lies.
Anger smoldered deep in Lucien’s belly. He tossed back the rest of his wine.
“I think the creawdwr is your son,” Hekate said, her violet eyes searching Lucien’s. “I think everything you’ve endured in the pit and from Gabriel has been for your son’s sake. I think you’ve been protecting him from aingeals like Gabriel and my father. And I think you severed your bond with him to keep Gabriel from following it.”
Lucien said nothing.
Hekate finished her wine, then set the glass down on the marble floor. She rose to her feet, her hyacinth blue dress flowing like liquid silk along her curves, and walked to the balustrade.
“My calon-cyfaill, Jvala, was among the emissaries who went to greet the Maker,” she said. “She’s now silent, just like my mother.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Lucien asked.
Hekate swiveled around to face him, one slender hand still holding the carved marble rail behind her. “I would do anything to find and free my calon-cyfaill. I would do anything to see my mother restored to flesh—despite all the harsh words between us.”
Lucien forced himself to his feet. His heart kicked hard against his ribs once, then calmed. He walked across the terrace and joined Hekate at the balustrade. She lifted her gaze to his, and Lucien saw steel in the depths of her eyes, a heart-rooted resolve.
“I believe you.”
“So if the creawdwr is your son, you would know where to find him, how to reason with him,” she said. “If he’s injured from the severed bond, you can balance him again. All I want is my mother and Jvala.”
“Whether or not the Maker is my son doesn’t matter,” Lucien said gently. “I am captive here, bound to Gehenna. I can’t help you.”
“If you help me find Lilith and Jvala, I will help you escape,” Hekate said, urgency edging her musical voice. “You’ll still be tied to Gehenna’s fate because of Gabriel’s spell, but at least we’ll be free.”
“Hard for Gabriel to punish Lilith or the Morningstar with both of them in the mortal world,” Lucien murmured. Tilting his head, he studied Hekate.
Perhaps she was more skilled in subterfuge than he’d first thought. Maybe she’d only played at being clumsy.
“How do you know I wouldn’t abandon you the moment we arrived in the mortal world?” Lucien asked.
“Good question, and blunt.” Hekate regarded Lucien, her index finger tapping against her chin as she considered. “I think I would have to place a geis upon you.”
Lucien nodded. “And since I would need to be sure of your intentions as well, I would need to place a geis upon you too.”
Hekate’s eyes widened. A smile flickered across Lucien’s lips. She hadn’t thought things through all the way. A true schemer would have. A point in her favor.
Lucien shrugged. “How else can I trust you?”
Holding his gaze, Hekate drew in a deep breath of myrrh-scented air and lowered her shields. She lifted her chin again, daring him to refuse her gift—her unguarded mind.
But he couldn’t delve into her mind. Not with his weak and fading shields. If he did, Hekate might see Dante in his thoughts, might see all his fears for his child.
“Name your geis,” Lucien said.
“You would be forbidden to leave my side. And yours?”
“You would be forbidden to lead anyone to my son or reveal his location.”
“Accepted,” Hekate said breathlessly. “Your son. I knew it.”
Lucien pressed a finger against her lips. “Never say or think that again.”
Hekate pushed Lucien’s silencing finger aside. “I won’t.”
“Then I accept your offer and your terms.”
A radiant smile illuminated Hekate’s face, then she gasped. Wonder blossomed on her lovely face, illuminated her violet, gold-flecked eyes. Her wings untucked and fanned out—creamy white, the smooth undersides pale lavender.
“Anhrefncathl,” she whispered, voice trembling. Tears glinted in her eyes. “So exquisite. So haunted.”
Lucien felt like his heart had turned to stone. The glass slipped from his grasp and shattered on the floor, wine spraying the blue marble like blood.
He neither heard nor felt Dante’s song.
And severed bond or not, he should’ve heard. For whatever reason—Gabriel’s spell, the severed bond—he’d lost Dante as son and creawdwr.
The hole inside of Lucien ripped wider.
19
EVENTS BEYOND THE SCOPE OF MORTALS
ALEXANDRIA, VA
SHADOW BRANCH HQ
March 25
TEODORO DÍON HARVESTED THE last image from Sheridan’s unraveling mind, then withdrew—but not before causing, then rupturing, several arterial aneurysms within the fed’s brain. No choice; the FBI agent’s mind had been too fragile to wipe.
Teodoro rose to his feet and smoothed the wrinkles from his Italian-style charcoal slacks as Sheridan’s vitals monitors flatlined. An urgent and steady beeeeeeep filled the room. He arranged his face into a proper expression of concern and touched his fingers to the cold metal of the bed rail with just a dash of hesitancy.
A female med tech in blue scrubs dashed into the room. Teodoro stepped back from the bed and the dead man nested within its beige blankets.
“Can I do anything to help?” Teodoro asked.
The med tech shook her head, her razor-cut blonde shag sweeping across the back of her neck. “Just keep ou
tta the way.” She lowered the bed railing.
Several more med techs hurried into the room; one pushed a crash cart, his mustached face calm and focused. Swarming around the bed, the med techs went to work, shouting out instructions and observations as they worked to resuscitate Sheridan.
Teodoro walked from the room and into the corridor, the high-pitched beeeeeeep declaring game over fading behind him with each step away.
His report to Purcell would be interesting, to say the least.
An image from Sheridan’s mind played behind Teodoro’s eyes: Light flares in the sky. Waves of intense blue, purple, and green light shimmer through the night—a dancing aurora borealis.
The statues had once been flesh.
And Dante Prejean was not what he seemed to be.
PURCELL WAS A NARCISSISTIC dickhead.
Looking all offended when she’d sparked up one of her clove cigarettes and ordering her to put it out. And what was up with his little speech to Emmett—the never presume to know what Prejean would or wouldn’t do bullshit?
Man had one seriously big honking bug up his squeaky-tight ass.
Closing and locking the door to her temporary quarters, Merri swiveled around and looked the place over. Twin bed, nightstand, little trash basket, two-drawer dresser, easy chair—all in varying shades of beige—along with a small bathroom and closet.
Not bad for an overnight stay, all considered. The recycled air stank of ozone and fake pine. Ozone. Even though she knew the odor was due to the air filtration system, a cold finger traced her spine. She thought of blue sparks skipping along white stone.
I need to let Galiana know what we discovered in the woods outside Damascus. Maybe she has some ideas about what the hell is going on.
Merri tossed her overnight bag, ugly floppy-brimmed hat, and leather gloves onto the easy chair, then flopped onto the bed. Pulling her pack of Djarum Black cloves from the pocket of her suede jacket, she lit one up and took a long, delicious drag.
Merri exhaled spiced smoke into the air and thought of her mère de sang, Galiana al-Qibtiyah, strolling the evening-drenched streets of Savannah, tall and regal in a long, gauzy, sunset-shaded dress that showcased her chocolate brown skin and wavy, black hair. Tapping ash from her cigarette into the trash basket, she sent to Galiana.
Merri laid down on the bed and rested her head on the pillow. She described the Fallen Stonehenge circling the cave in the pine-, oak-, and elm-forested hills outside Damascus.
Blue sparks. Ozone. Heart beating within stone. Smooth wings.
A return? Merri wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.
Merri’s thoughts flipped back to the angel kneeling among the trees, knowing her mère de sang would receive the image.
The fallen angel’s wings curve forward as if in an attempt to shelter herself, her eyes closed, her hands clenched into fists in her lap. A supplicant for mercy unreceived.
Merri felt the heat of provocative possibilities simmering in her mère de sang’s mind.
Uneasiness snaked through Merri, coiled cold in her belly. She sat up.
With Merri’s promise, the conversation ended. She stubbed her cigarette out in the bottom of the metallic trash basket beside the bed. She rose to her feet and her vision grayed. She sat down on the bed again, the springs only giving slightly beneath her, and lowered her head.
Damned stay-awake pills. It’d take several nights of natural Sleep before she was truly back on her game again. After a moment, Merri eased back onto her feet. Her vision remained clear. An excellent sign.
Rummaging through her overnight bag, Merri palmed the flash drive Gillespie had given them before she and Emmett had headed out for Portland, the flash drive containing all the pertinent data on the Rodriguez case and its suspects.
She’d learned quite a bit about both Wallace and Lyons, but Dante Prejean’s history had been slim—frontman for Inferno, a bunch of arrests in New Orleans, all misdemeanors—so she hoped she could put a little more meat on its highly classified TSP bones tonight.
Merri tucked the flash drive into her jacket pocket. Unlocking the door, she slipped out into the empty and after-hours-quiet corridor. She looked at the door across from her own, Emmett’s room. Probably in the cafeteria or snoozing. No need to bother him unless she found anything worthwhile.
Like why Gillespie had lied to her and Emmett about Prejean being enhanced.
Enhanced, my ass.
Opting for the stairs instead of the elevator to reach Prissy-Ass Purcell’s office two levels down, Merri moved down the corridor for the door marked EXIT/STAIRS at its end. She hit the door’s bar and breezed down the stairs, a blur on the security cameras stationed at each exit landing.
Yanking open the door on level five, Merri moved down another empty hall. She stopped outside Purcell’s office. Light off, door closed. Mr. Prissy-Ass wasn’t in. A small green light winked from the security keypad in the wall, indicating Purcell’s door was unlocked.
Must mean he’s coming back and soon.
Twisting the doorknob and cracking the door open just wide enough for her to slither through, Merri entered Purcell’s darkened office. A hint of clove-scented smoke lingered in the air along with a faint trace of Purcell’s cologne—a blend of ginger, green tea, and bitter orange.
Merri paused, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the near-total blackness of the underground office. Using the thin light filtering in through the door’s frosted glass panel and the yellow and green telltales on Purcell’s computer and printer, she padded over to his desk.
She tapped the mouse and the sleeping monitor flickered to life. A picture of the Fallen Stonehenge, white stone glistening in the rain, filled the screen. A chill touched the back of her neck.
Events beyond the scope of mortals or even vampires …
Fishing the flash drive from her jacket pocket, Merri inserted it into a USB port on Purcell’s Dell and went to work downloading copies of files. She grabbed pretty much everything available. She’d check them out on her laptop once she’d returned to her room, and separate the wheat from the chaff.
The sound of footsteps in the corridor grabbed her attention. Merri paused and listened. Two sets of footsteps. Two heartbeats, one a mortal’s fast patter, the other slow enough to be vampire.
Prissy-Ass and a kissy-ass, no doubt. Time to go.
Disconnecting the flash drive from the Dell, Merri straightened, then stumbled as dizziness spun the room around her. She grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from falling. Her vision faded.
Oh, hell no! Goddamned pills.
Sucking in a deep breath of air, Merri lowered her head. Her jackhammering heart drowned out all other sound—including the approaching footsteps.
The room twirled to a halt, and the black flecks stealing her sight vanished. Shoving the flash drive into her pocket, Merri bolted for the door. The footsteps were closer, but she still had time to split without being seen.
Merri slid through the cracked-open door, then eased it shut. Given that Purcell seemed to be in a vampire’s company, she tightened the shields around her mind. She hoped her frantic heartbeat hadn’t already given her away.
Merri moved into a side hall and stopped inside a darkened office doorway, tucking herself into its shadows.
A few moments later, two men strode past the hall juncture in quick strides. The man walking with Purcell wore a slim-cut suit and was very tall, around Emmett’s six three, with golden-brown hair razor-cut in a hip, European style. With his tanned olive skin, he sure as hell wasn’t vampire. She caught a whiff of vanilla spice and dandelions and, laced underneath that, a hint of ozone.
No vampire. But not mortal either.
“And you’re sure what you saw wasn’t just madness? Delusion?” Purcell said. He opened the door to his office, flipped on the light, and went inside.
His companion paused at the threshold, then looked back toward the juncture he’d just passed and tilted his head. His eyes—a startling violet—gleamed, full of captured light.
Merri held her breath and quieted her heart. Sank deeper into the shadows.
What the holy living hell is he?
After a moment that stretched out into decades, the man stepped inside Purcell’s office and shut the door.
Relief curled through Merri. She had no idea exactly what Purcell’s buddy was, but she didn’t intend to hang around and find out. She’d do a little digging later.
She moved.
When she reached her room, Merri relocked the door, then fetched her laptop out of her bag. Plunking down onto the bed, she retrieved the flash drive from her pocket. She inserted it into one of the laptop’s USB ports and started scrolling through files.
Maker's Song 3 Beneath the Skin Page 20