by Kim Faulks
I turned at the sound. He was burning from the inside, turning into midnight flames…the hound that belonged to the royal line…just like the rooms at the Keep. I hadn’t understood how tight his bond had been with my father.
“It’s okay,” I answered as he turned to ash in front of me. “Rival, it’s okay.”
Don’t you remember? Lucifer murmured. Don’t you remember being here at all?
I tried to grasp an image, even a fleeting sense of familiarity, and there was nothing…nothing before today.
I was lost in that sea of aching, desperate to remember, desperate to belong, until the depths called me once more, taking me away from those I loved and casting me out into the cold, dark nothing until a brush of a finger skimmed across my cheek.
It’s okay, a woman whispered, her voice so faint I couldn’t place her. It’s okay if you don’t remember. I remember enough for the both of us.
A boom echoed across the darkness, wrenching me awake. Eyes snapped open, my hand slipped under the pillow, finding the hilt of the blade, finding home once more.
The boom came again… only this time it was in the heavens as the faint rumble of a storm passed overhead. I blinked and stared into the darkness. Day had passed me by. I sat up, finding the hard indent of my body against sagging springs.
My hips ached, my muscles were tight. I lifted my feet and dragged them from the sheets. A cold breeze snaked its way up my jeans to wrap around my calf. I shuddered as my feet hit the floor before I stood.
Coffee.
Coffee and a shot of adrenaline.
My eyes were crusted. I felt like hell. But with each stumbling step toward the kitchen, I found myself waking. I hit the switch for the light and then found the kettle.
Alma had that tea…that ancient tea that tasted like ass, but kept you powering all damn day. I wonder where she hid that? I turned for the cupboards. It was around here somewhere…I yanked open overhead cupboard doors, searching.
There was an envelope between the wall and the dinner plates…my name printed in bold…Lorn.
I stilled, sleep falling further away. She left it there knowing I’d come. She left it there, knowing I’d open this damn door…my heart thundered with the thought.
The faint, familiar scrape of a shoe behind me. I spun, searching the empty kitchen…finding nothing more than her ghost. A ghost inside my head.
My fingers trembled as I turned back and reached for the edge of the envelope. It was thin…too thin to give me everything I needed.
I wanted it all.
All her love.
All her snark.
All her rough hugs.
It’s just you and me, kid…just you and me.
I fumbled for the opening, sliding my finger along the seal. Adhesive parted, the paper tore free. Inside was a small black and white picture of a young girl with perfect braids and a woman by her side.
It was us, her and me…sitting outside Henderson’s Ice Cream Parlor in Mississippi. Ice cream ran in thick white rivulets down my arm. I was still eating, mouth open wide, tongue poking out. But it was Alma that I stared at. Her head was thrown back, hands dancing at her belly as she roared with laughter.
She was so beautiful there. So young and beautiful, not beauty like the cover of magazines, but honest, weathered skin, calloused hands, blood-splattered boots beautiful. She was a protector, a survivor, a hunter…right up to the very end.
A fist drove into the middle of my chest as I turned the photo over.
My favorite one of us…I hope it is yours, too.
I smashed the image to my chest. These are the things I remembered. These are the things that would see me through. I stood like that until the kettle screeched and then clicked off, and still I gripped the picture and remembered the day so vividly.
It’s just you and me, kid. I ain’t the kinda grandmother to teach you how to crochet but I can teach you to hunt. Together we’ll hunt the bastards that took away my daughter—and your mom.
I won’t stop, not until each one is gone from this world, not until all the lies are exposed. You got my blood, kid. I can already see it in your eyes. You’re the one who takes after me.
I had taken after her…in every sense of the word.
“Ugh, for fuck’s sake,” I swiped the tears from my face, and yanked on the next cupboard, finding the tea right in front, along with the cupboard filled with canned food, a can opener, and an old key.
I grabbed the key first and then the tea, and turned. I knew what this was. It was for the safe hidden under the floor in her room. She’d made me hold the damn thing often enough.
I turned toward the counter, and grabbed my mug from above. The letter L was molded on the side, one of those rusted red and green handmade mugs she’d picked up from an out-of-the-way pottery store.
It was ugly and I loved it.
I splashed the cup with a little water, swirled it around, and then threw the liquid down the sink, before prying the tin open and dropping a teabag into the cup with the rest of the water.
The tea seeped while I headed back to the cupboard. The sandwiches and cakes had sat heavy in my belly. But now I wanted food, real food, some that didn’t make me sluggish or damn nauseous.
I yanked open the refrigerator and grabbed eggs, butter, tomatoes, and anything green. An armful later and I was piling it onto the counter. I found a pan and set it on the stove and then got to work, chopping and frying until there was a pile in the middle of the pan.
The tea warmed my belly as I stabbed a fork into the food and chewed. I carried the pan into the living room and set it on a mat. The key was next. I went to her bedroom and pushed aside the safe. She’d upgraded from the old one years ago, smashing apart the concrete floor and setting this new device in place.
I pressed a finger to the scanner. But there was no light to find the loops and swirls of my fingerprints. The sting came fast with a snap. And the countdown on the timer started.
No, this one was all DNA. After a minute, the lock clicked open, revealing two small drawers. I shoved the key into the top one and twisted. The drawer sprung open, revealing a thick stack of pages.
Bulletproof, bombproof, fireproof.
I could only imagine what secrets were kept in here.
Corners buckled under my fingers as I gripped the sheaf and dragged it free. The folded letters held my gaze. I wanted nothing more than to flip open the pages and read. Instead, I set them onto the floor and then pushed the drawer back into place.
The next was filled with journals. Some looked familiar. The spines were broken from years of use. My pulse quickened, thundering in my ears. Fingers worked on their own now, shoving the drawer back into place before I twisted the key.
Alma had other places, that I knew. But this place was her sanctuary. This was the place where she kept all her precious details.
I’ll never be too far from you…her words echoed as I shoved the safe door shut and watched the light turned from green to red.
It was all here…years’ worth of hunting, years’ worth of sacrifice. I gripped the journals and the papers and then shoved to my feet. I hit light switches on as I went, and blinked into the glaring yellow light.
I dropped onto the sofa and spilled the contents onto the table next to the food. I ate and sorted the letters, opening one after another and scanning the pages.
There it was again that name…Heavenly Convent of Christos…I scanned the letters filled with dates. My birthday, and another four years later. Couldn’t understand a damn thing after that.
Other letters followed, this time they were handwritten and signed by a Sister Carolina. Her handwriting was beautiful and elegant and totally fucking unreadable. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”
I shoved it aside for another underneath, same woman, same writing…same goddamn deal. I didn’t even know what this place was about, probably just another one of her connections keeping tabs on the supernatural community.
I flicked thr
ough five more letters and stopped at the last one…one written in clear, legible writing.
Dear Alma,
I hope this letter finds you well. Unfortunately, I am the bearer of some terrible news. Our dear friend Sister Carolina was struck down last night and is fighting for her life in Our Souls Community Hospital in Heavenly Waters. I’m praying you receiving this letter as quickly as you can.
She is calling for you. She’s hanging on. But she cannot hang on forever.
Her wounds are too great and the doctors are standing by to assist her through Our Father’s Gates. Hurry, Alma. Time will wait no more.
Your faithful friend, Sister Elouise.
I read the letter once, and then twice. Struck down. A definite supernatural attack. I would’ve liked to look into it more. But I had more important things calling me. I shoved the letters aside and looked for anything to do with Titus or the Nine.
These are the things I know about the Nine.
1. Unseelie Prince Absolon is behind every attack, and every person. He’s manipulating and controlling, but this is more than about Steph, or Lorn. They want to control Lucifer, and that makes him not only a target, but a liability, especially to my kin.
2. A large number of these Nine are mortals, men and women who want to control the gates to Hell and Heaven like puppet masters, they’re pulling the strings.
3. This all comes back to Lorn. I fear this is far too much to put onto such young shoulders. Turning your back on family is one thing, but spilling blood is another. Especially mortal blood.
I sat back against the front of the sofa and stared at the words. It was all right there written in black and white…spill mortal blood.
My heart thundered with the thought. Everything in my life had been against this…Alma, the Supernatural line…working for The Circle.
We protected human lives—we didn’t take them.
I leaned forward, stabbed a tomato and filled my mouth, and tried to think of all the things Alma’d taught me.
Protect the innocent. Maintain the peace. Whatever it takes, you guard what is yours and when the time comes to go hunting, you give it your all. There can be no hesitation. There can be no regrets. The Circle maintains the balance—always moving, always carving away the guilty to protect the weak.
The words seemed to flow. But nowhere in there did she say ‘mortal’, she said innocent. So what happens when the innocent aren’t innocent any longer? What happens when the innocent become the Nine?
I chewed and swallowed and tried to nail down any time she hinted we served the mortal realm.
It’d always been us against them…but had it?
Had the supernatural line divided more than houses and streets?
Had it divided communities?
Had it divided laws?
And had it put a target on one head and not the other?
I wrestled with the justification, fighting against everything I knew was wrong. Innocent. I wrestled with the word…my mom was innocent. Lucifer was innocent.
Gabriel…he was innocent, as were Titus and Rival. The Nine waged a war. They killed, they manipulated—they hunted, and the longer I thought about it, the more certain I became.
I was okay with spilling blood. I was okay with the darkness inside. I’d use it anyway I could to protect the innocent.
I’d be the monster they wanted me to be.
Chapter Eight
Lorn
I scanned the journals for more information on Titus, stopping at the journal entries I’d seen before.
Titus Banks - Species: Unknown
Mother: Miriam Henny (Human) deceased 2004, killed by a drunk driver.
Father: Reginald Banks (Unknown) retired Sergeant with Harbor Metropolitan Police. Suffered nervous breakdown in 2005, no record of whereabouts since 2007.
Titus Banks’ last known address: 166 Gardenia Way, Fullcher Paradise.
Brown hair, blue eyes, five feet, nine inches, weight: approx 240 pounds
Married to…Thea Banks.
He’s mortal…Rival’s words filled me. Mortal with mortal laws…still legally married to a woman he didn’t love. I closed my eyes to the pain and dropped my fork against the table.
Titus was slipping away from me…
He was slipping away and I had no way to stop it.
How could I stop death? How could I do a damn thing, when I didn’t even know what he was? Reginald Banks…the name was a neon fucking sign. I scanned the small amount of information, finding an address written in the margins.
564 Hennesy Way, Eytan Mountains?
Eytan Mountains was on the other side of the damn state. I lifted my head to the map on the wall. Titus came first…he’s always come first, but those mountains were at least a solid two days’ drive.
I pushed up from the floor and turned toward Alma’s room. A small dresser sat beside the door. In the top drawer was her laptop. Old Bertha, she’d called it. The same one that went with her on every hunt.
I yanked open the drawer and pulled the laptop free amongst a pile of burner phones, and a two-way headset. I grabbed them all, and then shoved the drawer closed, and that old familiar sense of déjà vu returned.
The same laptop, the same hunt…only this time I was the one hunting.
Henry Mughausser filled my mind as I went into the living room and moved the pan aside. I waited for the screen to come alive and then entered his name. Hit after hit filled the screen, the most recent in Greenwich City.
Greenwich City…I scanned the map once more. I could make it. Hit the mountains first and then detour along the state line to the small city.
I lowered my gaze to the smug-looking smile on a fifty-year old overweight mortal. A stockbroker, the website said, looked like he’d won a shit ton of awards, as well. Not that I gave a fuck. The more I looked into his eyes, the more I was sure of what he was…
Dead…that’s what the bastard was…goddamn dead.
“Killed my mom, killed my grandmother. You came for my family,” my whispered words filled with venom were aimed at the photo. “Now, Mr. Stockbroker, I’m coming for you.”
I punched the button and powered off the screen. Overhead, there was a rumble from the Heavens, as though someone called my name. But I kept on moving, blocking out everything as I became the woman Alma trained me to be.
I scraped the last of the food into a container, grabbed all the water I could find, and then went to the last room on the left. I gripped the handle and pushed open the door before hitting the light switch.
It was just the same as it was the day I left it.
Not much here had changed in the years since I’d left. I still had hiking gear stowed away, as well as a single tent. The boots wouldn’t fit me anymore, but everything else would work just fine.
I’d pack the car heavy, but travel lighter on foot, moving faster through the mountain trail that would lead me to Titus’s father. Once I found the guy and gathered what information I could, I’d make another plan.
One that would take me into Greenwich City. I could move faster through the small city’s streets to where the coward hid.
He’d have armed guards, and security measures. I lifted my head to the grimy windows and the night outside, red flames flickered in my eyes…no matter how many men he had at his disposal, it wouldn’t be enough.
He’d never see me coming.
I walked over to the map on the wall and peeled the top corners from the wall and froze. Supernatural lines ran through the Eytan Mountains, converging on a mountain top there.
I scanned the altitude markers and then ran my finger along the line. He was high up…strange. I pictured quaint little timber cabins and towering pines. I yanked down the remaining corners and then rolled, before gathering what I could and making for the car.
It didn’t take me long to pack the car, thirty minutes later and I was behind the wheel once more, starting the engine and flicking on the headlights.
I’d come back here to
this place in the desert, maybe in a few days, maybe next week…maybe next month. Sooner or later, I’d be back to clean out Alma’s things and fulfill the conditions of her will.
But for now, I could pretend that it was one more hunting trip and one more moment together. She haunted me as I edged the car along the drive and turned into the wheel ruts once more, heading toward the sparkling lights of the highway.
Only this time, Harbor City called to me no more. I turned the wheel left as I crawled out onto the highway and punched the accelerator, climbing up to speed.
Headlights glared, sending white sparks dancing in my eyes. I gripped the wheel and tried to not think about all I’d left behind.
I passed middle-of-nowhere gas stations and sleepy towns. They slept…everyone slept…while I kept on moving, kept on gripping the wheel and staring along the blacktop of my mind, as hours slipped by.
I pulled into one service station and refueled, grabbing energy drinks and a chocolate bar. I listened to songs from the 80’s on the old radio, and tried to sing along.
But the words fell hollow and lifeless, and finally the channel turned to static.
I can’t Lorn...I’m sorry…Rival’s voice filled my head. I punched the accelerator and the speedometer climbed, still the ghosts followed, haunting me mile after damn mile, until finally the sun peeked over the horizon.
The highway brightened, there were more cars heading north and south. I ate the chocolate bar and drank the energy drinks, pushing the car until my eyes turned red and grainy.
I pulled up in a truck stop, and stared at the mammoth logging trucks. Ash trees and desert palms were long done here. Now there was green all around me, pines towered bigger than any I’d ever seen.
I braked, pulling the car up into the parking lot and stared at the massive butt of one single pine in the back of a long semi-trailer. The ancients would weep with the loss. Trees like this are more than their home. This was their lifeblood, their past…I thought about the creatures of the forest and reached between the seat and the door, yanking the handle high.
The back of the seat dropped down, leaving me to shift and wiggle until I found a spot that was comfortable.