Reckoning: A Fallen Siren Novel

by S. J. Harper

  The warmth of his breath feathers across my lips. The sound of my own blood rushes in my ears. He’s waiting for something. A sign. A signal. An invitation.

  It doesn’t come. It can’t. I keep my eyes shut tight, my shoulders rigid. If I relax, if I look into his eyes, I’ll be lost.

  We’ll both be.

  After a moment, Zack pulls away, placing distance between us. “I smell both your desire and your fear. I don’t understand it. When this is over, when the girls are safe, you’re going to explain it.”

  I release a breath, open my eyes.

  He shoots me a sideways glance. “Assuming I survive.”

  For the first time, the gravity of what we’re about to undertake begins to settle in. Kallistos is older than Lamont. It never occurred to me that Lamont might best Kallistos. That any vampire could best Kallistos. And that if Lamont does, Zack would surely be a target of his wrath.

  “And if I don’t,” he continues, “you’re going to do whatever it takes to save those girls. Can I count on you?”

  I draw a breath. “Always,” I reply.

  Zack continues. “We aren’t going to have long to prepare for what’s to come. Kallistos is cooperating because he sees this as an opportunity for revenge—a chance to get rid of Ford and Lamont. Let the vampires fight one another. We go for the girls.”

  I touch the Glock at my waist. Then drop my hand.

  Zack notices.

  “These guns aren’t going to cut it against a room full of vampires, are they?” I ask. “We’re going to need . . . something else.”

  That makes Zack smile.

  “You have a plan.”

  “Damn straight. Let’s go get us some DNA. We have another stop to make.”

  “What for?”

  “The something else.”

  It’s then that I notice Evan across the street, leaning against the building. The ground floor contains a sandwich shop, a dry cleaner’s, and a barbershop. Above the businesses are five floors of residential apartments. Zack and I exit the SUV and head across the street. Evan tosses a set of keys in our direction as we approach. Zack plucks them out of the air.

  “Fourth floor, unit four hundred and six. His sire’s gone,” he says. “Don’t know when he’ll be back. Don’t know if he’ll be back. I tried to reason with him.”

  “But it’s his call,” finishes Zack. “We can’t do anything for Craig.” His words now are directed at me. A warning.

  “It’s a stupid call,” I add before heading for the door. “I realize Craig’s sire has the right to punish him as he sees fit. I don’t have to like it.”

  Evan reaches out for my elbow. “But you’ll abide by it?” His eyes dart from Zack to me and back again.

  Zack nods, his expression grave.

  “For now,” I agree. “See you back at the condo.”

  The entryway is nothing more than a hall—mailboxes on one side, elevator at the end. I punch the call button. We don’t have to wait. The doors open right away. We step inside, face front, and in short order begin our ascent.

  A sign on the fourth floor directs visitors who are looking for apartments 401 through 405 to the left, 406 to 410 to the right. We head right. Music spills out from a unit down the hall. I can feel the heavy bass through the floor. At the same time, my nostrils are assailed by the smell of garlic. I sniff the air. Zack tilts his head toward the door marked 407. The offender is right across the hall from our vampire. I wonder whether the odor is what drove Evan out of Craig’s apartment. And whether this is deliberate. Does the occupant know or suspect that his neighbor is a vampire?

  Once Zack unlocks the door and we step inside, I realize the odor is not what drove Evan out. A wooden casket sits in the middle of the living room. At least I assume it’s made of wood. It’s wrapped so heavily in silver chains that I can’t tell for sure. The whimpering coming from within it is faint, barely discernable. I edge closer. Zack doesn’t follow. When I look back over my shoulder, his back is to the wall. Sweat is beading on his forehead. I’m reminded that Weres have just as much of an aversion to silver as vamps do.

  “The proximity to the silver is weakening him,” Zack says. “My guess is what’s out here is meant to be a deterrent. To remind anyone inclined to execute an impulsive rescue of the fate that would await.”

  He’s looking at me, his last words pointed as a barb. Another warning.

  I move closer. It’s not just one chain wrapped around the coffin. There are dozens. My eyes scan the intricate pattern, taking in the various padlocks.

  “We aren’t here to interfere with vampire politics. You said you’d abide by the decision for now,” Zack reminds me yet again.

  “Well, my now is short. I’ve moved on to the next moment and I’m not finding this one quite as agreeable.” I pull out my cell phone. “This is barbaric. You saw how Kallistos reacted to what Barbara Pierce did. I can’t believe he would condone this.”

  I dial the phone.

  Kallistos answers on the first ring. “That took longer than I expected.”

  “Do you know what Craig’s sire is doing to him?” I ask.

  There’s no hesitation. “Yes. You’re not to interfere.”

  “But—”

  I’m wasting my breath. He’s already hung up.

  “And you thought the news of me obliterating his mark went well,” Zack says.

  “Shut up.”

  I kneel down, lay my hands over the top layer of chains, and tug. They don’t budge.

  “If you free him, his sire will merely track him down and kill him.”

  I put my back into it and give the chain another tug. “Wouldn’t that be better than this?” I feel Zack’s hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off. I’m fueled by fury now. It doesn’t matter that he won’t help me, that Kallistos won’t help me. That I’m on my own in this. In life. Tears sting my eyes. The words pour out. “Endless torture? Being trapped here . . . forever. Alone. Bound by a vindictive, unforgiving bitch!”

  I feel a crackle in the air. A spark of charge as I yank once more. A wind is rising up within me. This can’t happen. I know I need to contain it. Zack is too close, the potential consequences too dire. Yet I feel the push. I want to ride the sensation of my rage.

  “Emma!”

  Zack’s strong arms wrap around me. He tilts my chin up. Blue eyes meet mine for an instant. Then Zack pulls me closer, dips his head. His nose nuzzles the place where he’d bitten me just hours before. He swipes it with his tongue. Once. Twice.

  I feel the tension dissipate. Such a close call.

  Then Zack is murmuring into my ear. “You aren’t alone.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Zack took care of getting the DNA sample from Craig’s hairbrush. It’s tucked safely into an evidence bag in my pants pocket. We’re on Highway 8 heading west and an accident ahead has slowed us to a crawl. I’m a bundle of nervous energy, body taut from the frustration of having to leave the vampire trapped and in agony.

  My fingers drum the dash as I crane my neck trying to see around the long line of cars.

  “Damn it! Of all the times to be stuck in traffic.”

  “It’s opening up,” Zack replies, calmly.

  He’s right. I can see the cars beginning to move in the distance. The bottleneck has cleared. As we take the West Mission Bay Drive exit, I see three cars pulled over to the side of the road. It looks like a minor fender bender. No one injured. No need to stop to render assistance, thankfully.

  Not so thankfully, I recognize where we’re going.

  “We’re heading to your place?”

  Zack nods.

  “To pick up . . . ?”

  “Body armor. Night-vision gear. Ammo. And Betty.”

  “Betty?”

  “Sweetest custom tactical you’ll ever see.”

  “You named your rifle Betty?” I can’t help myself, laughter breaks through my shell of anxiety and bubbles out. “Why do men insist on naming things—cars, guns, their junk?”
<
br />   Zack shakes his head. “Couldn’t tell you. Although I can say that Mr. Peebles objects mightily to the term junk.”

  “Mr. Peebles?” Now I’m laughing so hard I can hardly breathe and barely see. “Mr. Peebles?”

  “I’m pretty sure laughing at a guy’s . . . junk . . . constitutes harassment.” He’s grinning from ear to ear.

  I try to catch my breath. As soon as I can manage it I say, “It’s just I would have thought you’d pick something more, I don’t know, manly—like Conan, Thor . . . Hugh Jackman.”

  “Wolverine? Seriously?”

  By the time we pull into Zack’s driveway, we’re still both in hysterics. Our moods much lighter. His sobers instantly, however, when a man dressed in low-riding black jeans and a dark hoodie emerges from the tropical landscape to the right of the driveway.

  “Wait here,” he says.

  My hand moves to my gun. I unsnap the holster.

  “He’s friend, not foe,” Zack assures me before popping open the door.

  I sit in the car. The guy’s back is to me. I can’t see his face. I can’t see Zack’s either, for that matter. The man in the hoodie is blocking my view. He’s as tall as Zack, maybe a bit taller. The conversation is brief. They shake hands. Then the stranger disappears, melting back once again into the lush landscape of the tropical garden. A large black duffel bag is tossed out onto the drive. It lands at Zack’s feet.

  “What the—?”

  Zack gives me the thumbs-up.

  I bolt from the car.

  He picks up the duffel and hoists it over one shoulder. “Come on, you’ve got some early Christmas presents to unwrap.”

  I follow him into the house.

  “So, Santa’s gone gangsta? Who the hell was that?”

  “A ghost.” He drops the bag onto the dining room table and unzips it. “Take off your shirt.”

  “Huh?”

  He pulls out a black vest and holds it up.

  “You bought me body armor?”

  “We need to make sure it fits.”

  I remove my jacket and hang it over the back of one of his dining room chairs. Next I pull my blouse free of my slacks, unfasten the cuffs, and start on the buttons.

  “This is the best,” he begins to explain as he pulls apart the various Velcro fasteners. “It weighs less than our FBI-issue Kevlar. Provides almost sixty percent more coverage than the traditional ten-by-twelve hard plate. Plus, it’s flexible. So you’ll be able to move easier. Best of all, it’s kick-ass effective. I unloaded a magazine from an AK-47 into it from under twenty feet. Not a dent.”

  I slip off my blouse and turn around. He helps me slide on the vest, then spends a minute adjusting the straps. The neckline is higher than normal, the coverage between neck and shoulder more substantial. He runs his hands across my back, down the sides.

  “Turn around?”

  I do, then hold out my arms. “How do I look?”

  Zack reaches back into the bag and pulls out a black knit turtleneck sweater and watch cap. “To complete the ensemble. Does the size for the sweater look right?”

  “Yeah.” I slip it on over my head. It gets hung up on a hairpin. “Crap. Help?”

  “Be still,” he says, sliding his hand in through the neck opening.

  Zack finds the offending hairpin and removes it. The sweater slides on smoothly. It fits perfectly. My hair, however, is now a disaster.

  I fish out the remaining pins, pocket them, run my fingers through my hair to smooth out the tangles, then draw it into a knot at the top of my head.

  Zack picks up the duffel. “The other stuff we need is upstairs.”

  “There’s more?” Curious, I follow him up the stairs, running my hands over the breastplate of my new body armor through the thin sweater. “Can a vamp’s fangs penetrate this?”

  He doesn’t bother to look back. “In a combat situation, you don’t want to let a vamp close enough to find out. Fangs are the least of our worry. A vampire can pull either one of us limb from limb.”

  We’re in his bedroom now. Or, more accurately, he’s in the bedroom. I seem to be stuck at the threshold. It hasn’t changed a bit. On the far side is a set of double French doors. Hanging over them are cream dupioni curtains. They’re closed now, but I know from prior experience that just on the other side is a balcony that offers a breathtaking view of the ocean—a balcony we’d once made love on.

  Zack’s disappeared into the closet. I can hear him rummaging around. “Can you hold this bag?” he asks after a moment.

  I walk around the dark walnut king-sized sleigh bed and past the fireplace. I try not to remember how smooth and cool the sheets felt. How sublime the warmth from Zack’s body. I pause to examine the candles on the mantel. A layer of dust covers them, but I can still smell the vanilla and orange, cinnamon and ginger. I can still remember how the glow from the flames filled the room and danced across our naked bodies as we’d writhed in pleasure.

  “Emma?”

  I shake loose the image. “On my way.”

  I step into the closet. It’s bigger than my dining room. “Holy shit.” But it’s not the size that takes my breath away. It’s what he’s got inside. He’s pushed his suits to one side. A portion of the wall has opened up to reveal a metal door. It’s a room, about four by five I’d say, behind the fireplace and accessed from inside the closet. It’s an arms room. Stacked floor to ceiling with racks of guns and shelves stacked with assorted magazines.

  “Can you put those in the duffel?” he asks, pointing to the magazines he’s piled on the floor.

  “Well, when the zombie apocalypse comes, I know where to take cover,” I say before kneeling down. I examine one of the magazines. “I take it these aren’t standard issue?”

  He tosses out a vest that looks just like mine, only much larger. “Not hardly. Hollow point, wooden nose. Upon impact it expands into a six-petal configuration releasing the silver inside. One shot to the heart. Poof.”

  “Poof?”

  He points. “These four smaller magazines will fit our Glocks. The others are for my rifle.”

  Then he leans out, hands me a pair of what looks like strap-on night goggles.

  I put them on, adjusting the head strap. “Resistance is futile.”

  Zack pulls the goggles off and tosses them into the duffel. “Personally, I find you more irresistible without the combat gear.”

  I frown. “It was a Star Trek reference.”

  “I know. Emma, meet Betty.”

  It’s only then that I notice the rifle in his hand.

  I reach out and run my fingertips over the long smooth barrel. “Sniper rifle?”

  “McMillan TAC-50.”

  Once again, the enormity of the situation begins to weigh on me. “If they have ten girls, we can bet there’ll be at least ten bidders. Plus Lamont, a few guards. Zack, we could be up against at least a dozen vampires.”

  He pulls a metal case out of the room, then closes its door and begins to put everything in the closet back into place. “That’s about what I’m figuring. We won’t know for sure until Owen gets in there.”

  I nod. I think about the odds. I think about Zack. He’s strong. He’s a warrior. A supernatural warrior. But he’s mortal. I step forward and place my hand on his chest. The heat from his flesh is warm. I can feel it along with the pounding of his heart through the cotton of his shirt. I search his eyes.

  “Tell me we’re going to succeed.”

  “We’re going to succeed.” He says it with conviction. “We’re going to get those girls out safely.”

  His reassurance isn’t enough. I want to know he’s going to be safe, too. For months I’ve sacrificed in order to ensure his safety, yet here we are.

  “You weren’t wrong,” I say.

  He looks confused. “About?”

  “What we have. It isn’t meaningless, and it does scare me.”

  For a long moment, neither of us moves.

  Finally Zack nods. “Well, that’s a start.”<
br />
  I nod, too. “If we’re going to take it any further, we both need to come back from this. You hear me?”

  Zack smiles. “Don’t die. Check.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Kallistos is waiting at Liz’s condo when Zack and I get back. He doesn’t look pleased to see the two of us together, even though he knew we would be. Perhaps he senses residual feelings from an emotional afternoon.

  Zack pays him no mind. Rather, he heads straight for Simon, handing him the metal case he retrieved from his closet. “I trust you can handle communications?”

  “Easily from my office.” Simon throws open the latches and peers inside. He pulls out the earpieces and begins to examine them. “Awesome! Can I keep these?”

  Zack takes them back. “No. My toys.”

  Simon smiles, snaps the case closed, and hands it back to Zack. “Can’t blame a geek for trying.” He heads for the door. “I’ll call you once I’m in my office and we can run some tests.”

  Simon’s enthusiasm doesn’t surprise me. The fact that Kallistos didn’t return alone does. A woman is with him. Human, thirtyish, brown hair and eyes, tanned skin. She’s dressed in the beige uniform of a zoo worker. On the floor at her feet is a cage. Inside the cage is a crouching chameleon, tail twitching nervously. It’s a big thing, about twenty inches long, each eye rotating independently as it takes in its surroundings.

  I peer at the woman, see her eyes are veiled. She’s in thrall.

  How like Kallistos. No breaking and entering for him.

  “So what did you do?” I ask Kallistos. “Walk into the zoo and ask the first keeper you came across to fetch you a chameleon?”

  “Of course not,” he answers peevishly. “This is Joan Arden. Head of the Reptilia Department. Did you honestly think I was going to try to steal a creature like this?”

  Joan stirs at the mention of her name, but says nothing.

  I shake my head. “So why does she think you needed a chameleon?”

  “I told her it’s for an educational program. Then I merely suggested she get me one and come along for a ride. Naturally, she complied. When this is over, she and the chameleon will be brought back to the zoo. Neither will remember a thing.”