Micah’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head to the side as if studying her. “What do you mean they own you? And who are the Sentry? Free will isn’t something that can be taken away from you, Jacquelyn. It’s something you’re born with.”
“That’s quite the idealistic outlook you’re sporting, Micah.” And boy, didn’t it look good on him? God, she was a downer tonight. The whiskey wasn’t doing anything for her cheery disposition, either. Note to self: vodka sodas and margaritas equal a happy hunter. Whiskey and beer, not so much. “The Sentry is the all-seeing eye,” Jacquelyn said in an ominous voice. “They have more power than the government, more influence than any religion. And yeah, they’re like, the strictest parents ever.”
Micah laughed at the childish tone she adopted, but his smile slowly faded. “No one is born for a specific purpose. That’s just propaganda.”
Jacquelyn snorted. “Yeah, well, you’re a newb, so I’ll cut you a little slack.” The whiskey had finally kicked in, a warm glow settling in the pit of her stomach. The porch rails danced a little in her vision, as if floating. Up, down, up down. “Hunters aren’t civil servants, Micah. It’s not like I chose the course out of a college catalog or something. Can you imagine? Demon Hunting 101. We don’t answer to any sort of divine calling, true. But fate and destiny are big with the Sentry. I guess you could call it their faith. And power? Trish—and Finn—seem to think that I’m some sort of destined soul just chocked full of power. The Sentry call hunters like me Waerds.”
“W-air-d?” Micah asked, carefully drawing out the word to enunciate each sound. “Sounds mysterious.”
Jacquelyn shrugged. “It’s an ancient word that means destroyer of evil. The Sentry sort of took it upon themselves to adopt me when I was an infant. I mean, it’s not like I remember it specifically or anything, but that’s what I was told. We learn our roles in the world at a very young age. As soon as we take our first steps and say our first words the training begins. I could shoot with ninety-five percent accuracy by the time I was ten. When normal kids were in elementary school reading Super Fudge, I was learning ancient Sumerian and Aramaic. Classifying demons and learning which myths were fiction and which were real. Memorizing words of power and magical intonations to use in the field.”
“Wait a sec.” Micah held up his hand. “Either I’m a hell of a lot drunker than I thought, or this is the craziest shit I’ve ever heard. Are you telling me you have no family at all? And what, this secret organization just took you and threw you in some kind of demon hunting boot camp?”
“I never really thought about it that way, but, yeah,” Jacquelyn laughed. “Waerds are born, Micah. The Sentry believes we’re fated to hunt evil and destroy it. I don’t how they find us, but they do. The Sentry becomes everything to us and once they find you, you’re sworn to serve them. For the rest of your life.
“Trish and Finn buy into the propaganda. They believe I was born to do what I do, killing creatures that lurk in the shadows. They’re wrong. I’m not special. I wasn’t born with any special gifts. I’m no different than anyone else. The power at my disposal is given to me through charms and Bearer tricks. I might heal fast, run fast, and yeah, I might be stronger than your average girl, which by the way, comes in super handy when you can’t get the pickle jar open. But, really, Bearers are the truly special ones. Why do you think Waerds and Bearers work together? I couldn’t do what I do on my own. Without Finn, without the magic that’s inherently a part of him, I would have died a long time ago. I think my true purpose isn’t to eradicate evil, that’s just a job perk. My true mission is to protect my Bearer. I failed in that, and that’s why the Sentry sent me here.”
Micah’s brow furrowed, a deep crease just above the bridge of his nose. The memory of Ryan’s death took hold of her thoughts and Jacquelyn brought the bottle to her lips, liquid regret eraser. Micah seized it before she could drink, though, and set it behind him. “What happened?”
The words stalled in her throat. Five years later and the pain of her actions were still as jagged and raw as they’d been on the night of the accident. “I killed someone. Does that surprise you?”
Micah scooted closer, so close that Jacquelyn could feel the heat from his body. They sat shoulder to shoulder and he laid a hand on her knee. “How?”
She closed her eyes, absorbed the comforting weight of Micah’s hand. She didn’t want to tell him. Didn’t want his opinion of her to change. Her secrets were hers and she’d bore the weight of them for so long. The only other people who knew besides the Sentry were Trish, of course, and Finn. But Micah looked so concerned. Not morbidly curious, but interested in offering comfort. Why not tell him? Might as well drop the axe now so he knows just what—and who—he’s getting mixed up with.
Jacquelyn reached again for the bottle behind Micah’s back, needing to be a hell of a lot drunker than she was. He stopped her, both hands resting squarely on her shoulders, and he lowered himself until he stared straight into her eyes. “I think you’ve had enough of that, don’t you? Just talk to me, Jacquelyn. What happened?”
Her name rolled off his tongue, smooth and sweet like buttercream frosting. It sounded nice. Natural. Just the tone of his voice and the warm concern in his eyes made her want to open up to him. “I lived in Portland before the Sentry exiled me here five years ago. I was cocky and negligent and I charged into a dangerous situation unprepared. It was my job to have Ryan’s back and he died because I couldn’t hack it. Bearers are a precious commodity to the Sentry. Waerds are a dime a dozen but you’re a rare breed, Micah. Needless to say they weren’t too happy with me. There was an inquiry, I was put on probation and sent here so Trish could keep an eye on me.”
Micah’s hands fell away from her and Jacquelyn suddenly felt cold. She turned away, swallowed down the guilt rising like bile in her throat, and rested her spinning head on her knees. “I can’t really blame the Sentry for sending me here. They figured I’d be less of a risk in a small town. And Trish is sort of a legend with them, they knew she’d put me in line. It’s been good for me, really. I like it here. Trish is great and Finn…” She took a steadying breath. “Well, up until a month or so ago, things were great. For the first time in my life I felt like I belonged. Like I’d found a family.”
Warmth bloomed around her as Micah’s palm came to rest on her back, massaging in lazy circles. His energy funneled into her, his thoughts obviously focused on her. She didn’t mind the sensation as it washed against her skin. It made her feel a little less alone. Jacquelyn wondered in the still silence that settled between them, what did he think of her now that he knew she wasn’t the heroic hunter of evil she’d let him assume she was, but rather, a hopeless screw up sent to where her betters thought she’d cause the least amount of trouble.
“How did Ryan die?” Micah asked softly, and Jacquelyn sat up straight to look at him. The concern in his expression took her breath away. “It was an accident, right?”
“Brimstone demon.” Jacquelyn shifted, reliving the memory was almost as bad as being there. “We chased one into an abandoned building, but I didn’t realize they had a nest there. A second one surprised us and attacked him.”
“It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”
“No,” Jacquelyn said, rueful. “But I should have known better. I allowed myself to get too comfortable and I let my guard down. I have to own that mistake.”
“How did the Sentry find you?” Micah asked. “It seems strange that they can’t find Bearers, but they inherently know when a Waerd is born and take them away from their families. And seriously, why wouldn’t families fight them? You’d think parents would raise hell over some secret organization claiming ownership of their child and taking them to some secret facility somewhere.”
“The Sentry is everywhere,” Jacquelyn replied. “They have eyes always on the lookout for potential recruits. The thing about a super-secret organization, though, is the secrecy. They have ways of finding Waerds, and I have no idea how they do it. It has
to do with their whole fate and destiny doctrine. Like some sort of bat signal goes off over a house when a Waerd is about to be born. As for the parents…you have no idea how badly I’d like answers to how they can let their children go so easily. Every day I wish I could ask mine why they gave me up without a fight.”
“They never told you anything about your family?”
“Nada. Waerds are mushrooms, Micah. Plain and simple.”
Micah quirked a brow. “How so?”
“We’re kept in the dark and fed shit.”
Micah laughed and flashed her a brilliant, albeit sad, smile. “Keeping you ignorant makes you easier to control. What about Trish? Is she a mushroom, too?”
“I don’t think so. She’s pretty high up on the Sentry’s food chain. I’ve tried to wrangle information out of her, but she’s tough. I love her like the annoying grandma I never had, but I’ve never doubted that she’s completely loyal to the cause. She’d die before she’d willingly give up any of the Sentry’s secrets.” She looked to the sky and took a deep breath.
Micah’s hand came to rest once again on Jacquelyn’s thigh, just above her knee, his warmth soaking through the thick denim of her jeans. His fingers traced lazy patterns around her kneecap as he sat, silent. Slow heat meandered up her thigh, settling in Jacquelyn’s stomach, churning with nervous energy. A simple touch shouldn’t spark a fire so hot.
Micah’s gentle laughter broke the silence. “My stomach just flipped like I’d been tossed upside down going Mach ten. That’s from you, isn’t it?”
Damned empaths. Nothing she felt belonged solely to her when one of them was around. The invasiveness of his ability sucked her tender feelings to the bottoms of her feet.
“Sorry.” Micah removed his hand from her leg. “I know you hate that. I didn’t mean to do it, it just—happened.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Jacquelyn rubbed her palm against her stomach, as if erasing the sensation. “You’re not exactly in control of your gifts. I’ll give you a bye.” She smiled. “This time.”
His good-natured laughter banished all traces of annoyance. Micah’s charm had to be one of the best weapons in his arsenal. How could anyone stay pissed at him for long with those dazzling eyes and bright smile trained on you?
Micah scooted away and Jacquelyn felt the distance between them open like a cavern as he leaned against the opposite banister, far out of physical reach. The wide, open space settled on her like cold morning fog and Jacquelyn rubbed her arms as if chilled. “Did you ever try to run away?” he asked as he rolled the whiskey bottle to and fro beside him. “I probably would’ve bolted the first chance I got.”
Jacquelyn watched the amber liquid as it sloshed inside the bottle. The motion made her stomach lurch. “You’ve never tried to run from the Sentry,” she scoffed. “I don’t know how they do it, but once they get their hooks in you, they can find you. Anywhere.”
“Trish too?”
“Oh yeah, Trish too.”
“She kind of struck me as the mafia grandma type,” Micah laughed. “But I didn’t peg her as being ruthless.”
Jacquelyn smiled. “Mafia grandma. That’s exactly how I thought of her when I first met her. I’m going to tell her you said that. Trish isn’t ruthless, Micah. Even though she drives me insane sometimes, I guess… I love her. Don’t let her fool you, though, she’s no gentle lady, either. She does whatever it takes to get the job done.”
“That’s not ruthless?”
“Not if it saves innocent people from evil they’d rather not know about. If it weren’t for people like Trish, this world would be going to hell in a hand basket. And if you think I’m exaggerating, just wait until tomorrow.”
Micah sat up straight. “What are we doing tomorrow?”
“We’re going hunting.”
The smile faded from Micah’s face. If she’d been a little more sober she could’ve eased that last little bit on him. Hell, who was she kidding? She didn’t ease anyone into anything. She’d always been a bomb dropper and that wasn’t going to change any time soon. Kaboom! If Micah was staying—and from the night’s dinner conversation it appeared he was—then he might as well get to work. Finn couldn’t run backup for her right now. His personal feelings would cloud his empathy. And how could she possibly focus if he was making passes at her all night? No. It had to be Micah, whether he was ready or not. “Do you think you’re up for it?” Jacquelyn asked, a challenge in her voice. “Want to see what this is all about firsthand? Things are weird between me and Finn right now, and I’ll need a Bearer at my side.”
“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be. I don’t know what to do.” Micah shrugged, and stood the whiskey bottle back upright.
“No. But I do. You won’t have to do any of the heavy lifting. I just need your little emotional feelers. And if I get hurt you’re sort of my custom-made medic. Remember the cut on my cheek?”
He leaned forward, hands dangerously close to her thigh, and inspected her cheek. “You said I healed it.”
“With just a touch. Pretty impressive shit, too. I don’t get hurt easily, but it would’ve taken Finn a couple of days to do what you did in a couple of seconds.”
His hand moved a fraction of an inch at a time, coming to rest beside her own. One fingertip traced along Jacquelyn’s wrist and delicious chills raced across her skin, her heart beating wildly in her chest. God, she hoped he didn’t feel the exhilarating rush.
“I won’t pry into your emotions again,” he whispered, as if reading her mind.
“Don’t be so sure.” Crap. Her voice sounded strangled in her throat. Way to play it cool, hunter.
“I’m a quick learner.” He trained his gaze on her face and smiled. “Trust me. You’re wrong about one thing, you know.”
“Oh yeah.” Jacquelyn quirked a brow. “What’s that.”
“You are special, Jacquelyn,” Micah said, his voice just a little more than a whisper. “I could feel the magic in you the moment I laid eyes on you.”
Jacquelyn swallowed and took deep even breaths as she tried to control the hammering rhythm of her pulse. “Micah—I—”
A mournful scream pierced the quiet night and Jacquelyn’s previously heated blood ran cold.
“What in the hell was that?” Micah sat up straight and alert. “I heard that sound, a few nights back.”
“The Banshee is the herald of death. Someone’s going to die tonight. And she’s here to take their soul.”
Another cry followed the first and Jacquelyn shot up, standing much too fast for her spinning head. She should have known better than to drink so much. “Yep, Banshee,” she said. Throwing up her hand, she motioned for Micah to stay still as she ducked into the house and retrieved an AirLite S&W .357 from Trish’s coat closet. She stalked back out onto the porch and shoved the revolver into Micah’s hand. “Here. I’ve gotta grab the rest of my shit from the house. Stay here. If you see anything, blow a fucking hole in it.”
“What do you mean anything?” he called after her.
“I mean, anything that moves.” Jacquelyn slammed the front door behind her.
You better sober up damn quick, she thought, grabbing her shoulder holster, a Glock, and sheathed dagger from a cupboard in the dining room hutch. Trish was better prepared than an entire company of Boy Scouts. She had a weapons cache that would give the ATF a collective stiffy. Jacquelyn’s step faltered as she hustled for the front door. It was one thing to risk her own neck but something else entirely to risk Micah’s. Maybe she should leave him here and go out on her own. It wasn’t protocol, but Finn had chewed her ass for going out alone after the Changeling. Hunting alone wasn’t an option anymore. If the Furies had claimed another victim, she’d need Micah. Decision made.
She flew through the door, to find Micah pointing the .357 toward the driveway. “I heard it again,” he said. “What does it want?”
Jacquelyn checked for ammo and slid the clip—loaded with silver—home. It clicked into place and she shoved t
he gun into a holster she’d slung across her shoulders. The dagger was resting in its sheath and stuffed into her waistband, and she pulled her t-shirt down over it. She stretched her neck to either side, Trish’s front porch listing like a fishing boat on rough seas, and then shook her head to clear her mind of the fog that had settled there. Alcohol usually burned through her system inhumanly fast, so she’d be good to go in ten or fifteen minutes. But in the meantime, she’d be lucky if she didn’t shoot herself or Micah before they tracked the Banshee’s cries to its intended soul. Not that it would be on purpose. Damned if she wasn’t still a little—or a lot—drunk.
“Fuck my life,” Jacquelyn complained, taking the steps two at a time. Two hunts in a row where she’d been off her game. Not a good idea. “There’s a flashlight under the backseat of Trish’s truck. Grab it and let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” Micah ran to the Dodge, yanking open the back door.
“Out there.” She jerked her head toward the blackness beyond the winding driveway. “We’ve got to find the intended before the Banshee gets her hands on whoever it is.”
“And what happens if we don’t?” Micah’s voice bounced as he ran to catch up with her.
“If we don’t, it’s not going to matter.” The magic from the dagger warmed her back, a small comfort in the cold void of night. “She doesn’t kill, only takes the dead. We’ve got to find the victim before she has anyone to take.”
“Kind of like finding a needle in a haystack, isn’t it?”
“Welcome to my world, Micah. Now, get your ass in gear. It’s going to be a long night.”
Chapter 13
“WHY DON’T PEOPLE hear that wail every time someone dies?” Micah asked as he negotiated a fallen tree. They’d been walking for just over an hour and God knew how many miles. “I mean, that’s an obviously creepy sound. A little hard to miss.”
“It would be, if everyone could hear her. Our ears are sort of specially tuned to pick up on the frequency.” Under the glow of the flashlight, Jacquelyn’s face became severe. Not the cute, small-featured face he’d grown to appreciate, but stern, angry, and full of purpose. “Plus, the Banshee only claims victims of supernatural deaths. She doesn’t show up unless something inhuman is around.”
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