The Nightwind's Woman

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “It is my understanding no one can withdraw the key from the tombstone save the incubus,” Lauren said, looking from Cree to Coulter.

  “That’s what we believe,” Cree acknowledged.

  “And you fear the succubae will send a force against you to steal it as soon as he does.”

  “Yes,” Coulter answered.

  “I believe I can be of help to you, then,” she said. “I can cast a circle around the cemetery’s perimeter. It won’t keep the succubae out but it will slow her down and prevent any other demons from entering the hallowed ground. How do you plan on securing the key?”

  “We brought with us a tabernacle that was blessed by three priests,” Cree replied. “Anglican, Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox. It was locked with the wax from an Advent candle blessed by the Pope and will remain locked until just before Kayle removes the key. Inside the tabernacle are holy objects from four other religious groups.”

  “Judaism, Islam, Buddhism and Hinduism,” Coulter stated. “Cree will break the seal and open the tabernacle. The moment Rand retrieves the key, he will place it into the tabernacle.”

  “The container will then be sealed with more wax from the Advent candle that is in a small tin already inside the tabernacle,” Cree concluded.

  “That’s my job,” Kerreyder said. “As soon as Aiden opens the tabernacle, I’ll take out the tin and heat it in my hand.” He wriggled his fingers. “Helps to be pyrokinetic.”

  “Where is this tabernacle now?” she asked.

  “We were instructed not to bring it into your home since you are a Wiccan,” Cree replied. “We left it in the care of our driver, a young priest from the Archdiocese of Mobile.”

  “You are taking no chances,” Lauren said.

  “Not with what’s at stake,” Cree replied. The religious blessings and holy objects can be considered precautions.”

  “That is all well and good,” Jaleel said, “but you are forgetting one important point.” When everyone was looking at him, he leveled his gaze on Randon. “The succubae do not fear the gods of those pantheons. The only god they fear is Jee Yn Ayr, the Father-God. Do you have a relic from Him?”

  “No, but they have his son.”

  Those assembled snapped their heads toward the voice that spoke quietly from a dark corner of the room. Kerreyder walked slowly into the light, his eyes glowing.

  * * * * *

  Tired and soul-content from the excellent meal she’d shared with Alyn and a couple of med techs who’d joined them at their table, Kenzi yawned as she entered the elevator. She wanted nothing more than to take a leisurely soak in her big marble tub with a glass of chilled plum wine and listen to a David Arkenstone CD to unwind. As the panels closed, her gaze went to the door that opened onto the stairwell. She reached up to touch the key card that hung from a lanyard around her neck. For some reason, knowing the key card was there eased some passing disquiet that nudged her as she looked at the door. Randon’s words from her first day at Tearmann came back to her.

  “Each stairwell has a weapons case,” he’d said, “to go along with the fire extinguishers. Those are heavy duty tranqs. Each gun holds forty hits of pairilis. The doses in these guns are Class Four. They would stop a rampaging elephant in mid-run in less than a second. They will stop one of the non-humans found here in two.”

  She hoped she never had to use the key card to open a case in order to take out one of the guns but knowing they were there reassured her. There were times after she’d seen some of the more violent, vile creatures in lockdown that she wished she had one of the guns with her in her suite. So far, none of the prisoners had threatened her but she’d been warned that would eventually happen.

  The elevator stopped and its doors opened on her floor. Once more her eyes went to the stairwell door a few feet away and a shudder rippled down her body. Before she stepped out of the cage, she looked up and down the hall—half-expecting to see some lumbering menace coming toward her.

  “Really, Delaney?” she mumbled. She pursed her lips at her overcharged imagination but hurried nonetheless to her room door. Even as she placed her palm against the reader, she looked behind her and to both sides. To make matters worse, the hairs on the back of her neck and on her arms crinkled. She couldn’t get into her room fast enough—turning quickly to punch in the lock code that would seal the door. As soon as she had, she thought of Kerreyder and how easily he had entered her room despite it being locked.

  Once more unease moved through her. She went through every room with her heart in her throat—even looked under the bed and in each closet—until she was satisfied she was alone.

  Of course that wouldn’t matter if whatever entity was disturbing her could walk through walls or materialize at any moment.

  “Get a grip!” she chastised herself but nevertheless went to the phone to apprise security of her unease. At least they would be aware and, if a creature had escaped confinement, alert her.

  “Security. Reynolds.”

  “Yes, this is Dr. Delaney. Are there any alerts out?”

  “Not at this time, Doc,” the guard replied. “Something bothering you?”

  “Intuition is something we don’t disregard around here,” her counselor had told her during orientation. “If you feel uneasy, you let security know.”

  “It’s probably nothing but I can’t seem to shake the feeling I’m being watched,” she told him.

  “I’ll send someone up right away. Are you locked in?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is your weapon at hand?”

  Kenzi blinked. “My weapon?” she questioned. “What weapon?”

  “You don’t have a weapon?”

  “No, I don’t. Should I?” she asked, nibbling on her bottom lip.

  “Most of the staff do,” Reynolds replied. “I’ll have one brought up to you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

  “Don’t open the door until you check to see who’s there. His name is Palmer and he’ll hold his ID badge up for you to read.”

  “Okay,” she agreed and when she hung up, felt a bit better than before her call.

  Although her nerves were still on edge. She wished Randon or Kerreyder were there but they were down in Florida. She thought of calling Alyn to sit with her but that seemed silly. She was a grown woman and no doubt this would not be the first time she’d feel anxious at Tearmann. Nerves went with the job.

  Unable to relax, she kicked off her shoes and paced as she waited for Security Officer Palmer to arrive. She kept running her palms down her slacks in an effort to still her hands.

  * * * * *

  Lauren swept her eyes down the tall frame of the archdemon then cocked a brow. “You’re a tall drink of water, aren’t you?”

  Kerreyder smiled. “And you’re the woman who turned the tables on Syntian Cree,” he replied.

  “They needed turning,” she said, one corner of her mouth crooked in challenge.

  “No doubt,” the archdemon conceded.

  “So,” she said, drawing the word. “What do you bring to the party, Lord Kerreyder?”

  “Prince Kerreyder,” he corrected. “I am the son of the Father-God and Queen Eisheth of the Succubae.”

  “My condolences on the bitch who birthed you,” Jaleel mumbled.

  “Thank you,” Kerreyder surprised the demon by replying.

  “You’re welcome,” Jaleel replied.

  “What I bring to the party is another level of protection for our intrepid Nightwind,” Kerreyder told Lauren. “Your protection spell around the cemetery will be useful but it isn’t absolute. Combined with my presence, that will give Kayle ample time to get the key into the tabernacle and consequently seal it. The moment the container is sealed, I will take possession of it.”

  “How do we know you won’t hand it over to your mother or to Naamah?” Jaleel queried.

  The archdemon cut his gaze to the Nightwind. “I have recently found my Blood-mate, Jaborn. Think you I wou
ld do anything to jeopardize her world?”

  “You could take her back with you to Treigeilys,” Jaleel suggested.

  “No, I cannot,” Kerreyder said. “I have made her immortal with my seed but she has no desire to leave this world.”

  “The lady is bound not only to you but to a Nightwind,” Lauren said. “Though he has yet to sign his blood oath to her.”

  Kerreyder looked pointedly at Randon. “This is true.”

  “She has not asked,” Randon said.

  “Does she even know of the Book?” Lauren inquired. “Does she know where it is?”

  Randon shook his head. “She has not asked,” he repeated.

  “And you have conveniently not told her,” Lauren accused.

  Randon raised his chin. “I will.”

  “When?” Lauren pressed. She narrowed her eyes. “I suggest sooner rather than later, incubus.”

  The threat was there in the witch’s voice. In the way her gaze pierced him. It was on the tip of his tongue to order her to mind her own business but she was a powerful woman whose powers had grown exponentially under the tutelage of the Nightwind standing beside her. He could feel the depth and scope of those powers and they made him uneasy.

  “I will tell her when I return to Tearmann,” he said.

  “You swear?” Lauren demanded. “On your life-mate’s soul?”

  Randon ground his teeth but dipped his head in a brief bow. “I swear,” he replied.

  “Go back on that vow and I will send Jaleel to have a long talk with her,” she said then turned her back on him once again.

  “I’d toe the line if I were you, bud,” Coulter said under his breath.

  Randon didn’t reply to the advice. Instead he walked to the bay window at the front of the room, took his hand out of his pocket and pushed the sheers apart to look out.

  “He’s a loner, isn’t he?” Coulter inquired.

  “He knows when he’s not welcome,” Lauren stated.

  “Mayhap not welcome here in your home, milady, but assuredly needed and wanted,” Cree defended the Nightwind. “He is a valuable asset to the Consortium.”

  “Even maggots have their uses, Lord Cree,” she replied.

  Randon’s eyelids flickered at the insult but he didn’t look around. He stood there listening to the planning of the next day’s excursion into the cemetery. It wasn’t just the fact that he felt unwelcome that had him quiet and tense. There was a hint of something evil in the air that had garnered his attention. He was fairly sure the succubae already had someone—or something—in the little Florida Panhandle town. He couldn’t sense its whereabouts or scent it but he didn’t need to to know wickedness was on the prowl.

  He shifted his shoulders, feeling as though a heavy, wet weight was perched there breathing hot, foul air along the nape of his neck.

  “I feel it too,” Kerreyder said, joining him at the window.

  Outside the lightning was forking dangerously from cloud to ground and the wind was howling around the eaves of the house. The sonic booms made the glass in the window shake.

  “There can be no slipups tomorrow,” Randon said. “Humanity depends on us being able to work as a cohesive team.”

  “Don’t worry about the witch,” the archdemon said. “She poses no threat to you. This I swear. You are my protection for Kenzi in this world. I will not allow anything to happen to you.”

  The Nightwind drew in a long breath. “Lucky me, huh?”

  “I could send you back to the Abyss if that is what you want.”

  Randon chuckled sardonically then turned his head to look at Kerreyder. “You and I both know that’s a hollow threat, Warden. Stop making it.”

  Kerreyder grinned then shrugged. “Busted.” He reached out to clamp a hand on the Nightwind’s shoulder. “Despite fucking hating you, I like you, incubus.” He squeezed Randon’s shoulder. “I fucking do.”

  “Sucks to be you,” Randon said, shrugging off the touch. He leveled his gaze on the archdemon. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

  “Everything all right over there?” Cree asked.

  Randon kept his attention riveted on Kerreyder who smiled slowly and with a hint of nastiness no one but the Nightwind could see.

  “Aye, Aiden,” the archdemon said. “Everything is just hunkey-dory.” He winked at Randon then turned away, strolling back to the others as though he’d not a care in the world.

  Randon returned to watching the strobe lighting of the violent storm outside the window and shifted his shoulders once more—wishing he knew why his skin felt too tight for his body and something dark moved silently through his mind.

  “What happens once you have the key?” Lauren asked Kerreyder.

  “I will take it to the Holy Land. There, representatives of all the religions will be waiting to perform a ceremony that will seal it for all time within hallowed ground sacred to all of them.”

  “Which is where, exactly?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t want to know,” Kerreyder said. “Once it is in the hands of the religious, no demon can touch it or know where it will be laid to rest. I will not be privy to that location.”

  “And that’s as it should be,” Coulter said.

  “Let’s hope the preparation is as ironclad as you seem to think it will be,” Lauren said. “I don’t want to have to go through this ever again.”

  “None of us do,” Cree stated.

  * * * * *

  While she waited for the security guard to show up at her door, Kenzi continued to pace. She was antsy and her anxiety was growing. If asked, she wouldn’t have been able to explain why she felt so uneasy. It was an intangible thing that had her nerves on edge and her spine tingling. She repeatedly scraped her palms down her forearms where the hair was stirring.

  “Come on, come on, come on!” she said to the door. When the chime sounded, she all but jumped out of her skin. Beside it was a small vid-com screen.

  A man she’d never seen stood on the other side, staring at the camera above the door chime. “Security, ma’am,” he said then put the case that held his badge up to the camera.

  Kenzi looked at the holograph overlay that shimmered over the shiny gold shield. A pale-green photographic image of the guard hovered above the badge—rotating from full front facial view to profile then back again. The image matched the face staring back at her from the vid-com.

  “Just a moment,” she said and began punching in the code to unlock the door. Opening the portal, she smiled at the guard, he smiled back and then his face morphed into that of the Saurian prisoner Randon and Sorn had brought back from Florida. Something vaguely acidic hit her in the face and she sank to the floor in a heap.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Supper had been served and all except Randon had partaken of the sumptuous meal Lauren Fowler had provided. Now they were back in the living room with a carafe of coffee and a tray of homemade macaroons before them. Cree had just described to her the tombstone they would be looking for the next day.

  “I know just the one you mean. Actually it’s a crypt, not a tombstone,” Lauren said as she poured herself another cup of coffee. “It belongs to a woman named Helena Papandrea. She used to rescue greyhounds and little ones from puppy mills. A good woman by all accounts. She was an old maid and left her millions to the Humane Society.” She took a seat on the sofa and curled her bare feet beneath her. “Her crypt is very grandiose for Milton.”

  “I know the one you mean,” Coulter said. “I’ve never seen it up close but I’ve noticed it when driving by the cemetery.”

  “There are two torches on either side of the crypt with perpetual flames atop them,” Lauren continued. “If memory serves, the foundation that handled her will had a hell of a time getting a gas line run through the cemetery to feed the torches. I believe a rather large donation went into somebody’s pocket in order to see it done.”

  “What about yew trees?” Cree inquired.

  Lauren nodded. “They are there. The cry
pt is surrounded by them and the door is a beautiful work of art. The building is rose-colored marble but that door is solid copper and it has a laser-cut image of Miss Helena sitting on an ornate throne with one hand on the head of a greyhound.” She smiled, her eyes crinkling. “In the other hand she’s holding an ornate key.”

  “That’s got to be it,” Sorn said.

  “How big is the key?” Cree asked.

  Lauren’s brow furrowed. “I’d say maybe a foot in height and a fourth that in width at the top.”

  “Then it will fit the tabernacle,” the Prime said with relief.

  “All right then,” Kerreyder said, rubbing his hands together. “First thing in the morning, we’ll get that bloody key and be on our way.”

  “I suggest you get a good night’s sleep,” Lauren said. She nudged her chin toward her consort.

  “We have put the two of you Reapers together,” Jaleel said. “Prince Kerreyder you will have a room to yourself.” He looked at Coulter. “You will have the smaller of the guest rooms.”

  “What of Kayle?” Cree asked.

  “He can sleep on the floor for all I care,” Lauren said and at Randon’s snort she glanced at him. “Or in the mud outside since he’s accustomed to the mire of the Abyss.”

  “Fuck you, woman,” Randon said without turning around.

  “Jaleel, no!” Lauren was quick to stop her consort from attacking him. She leaned forward and put her cup on the coffee table in front of the couch.

  “I will not allow him to speak to you in such a way!” Jaleel hissed though he did not move from the spot where he had leapt to his feet.

  “Apologize, Kayle,” Cree ordered.

  “Not in this lifetime or any other,” Randon said. He headed for the front door. “I’ll sleep on the porch.”

  “In the rain?” Coulter said. “Hell, no, you won’t. You’ll bunk with me.” He stared hard at Lauren. “Is this your idea of Southern hospitality, milady?”

  “No, Dixon,” she said with a tight smile. “It is called justice, but if you don’t mind being in his presence, by all means let him share your room.”

  “You’re with me, Kayle,” Coulter stated.