by Sarah Gilman
Talon squirmed and pulled at a handful of his feathers. Jett gently pushed the tiny hand away and scratched the spot on the infant’s wing. The child settled down.
There’d be no safeguarding such innocence forever. The twins had a merciless world to grow up in, but, damn it, they’d have one less thing to worry about when Jett was done with Lawrence.
He shifted his attention to Wren’s emotions, relieved and humbled to find, when it came to holding the infant, Jett had Wren’s unhesitant trust.
Jett resettled Talon next to Phoenix on Raphael’s lap, stroking each infant’s cheek in turn. Phoenix smiled and wiggled closer to her brother. If Jett hadn’t known better, considering their age, he’d have sworn Talon scowled at her.
“Be nice to your sister,” Jett scolded and tapped the kid lightly on the nose.
Raphael laughed. “One minute, you can’t separate them without defending screams, the next, they’re in a mini-fistfight. This will be a very interesting household when they get older.”
Jett took a chair at the table next to Lark and studied the computer screen. Time to learn the neighborhood around the house in Morgan, as well as the medical center, develop a plan, and get on the road.
Heads up, Lawrence, you fucker. I’m coming for you.
…
Lawrence drove north through Vermont to Morgan, the little town where his daughter-in-law had lived before she’d met his son. Why she insisted on living all the way out here when she had a perfectly good home near the medical center still escaped him. She went on about the fresh air and the joy her family property gave her. Frustrating woman.
After her death, he’d sell the lakefront home and put the money toward Andrew’s college tuition.
He arrived at Miriam’s just after sunset and rushed up to the covered porch of the old, white-clapboard house.
The wooden door opened, followed by the noisy screen door, as Miriam stepped outside.
“Miriam, you shouldn’t be out here. It’s chilly.”
Her lips pursed in a hard expression she’d used often as a lawyer before she’d gotten sick. “Don’t coddle me, Victor. My son is missing.”
“Let’s go inside and talk.”
She huffed and turned on her heel, her gray skirt twirling around her ankles, her pale curls bouncing on her shoulders. Even in the crisp and bland outfits she wore—an ever-present symptom of her lawyer persona—and after her long illness, she was lovely. His son had been a lucky man.
If only she’d listen to reason to move closer to the hospital.
In the living room, Pastor Richard Elks rose from the sofa. “Victor.”
“Richard.”
Miriam settled, her back stiff, in an antique, wooden-legged chair. “Andrew had an interesting conversation with Pastor Elks recently.”
“Oh?”
Richard stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “He asked me about my sermon last week, about the archangel Raphael and the healing power of God.”
“What sort of questions?”
“How to pray to the angels to help his mother. How to approach the ‘Raphael’ who lives in Sanctuary.”
“What?”
“I made it very clear that Sanctuary had no help to offer, and that the archangels cast from Heaven were not to be sought out. He appeared convinced when he left my office. But now that he’s missing…”
Lawrence leaned against the hearth. “Oh, God.” He swallowed. “Andrew was in my office at the lab a few weeks ago. He must have seen.”
“Seen what?” Miriam pulled a knit blanket over her lap, her hands shaking.
“The fallen archangel Raphael does have the power to heal. The phenomenon was observed a year ago. I saw it myself. I have a video on the computer in my office.”
Miriam’s lips thinned. “What have you gotten into?”
“A business associate of mine had Raphael captive. The archangel escaped with the help of one of the guards. The guard was shot, a severe wound to the abdomen. Raphael healed him with a moment’s touch. I saw the whole thing on security footage. The guard got up and walked away a short while later after a period of unconsciousness.”
“The archangel is fallen. Such a thing must be the devil’s work.” Fury filled Richard’s voice. “I didn’t realize you planned to do anything but kill them.”
Victor suppressed a curse. Perhaps getting the Pastor involved in his work had been a mistake after all. “He could bring miracles to the suffering.”
“Never accept gifts from the devil, Victor.”
“Damn it! You don’t walk through the ICU every day!” Victor glowered at the pastor. “I was to have the archangel for research. Since his escape, I’ve been seeking to recapture him, or better even, to attain his newborn grandchildren. They can be raised to serve humanity—”
“What does this have to do with Andrew’s disappear-ance?” Miriam wailed.
“Jesus, if he went to Sanctuary…those demons…”
The pastor, paled faced, shook his head. “That is no place for a child to wander.”
“No shit.” Lawrence placed his hand on Miriam’s shoulder. “I’ll get him back. Don’t worry. I’ll get Drew back.”
Chapter Twenty-two
After hours of trying to pull herself together after Jett left and unable to stand the silence in her apartment a moment longer, Lexine debated going out into the colony and being social, just for the sake of being around others. No, bad idea. Anyone who saw her red, puffy face would ask what was wrong, and the last thing she wanted was to be a spectacle—it would bother her if no one else. She did need to talk to someone, though.
She sent Ginger a text message. She never called this late in deference to the fact that her friend needed to sleep every night, but Lexine desperately needed an ear and a shoulder.
And chocolate and wine. A punching bag would be nice.
Her phone chirped a second later. Wide awake. Come on over.
She texted back. Has Jett left? Despite how they’d left things between them, he’d called, told her they had a lead on Lawrence, and he was leaving immediately to follow through.
Yes…
I’ll be right there.
Lexine pulled on a sweater and headed out. The brisk walk around the lake did nothing to calm her. When she reached the house, Devin let her in and escorted her to the fourth floor, where he entered another series of codes to unlock the door before returning to his post. The brand-new apartment still smelled of freshly cut wood. She took a deep breath as she removed her sweater and hung it on a hook.
Ginger leaned into view from the kitchen. “I’m making tea. Do you need something stronger?”
“I want something stronger, but I better not. I need to clear my head, not muddle it more.”
“How about cookies?”
“Perfect.” She kept her voice down and glanced toward the master bedroom as she joined Ginger in the kitchen. “Is Wren sleeping?”
“No. He’s downstairs with Raphael. They were putting a movie on when I left. This development with Lawrence has everyone on edge, waiting to hear what happens.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Ginger flicked her hand. “Let the boys watch the movie. You look like hell. What’s wrong?”
Lexine accepted a mug of tea and added honey, the combination reminding her of Jett’s scent. She told the whole story, the words rushing out. Ginger listened with a furrowed brow, staring into her tea.
“You could have told us, sweetie. We wouldn’t have judged you. You, with a poacher?” Ginger shook her head. “I would’ve suspected, above all else, that something wasn’t as it appeared.”
“It was too horrible a possibility to admit to.”
“Well, it’s off the table now.” Ginger covered Lexine’s hand with her own. “Demon premonition dreams fascinated me as a teen, so I read a lot on the subject. They aren’t exact depictions of the future, necessarily. They’re dreams, so they’re liable to have a ten-foot ice-cream cone wal
king around in them, even when such a fabulous thing isn’t a part of the future.”
Lexine managed a smile and took a cookie from the plate in the center of the counter.
“Maybe the dream will change again,” Ginger said. “Perhaps you and Jett can wait it out. Every little thing can change the future.”
Lexine sipped her tea to moisten her dry mouth. “You didn’t see the look he gave me. I really hurt him tonight. I may have killed any chance of a future for us.”
“He’s made of tough stuff, and I’m sure he understands your intentions. He’ll get over the blow to his ego if he’s worth keeping in the first place.” Ginger winked and sipped from her mug. She jerked, spilling tea. “Ouch—hot—shit!” She shoved the laptop computer, sitting open on the counter, away from the mess.
Lexine grabbed the computer, and Ginger reached for a towel.
The screensaver disappeared, revealing pictures of the exterior and interior of a house. Lexine stared, her mouth open, holding on to the counter to keep from pitching off the stool. One picture showed, in marvelous detail, the colorful, fish-themed mosaic floor from her dream. The one on which Jett had died.
“What the hell is this?”
Ginger glanced at the screen. “Oh. That’s the house where Lawrence’s daughter-in-law and grandson live. It was for sale briefly before the mother changed her mind, apparently, so Lark found those shots on a realtor’s website. Jett was looking at them to get familiar with the layout before he went in.”
“This is where Jett has gone?”
“Yeah.” Ginger tucked her hair behind her ears. “What’s wrong?”
“That floor was in my dream. That’s where…” Lexine held either side of the laptop screen in a white-knuckle grip. It couldn’t be, yet there it was. Never had she seen an uglier kitchen floor, even if she hadn’t first seen it covered with blood.
She shuddered and the back of her neck prickled. They weren’t mated, but now, seeing that floor, she knew that the future hadn’t been altered entirely. Knew it with a cold certainty that went straight to her bones. Mating or no mating, Jett was going to die on that floor. The only difference she’d made? Now, he’d die alone, or with his killer.
But it didn’t make sense. How could the dream have occurred? If she’d accepted Jett’s proposal, would he have bitten her right then and there? Such a moment could have gotten out of hand, perhaps. They could have gone from proposal to sex, his mouth against her skin, the temptation too much. Yes, it was possible.
However, he would never have brought her on the hunt for Lawrence, so how was she with him, in the dream? She scrubbed her face with her hands. Because, whether she’d accepted his proposal or not, she’d have sought Ginger out to confide in, and she’d have seen the computer and the accursed floor.
Holy shit.
She had to go after him.
“Ginger, I need to get there. Where is this house?”
“You can’t just—”
“Yes, I can!” Lexine flipped through the browser tabs on the Internet browser and found a map with the address marked. She scribbled the info down on a piece of paper, studied the roads, and headed for the door. “How long ago did he leave?”
“Over two hours ago.”
“Damn it! I—” She paused with her hands on the doorknob. With his head start, he could already be hurt. No. Oh, no, she was not going to walk into the future the dream had shown her. She was not going to drive out there just to see him die.
She had a much better idea. Jett would need a healer.
She opened the door and rushed down the stairs, Ginger right behind. She stopped at the second floor and pounded on the locked door. Ginger reached over Lexine’s shoulder and entered the security codes. Rushing inside, Lexine headed straight for Raphael, who got to his feet, his feathers bristling.
Lexine swallowed. She had no right to ask the archangel put himself at this much risk—flying into a human town, an enemy like Lawrence and who knows who else in the area—but she was going to, anyway. She summed everything up: “Raphael, I’ve been having prophetic dreams and I need you to go to Morgan, or Jett is going to die.”
…
Jett drove Andrew into Morgan, wishing there was some other place to leave the kid. But, even though it was best that Andrew wasn’t around when Jett made minced meat out of Victor Lawrence, the colony couldn’t hold on to the kid and risk backlash from the human authorities.
“My grandfather is a bad person, isn’t he?” Drew stared out the passenger window.
“What makes you say that?”
“I saw a video on his computer.” Drew turned. “I think you were in it.”
“Me?”
“And Raphael. He healed you. Raphael’s wing was covered in blood.”
Jett tensed. Security footage from Thornton’s prison? Had to be. “Yeah, that was me.”
“Raphael was a prisoner, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he was.”
Drew fell silent as another mile of road passed. “My grandfather did that?”
“No. That was someone else.”
“But my grandfather knew about it,” Drew whispered.
“Yes.”
“He did nothing to help.”
“No, he didn’t.”
Drew fidgeted. “My grandfather helps people. He researches diseases like my mom’s. He does surgery on people who’ve been in accidents. Why didn’t he help the archangel?”
Jett gripped the steering wheel. He wasn’t about to lie to the kid. “Your grandfather wanted Raphael to cure the sick and injured.”
“Raphael said he can’t help everyone.”
“That’s right.”
“But my grandfather wanted to force him? Hold him against his will?”
“Yes. When that didn’t work, he tried to kidnap Raphael’s infant grandchildren. He murdered three demons and kidnapped a five-year-old to try to achieve his goals.”
Drew sniffed. “You’re going after him, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry, kid.”
“That’s all right,” Drew whispered. “I don’t want him to hurt anyone. But do you have to kill him?”
Ah, shit.
Drew stared, his eyes wide. “Please, don’t.”
“I have no choice.” Even if Jett could forgive the past, Lawrence would be a continuing threat in the future. There was no reasoning with the man. Jett had tried that many times, only to secure additional beatings. “I need to keep the archangels safe. It’s my job.”
A mailbox with the reflective numbers Jett had been watching for came into view. He turned onto a gravel driveway. A little black sedan and a fancy white sports car sat in front of the garage.
“That your grandfather’s car?”
Drew said nothing.
“Why don’t you go find your mother, kid. She must be worried about you.”
Drew opened the door, jumped out, and ran toward the house.
Jett sighed and rubbed his forehead. Nothing better than an innocent child to take the buzz out of a justified revenge killing. Damn it. He got out of the SUV and followed Drew to the front door.
He picked up Lawrence’s scent. His blood ran cold and he growled.
“Mom! I’m home!” Drew hurried inside.
Jett eased into the mudroom, alert to every sound, scent, and movement. The kitchen—which had an astoundingly ugly tile floor with orange fish—was empty. Drew ran down a hallway.
A scent neither Drew’s nor Lawrence’s nor the woman’s gave Jett pause. Leather and cigarettes. The scent of the man who’d shot Jett full of tranquilizer, taken Bryce, and abandoned the child in a garbage bag.
Jett grinned. Excellent. Another asshole who deserved to die. This would be a fruitful night.
“Jett!” Drew screamed, horror in the boy’s voice.
Jett ran down the narrow hall to a bedroom. A woman and Lawrence lay on the bed, bound. Andrew stood, gaping, his eyes wide.
Lawrence looked up and blanched.
J
ett heard the floor creak behind him. The stench of leather and cigarettes strengthened.
“Andrew, get out of here!” Lawrence struggled.
Jett whirled to face a gun leveled at his chest. The wielder wore a black suit and the white collar of a pastor.
“Finally.” Leather and Cigarettes smiled. “I get to kill another demon.”
He pulled the trigger, but Jett anticipated and jerked out of the way. He pulled his own gun, but froze. The pastor grasped Andrew by the arm and pointed the gun at the child’s head.
“Richard! Please, don’t!” Lawrence lurched into a sitting position. Blood ran from his shoulder. He’d been hit by the bullet intended for Jett. The woman sobbed.
“Consorting with demons?” Richard sneered at Drew. “Unforgivable.”
Jett exploded into a demon-fire torch, successfully distracting Richard. Jett leaped on the human. A gunshot went off and pain exploded from Jett’s leg. The agony brought relief: Drew hadn’t been hit. Jett sank his fangs into Richard’s neck.
Jett straightened when Richard stopped writhing and twitching. Extinguishing his flames, he turned his head to find Lawrence, free, Richard’s gun aimed steady in Jett’s direction. Andrew had freed his grandfather. The kid knelt by his mother, working on the cord around her ankles with a pair of scissors.
“Demon. I never dreamed I’d see you again.”
“I brought your grandson home,” Jett said, forcing a calm voice. He could leap on Lawrence and tear out his throat. In that moment, he didn’t give a damn if Lawrence managed to shoot him in the process. He did care that the woman and Drew would see. It was bad enough he’d killed the pastor in front of them.
The woman had fainted.
“Yes, you did. Thank you for that.” Lawrence scratched his chin with his free hand. “So unpredictable. I doubt I’ll ever understand demons.”
“Because you’re blinded by your bigotry.”
Lawrence turned deep red. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way.”
For a moment, time seemed to reverse and Jett felt the cold air of the lab on his skin, felt the sting of the leather from the whippings he’d receive after speaking out of place. A hard blink brought Jett back to reality. Lawrence no longer held any power over him, even with that gun.