“I think it’d be best if Bass took over watching Melanie and Rashid watched my and Ben’s folks,” I interject into the silence between us.
“What he’d do?”
“He’s been hitting on Melanie,” I answer, cutting to the heart of the matter.
“That’s not exactly something Melanie can’t handle.” A confused frown pulls down the corner of his perfect mouth.
“No, but she’s been flirting back. She as much as told me her will power was failing.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Kade grinds out between clenched teeth.
“No, just send him to keep an eye on the moms. I doubt he’ll try to sleep with either one of them,” I tack on, smirking over the cruel joke I’m suggesting we play on Rashid.
Laughing outright, Kade smiles, golden eyes shining. “Yes, let’s do that.”
Chapter 24
Beep... Beep... Beep. The indecent sound of my cell phone’s alarm wakes me. Stopping the dreadful sound with a flick of my finger I continue to lie there. Today is the day... if I can make it through today my human life will be over. The last strings tethering me to the lie I’ve been living will be cut. Sure, there’ll be appearances to keep up for my parents’ sake, a phone call here or there, but I’ll be free to distance myself from everything and everyone and free to pursue my vengeance with single-minded intensity. I close my eyes and give myself permission to remember, scrolling back through all the years Ben and I spent together and the good times we’d shared. It’s true that my feelings have been convoluted for a long time, but a part of me will always belong to Ben. I roll over and open my eyes, half expecting to see him come strolling out of the bathroom, hair damp, like he did so often on our lazy Saturday mornings together.
“I will miss you,” I whisper to the empty doorframe, letting the memory fade.
I force myself to shower then pull on what I hope is funeral-worthy attire for a widow. At least it’s black, I tell myself, appraising my appearance in the mirror. My face looks haggard, like all the youth has been sucked out of it. Tying my hair back, I slather some makeup on my face, which greatly improves my skin’s appearance but can do nothing for the haunted expression in my eyes. Reconciled to the fact this is the best I can expect to look, I head to the kitchen for some caffeine. The living room never sleeps and I find Kade monitoring the surveillance command center when I come out. I’m hoping to avoid him by heading out to my hair appointment early, so I cringe when he makes eye contact because I know what’s coming. He’s waited me out this week, given me plenty of space and opportunity to seek him out when I was ready. The thing is, I’m still not ready, but reading his expression I know he’s done waiting.
“Good morning,” he says stiffly. I force myself to actually meet him in the eye and my frozen heart gives a spontaneous little thump in my chest. The lines of his face are grim and he’s beyond exhausted. He looks strung out. I’d never stopped to consider what this past week must have been like for him.
How dare he? I think as I snort at his gall. What Kade’s going through is of his own making, not mine! I let my anger lash out to keep the newest uncomfortable feelings of remorse at bay.
“Morning,” I return.
“We need to talk.”
“Not now, I have an appointment,” I reply curtly.
“I know, and I’ll take you.”
“Not this time,” I answer, trying to side step him.
“You’re not going by yourself,” he growls, grabbing my arm. Shocked, I look down; the aggressive behavior is out of character for Kade. At the same moment, Hal and a rather groggy Z stumble upon our little showdown.
“And I have to get through today by myself, you can’t come!” I yell, wrenching my arm from his grasp. Glaring straight into his fearsome eyes, I hold my ground.
“I’ll take you,” Zafir yawns, interrupting our stalemate. I’m not budging on this one but I’m also not stupid. Taking Z might be the best compromise I can hope for.
“Fine!” Kade and I chant in unison.
“Hal’s chipped my phone, so feel free to track the flashing dot if you’d like,” I add, rubbing salt into the wound.
“What happened to the woman who chose me?” He hits right back.
Turning away, I march over and yank the front door open, not caring whether or not Z is ready to go. “Innocent people died because of her,” I admit before walking away.
* * *
The car ride to the salon with Zafir is lonely, but I’ve no room in my head to mourn the loss of our easy going camaraderie. I’m a jumbled mess: I can’t see past today, and if a future exists for me beyond burying the man I failed to protect then surely it is this, the task of finding and destroying Himyar. At the very least Z and I still have that in common.
I barely notice we’ve stopped when Zafir hops out of the Yukon, his keen eyes scoping the parking lot. Unbuckling, I too climb out.
“You see that woman there?” I ask him, pointing to where my stylist stands through the huge storefront window.
“Yes,” Z affirms.
“That’s her station, that’s where I’ll be,” I say and indicate the chair and vanity nearest the window. “And that,” I point to the vacant patio outside the coffee shop across the way, “that’s where you will be.”
He gives the patio, which is several hundred yards away, the stink eye. “Like hell,” he tells me, and heads for the salon’s entrance. Silently fuming, I waltz through the door he holds open for me and sock him in the arm when I pass.
“You used to be a lot stronger,” he whispers just to piss me off before snagging a magazine and flopping down in the waiting area. I seriously consider using my powers to grab his magazine and start beating him over the head with it, but unfortunately that would attract attention. Plastering a smile on my face, I thank the receptionist who then tells me it’ll just be a moment and so I wait patiently to be called back by Andrea.
“I’m sorry to hear about your husband,” Andrea says as she ushers me to the open chair at her station. Her sentiment is genuine and I politely thank her. Sighing, I let myself relax in her chair. Without hesitation or the awkward chit chat that some people feel obligated to engage you in when something traumatic has happened in your life, Andrea gets to work on my hair. Thirty minutes later I’m under the dryer while a fresh coat of red absorbs into my head.
“Here,” Zafir says, shoving a large fountain drink in front of me. Startled because I didn’t see him coming, I glance up to say thank you but get cut off by the hesitant voice of the receptionist.
“Sir, you can’t have that in here. We have a strict no food or beverages policy,” she stammers nervously. Honestly, the fact that she had the guts to stand up to Z at all surprises me.
“Oh for crying out loud!” he exclaims. “Fine,” he then answers, turning back to me. “You see that table right outside?”
Ducking out of the dryer and craning my neck around, I can vaguely see the silhouette of a table in front of the sub shop next door. “Yes.”
“That’s where I’ll be. Don’t think for a second I can’t see you.” As he stalks out of the shop, I giggle while watching the petite blonde receptionist visibly relax. I return to my magazine for distraction and lose track of time.
“All done,” Andrea announces after checking a few of the foil wrappings on my head. In next to no time I’m washed, rinsed, and styled.
“I look too good to be going to a funeral,” I tell Andrea as I review my appearance in the mirror.
“If you want, I could make you look a little more hideous,” she smiles, making light of my assessment.
“No.” I smile weakly as my anxieties about the rest of today start to peak. “Excuse me, I just need a minute,” I blurt out, suddenly jumping up from my chair and heading for the restroom. Weaving through the busy salon, I find the bathroom and lock myself in, for a moment trying to hold on to my anger and keep my grief at bay. Dabbing at my eyes with a tissue I stare in the mirror. “You are not going to
cry.” I repeat the phrase several times until it finally sinks in. Tossing the tissue, I exit the bathroom and step into Mike.
“Oh Mike, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there,” I apologize. Mike was head of custodial services when I worked for Preston-Ward.
“Gwen,” he says, recognition slowly dawning on his face. “I barely recognized you.”
“It’s alright,” I smile. “We haven’t seen each other in a long time. Do you come here often?” I ask, confused as to why a casual guy like Mike would be in a swanky salon.
“No, just dropping off the wife. I was sorry to hear about your husband.” His knowledge about Ben catches me off guard until I remember that Ben’s obituary ran in the paper earlier this week. Mike must have read it.
“Thank you,” I mumble, trying to think of a polite way to get out of this conversation, which has taken a turn for the worst. “Are you still at Preston-Ward?”
Slowly Mike shakes his head from side to side. “Look, as much as I love your ridiculous attempts at conversation, I’m afraid they’ll have to wait. Right now we need to leave,” he announces. “But there’ll be plenty of time to talk later,” he promises, acid creeping into his tone. With a snap of his fingers, two very important truths begin to sink in. One, I’m not going to escape, and two, Mike is not who I thought he was.
Magically my limbs are bound tightly and a cloth gag hangs from my mouth. Helplessly, I watch Mike’s brown eyes melt into Himyar’s red ones and I want to scream. Without discretion he throws me over his shoulder and muscles a path for us past the bathroom and through the back entrance. We’re gone before anyone even knows what’s happening. Mastering my fear, I use the only weapon available to me: my brain. Grasping hold of my own magic, I pull rocks, sticks, garbage, any small object that can possibly be construed as a weapon and begin pelting Himyar with them. I’m aware that I won’t actually be able to kill him, but I hope to distract him long enough for Z to notice my disappearance and rescue me. Annoyed but unfazed by my tactics, he dumps my body on the ground next to a car. I land on my tailbone hard, knocking the wind out of me. Opening the back door, he then drags me to my feet and slaps me hard across the face before throwing me to the floor inside.
“Knock it off,” he hisses, slamming the door. My cheek throbs and swells while I lay there in a painful daze. Giving myself a mental shake, I focus on my options, which after a few seconds of contemplation I realize turn out to be none. My purse, and more importantly my phone with the tracking device in it, is back at the salon. Zafir is back at the salon. From my position on the floor, I cannot see where we are going. My powers are not enough to kill Himyar, and if I don’t use them prudently I run the risk of getting knocked out, or worse, for my trouble. Remembering that I was able to shield myself completely from Himyar during our last encounter, I focus on reviewing what I remember about shielding and hope I’ll be able to construct something similar when the time comes.
Chapter 25
I’m motion sick from the many twists and turns along our journey, and I fight back the urge to vomit when Himyar drags me from the car to stand in front of some warehouse. My heart sinks when nothing about my surroundings appears familiar. Even if I were to escape now, I’ve no idea in which direction to flee. No! I tell myself, refusing to give up. There’s got to be a way.
Shoving me through a side door of the old building, Himyar snaps and the lights come on. The high pitched whine of the halogens warming up gives me pause; it’s the only sound in the dreary room. When he snaps again, my bonds fall away and I spit to try and dislodge the stray fibers left behind by the gag.
“There’s nowhere to run, and if you can manage to open one of the exit doors, well, then you truly are a mighty Nephilim.”
Backing away from him and the dusty shelves crammed towards the front of the building, I stop in the middle of a large open section of flooring and watch Himyar. If I understand him correctly, the doors are spelled and I’m unlikely to leave this place without him.
“There’s no reason to be like that,” he tells me, rightly interpreting my hateful expression. “We’re going to get along swimmingly. You’ll do what I ask... and I’ll protect you.”
“Ha!” I say in utter disbelief. “Protect me from what?” He has to be aware that he is the most deplorable thing on the entire planet. With another resounding snap of his fingers, I come to learn just how wrong I am. Materializing next to Himyar, in a gorgeous plume of blue smoke, is another Sylph.
“From the likes of him,” Himyar answers.
“How?” Shock and bewilderment course through me. “The resealing was successful.” I wrack my brain. I know the Wanderers have tracked down nearly all of the spheres over the centuries. So what are the odds of two Sylph being outside the range of the resealing spell, and both strong enough to break free from their prisons this decade? It doesn’t add up. I know from my time with Hal that the power of the sealing wanes over time, so even if a Sylph was missed by the resealing enchantment it could be hundreds of years before the spell would weaken enough for the trapped Sylph to overcome it and escape.
“Yes, thanks to you it was. That’s the second time you’ve foiled me,” he reflects whimsically, a genuine smile lifting the corners of his mouth. The expression makes Himyar deceptively attractive for a moment. Were it not for the eerie red glimmer of his eyes he could almost pass for handsome. The thought of that vile creature cozying up to anyone makes me shudder and I quickly reject the possibility.
“Second time? Are you delusional?” I ask.
“No, but your interference the first time was unwitting so I’m prepared to let that one slide. We’re going to be friends, remember.” The yet unidentified Sylph continues to hover while Himyar rants, eyeing me vindictively.
“You were Mike,” I reason aloud. “You didn’t just borrow his appearance today. Mike doesn’t exist, does he?”
“Well I wouldn’t go that far. He exists because I exist, but yes, you derailed my plans at Preston-Ward. It doesn’t matter though, because as you can see I’ve figured out how to get what I want.” Tipping his head he indicates his silent brother. Holy shit! Was everything at that place surreal? That job application should have came with a serious warning.
“Would it have worked?” I ask, the scientist in me curious. “If I hadn’t unknowingly sabotaged the project, would it have worked?”
“Oh, I really don’t know. It was a long shot at best,” he answers, disappointing my inquisitive nature. Himyar’s need to connect with me, this desire for us to become friends, is absurd and I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Still our conversation has bought me time enough to visually scope out the premises. With heart-sinking finality I accept the fact I’m not leaving here without help, and help doesn’t know where to find me.
“You still haven’t told me how you managed your success,” I say and change subjects, hoping to finally understand what it is Himyar wants from me. Arrogantly he sneers, and I wonder if my motives are that obvious. Trust is one thing that won’t be developing between us any time soon. He seems to distrust me as much as I distrust him. Keeping that in mind I try to play along with his charade, well aware that out thinking him will be a difficult task.
“Gabir is standing here, isn’t he? You can see the truth of my success for yourself.”
“Cut the crap!” I challenge boldly. “If that were the case you wouldn’t need me.” My outspoken behavior proves too much for Gabir, whose essence drifts closer.
“No!” Himyar barks, halting his minion’s progress. While I don’t understand the fealty between these two, the pecking order seems to be firmly established. In a language I don’t understand, Himyar must give Gabir some kind of order because a second later he poofs into thin air. Without turning his back to me, Himyar waltzes over to one of the many shelves and uncovers a hidden sphere. Gasping, I step back, wanting as much space between that vile sphere and my body as possible.
“Is that Gabir’s?” I ask hopefully.
&nb
sp; “No,” he replies, petting the orb reverently. “At the moment I don’t actually know who is inside, but you’re going to help me find out.” Gulping, I want to run but there’s nowhere to hide and so I hold my ground. “Here, I want you to take this,” Himyar says, forcing the sphere upon me. Holding the thing at arm’s length, I just stare at Himyar with confusion.
“It won’t work for me, not with my angel blood,” I explain assuming he wants me to release the Sylph and make wishes. He laughs at my ignorance.
“I want you to wish him free.”
Perplexed, I gaze into the sphere. “Be free,” I say in a mocking tone. My ill-timed humor appears to be trying his patience.
“Your power locked him inside, so use it again and let him out,” he demands with his blood red eyes burning brightly. “Wish him free.” What he’s asking me to do is preposterous; it doesn’t make any sense.
“This is ludicrous. You can’t expect me to reverse a spell I barely understand.”
“It isn’t! This will work, I assure you,” he answers, adopting a friendly tone once more. Grasping at straws, I wonder if in fact it would be possible for a Nephilim to wish a Sylph free. Himyar seems absolutely certain. It would have to be a very strong Nephilim, I reason. I gaze at the vacant space left by Gabir and worry about the details of his escape and the ramifications if my blossoming theory is correct.
“How did you say you succeeded in freeing Gabir?”
“By understanding your powers better than you do! You put them in there, you can get them out. Wish him free, do it now!” he yells, anger bleeding into his voice again.
“Let’s say I believe you,” I stall. “If wishing them free really works, then where is the other Nephilim? The one who freed Gabir?”
“Indisposed.”
His poisonous smile tells me one of two things: either the first Nephilim died in the attempt or Himyar killed him or her. Neither outcome bodes particularly well for me. Staring at my captor, I embrace the finality of my next move and pray when the time comes God will send the Wanderers a suitable replacement.
A Step Away (The Wanderer Book 2) Page 19