Highborn

by Yvonne Navarro

  Brynna pressed herself into the shallow doorway, and when she inhaled, the heavy scent of Cho’s terror leaking from the thin bottom edge almost made her cough. She smothered the sound and scanned the street, mulling over her options. Was this a good idea? Was she safe? As far as Brynna could tell, she was still undetected by any Hunters. If she was that worried, she could change her timetable and come back tonight, or even walk away entirely. But the dark hours just didn’t appeal to her—she’d had lifetimes of darkness, and now she relished the warmth of the sun and the daylight that revealed so much. Besides, abandoning Cho completely was simply … out of the question. Brynna wasn’t so dense that she didn’t realize she needed to work on her own sense of empathy, and if there was ever a girl who needed some compassion, it was this Korean teenager. Yeah, Brynna decided, there really was only one choice.

  She glanced around a final time before testing the heavy metal doorknob. When it wouldn’t turn, Brynna forced it, rotating it slowly in the hopes that it wouldn’t make too much noise. She was lucky—there was only a low grinding sound, then a quiet snap as the bolt cracked. Beyond the door was a dim, stale-smelling hallway with three doors. The one on the left was a bathroom—Brynna could see the toilet from where she was standing—and the closed and locked one directly in front of her likely led to the main jewelry shop in the front. Beyond was probably an office.

  The door that interested Brynna was directly on the right. It looked almost exactly like the other three, a solid wood slab covered in old white paint that was now cracked and spotted, tack holes everywhere from a thousand notes and calendars hung on it over the span of ten or more decades. The thing that set it apart was the oversized padlock, obviously new, that ensured the door would stay closed. That sort of intervention meant nothing to Brynna. She twisted the padlock off with barely any effort and pulled open the door.

  The daylight from the alley sent a weak glow down a set of stairs that took a right turn into darkness. Brynna could see a hint of light from somewhere, probably a lamp, and she could hear soft, unidentifiable sounds of the sort that had no business in the course of a normal human life. Worse than that was the smell, a conglomeration of sweat, blood, mildew, herbal and chemical potions, and something else, something disturbingly familiar.

  He was smiling and waiting for her across from the stairway that led into the red-smeared room.

  ANN SATHER’S RESTAURANT WAS already well entrenched in a typical state of Tuesday morning madness, and Eran Redmond felt lucky to snag a small table against the north wall. He hadn’t been here in years, but little had changed except for some menu items—wraps and breakfast seafood stuff—that showed the place was trying to stay in tune with Chicago’s young, upscale community. He ordered eggs and Swedish potato sausage, then sipped his coffee and watched the customers while he waited for his food to arrive. Thanks to yet another sniper killing, he’d been up half the night. He was tired and unfocused, pinning way too much hope on the notion that caffeine would clear the mud from his brain.

  It wasn’t coincidence that he’d picked this place for a morning meal. His thoughts turned to the missing Korean girl, and then to Brynna Malak, of whom he’d also already lost track. He had a directive in to notify him if anything happened on the case, and he planned on nosing around the neighborhood, talking to Cho’s landlord and neighbors, then making a visit to the jewelry store owned by Kwan Chul-moo when it opened for business at ten.

  Brynna Malak … now there was an enigmatic woman. He’d worked the problem to death, but he could find no possible connection between her and the murdered Tobias Gallagher or to Kim Li-kang and his daughter before he’d introduced Brynna to the old man the day before. How could she have known where the teenager had spent her last moments before her abduction? If she had been abducted, of course—right now, all they had to go on was the scarf Kim said he’d found, his claim about the jewelry store owner, and the girl’s abandoned clothes. Well, that and Brynna’s supposedly second sight, or whatever his partner wanted to call it. In Eran’s mind, it wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough.

  And Brynna Malak? Wow. His mind spun in all directions every time he tried to sort her out. No address, no identification, but clearly educated. A person wasn’t just born knowing a bunch of different languages, and although he still found her claim that she could understand anything pretty damned far-fetched, he had to admit—only to himself, of course—that he was impressed.

  The Georgia address she’d given him was a total fabrication—he hadn’t expected anything else—and he’d gotten zip on a name search. According to the databases, Brynna Malak didn’t exist, but the tangible version was hard to deny. Eran wouldn’t have said she was pretty, but there was definitely something darkly fascinating about her. Something … seductive. In Eran’s view, that, combined with the weirdness factor that clung to her, made her dangerous. Not in a physical way, but in other arenas he didn’t need to explore.

  Even so, his thoughts couldn’t help turning to the what-ifs. What if she turned out to be on the level? They weren’t common in this digital age, but paper-trail wipe-outs did happen. Chewing methodically on his sausage, Eran gave himself a mental punch. Who was he kidding? For whatever reason, Brynna Malak didn’t want to be identified. He’d never formally charged her with anything, so he had no fingerprints, and he’d never get approval for any kind of a DNA test without a solid reason. Until she wanted to spill the truth, Eran knew nothing about her except for her unbelievable language skills and the unsettling instances of apparent clairvoyance.

  And as for any thoughts of hooking up with her … he needed to turn those off right now. Something like that could only lead to disaster.

  Yeah, Eran thought. Disaster. That was definitely the word for relationships in his life. The rest of his breakfast had suddenly lost its appeal and he pushed the remaining bites of egg around on his plate. His last attempt at dating someone—a very pretty woman in her midthirties named Monica—had ended nastily almost a year ago. He remembered very clearly, down to the word, the last thing that Monica had said before walking out of his life: When you look in the mirror, Eran, go beneath skin deep. You can’t control the world, and if you don’t get a handle on your insecurity, you’ll be alone for the rest of your life.

  Ouch.

  The busboy came and took the dirty dishes, leaving Eran to stare morosely into his nearly empty coffee cup as he replayed that final Sunday evening showdown. It had been his fault—it was always his fault. He knew that, yet he seemed powerless to stop himself. He destroyed every perfectly good relationship by working his way into demanding to know where his partner was and what she was doing every hour of every day. Jealousy? No, not at all. Paranoia was more like it. Safety. Lots of cops became domineering after too many years on the job, but couple that with the problems of his childhood and Eran was doomed. Every time he let himself care about a woman, he tried, usually sooner than later, to pack her into a tight, safe package that always ended up being nothing but a prison.

  Eran downed the last of his coffee and grimaced at the bottom-of-the-pot bitterness. It was only a quarter after eight, still what he considered a little too early to go kicking down the doors of Cho’s neighbors. He’d kill time by checking out the area for another hour or so, then start ringing doorbells. He’d talked to most of these people after Mr. Kim had first come to him, but maybe he’d catch a break and pick up something new and useful.

  He dropped a few bucks on the table, then paid his check at the register. Clark Street was still hustling with morning traffic and his cell phone rang as he stepped out of the restaurant.

  “Detective Redmond, this is Sergeant Emerson. You left a marker to contact you if something happened on the Kim missing-person case. I thought you should know that the silent alarm’s been triggered at one of the addresses in the file’s database. It’s the back entrance of a jewelry store on Clark Street—”

  Eran said something in reply, then he was running down the sidewalk and shouting f
or people to get out of his way.

  “HELLO, ASTARTE.”

  Brynna’s head whipped around as she stepped off the staircase and onto the filthy concrete floor. It calmed immediately, but for a second her pulse was a huge, thick thing in her throat—she hadn’t been so startled in ages. The closest thing had been the Hunter in Lincoln Park, and back then she’d simply shifted into automatic survival mode.

  “Lahash.” Brynna struggled, but couldn’t quite keep the surprise out of her voice. He wouldn’t have the upper hand—never—but now he would think he did. That would make what was coming even more annoying. He didn’t say anything else and he didn’t seem inclined to come at her, so Brynna let herself give the dim, dreadful room a quick scan.

  There was very little light, but midway down the long room a small lamp and a dozen or so candles flickered. They gave out more than enough light for Brynna’s night vision to make out everything. The damp space was cavernous, and in contrast to the quickly growing heat outside, eerily chilly. The concrete walls and floor ran the full length and width of the building above, stretching away to almost complete darkness at the far end.

  It only took a millisecond for Brynna to register what was going on, and the still-present dark part of her had to admire whoever had put this together. If the magic-wielder was human (and really, he had to be), she had no doubt that something with a lot more knowledge and power—likely Lahash—had fueled the entire thing. But why? What could this nasty little man have that Lahash wanted so much that he would pay in power to get it?

  Ah, now there was the question, indeed.

  The girl was down here, positioned about two-thirds of the way down the left-hand wall. She was sitting in front of a small computer desk, leaning slightly forward with her head slumped onto her chest. Strips of pink-colored tape were wound around her bruised arms and legs, forcing her into a pseudo-natural position over a crud-covered keyboard. The computer in front of her was on but the screen showed nothing but a blank, black surface with a blinking green cursor. The girl’s hair was tangled and her skin was streaked with dirt. Food had dried and crusted around her mouth from being force-fed. Flies crawled energetically over her cracked and bleeding lips, and there were needle marks at the bends of her elbows. Pills, papers, and empty soda cans littered the small desktop next to the keyboard.

  Brynna blinked—and saw a pair of nuisance demons, ones that were very different from those that plagued the senior of the Kim family. They would have looked like any others of their kind, except these had grown large, fat, and powerful with the spoils of Jin-eun’s weaknesses. Stupid, lazy creatures, they were readily fooled by the spell that had been woven around Cho Kim to make her body pass as a substitute for Kwan’s daughter. Drugged and helpless, Cho was at the mercy of the creatures perched on each shoulder, and now they were heavy beings with body fat that jiggled over their joints as they pulled at her hair, poked at her eyes and ears, and made constant, invisible furrows across the ravaged skin of her face, neck and shoulders. Her soul roiled and glowed within the gaping unseen cuts, trying vainly to pull into itself and escape the pain. The corpulent little demons looked like a cross between overgrown black bats with extra teeth, and hellish, miniature baboons.

  Brynna scowled and blinked them from her sight, but the memory of the girl’s suffering made her grind her teeth. “If I was still into this sort of thing, I’d compliment you on a great job,” she said evenly. “Since I’m not, I’ll stick with telling you to release the spell on the girl.”

  The expression on Lahash’s face was almost comical. “Release her?” When Brynna only stared back at him, the other fallen angel wiped the back of one finger daintily across his mouth. “I’ll start with I can’t, because I’m not the one who cast it. Then I’ll move onto the more important question of why would I want to anyway?”

  Brynna opened her mouth to answer, then realized how futile it would be. It wasn’t a matter of understanding; Lahash would understand everything. He just wouldn’t care. And he would never help her—he was Lucifer’s servant all the way. “Because I want you to, and if you don’t, I will tear your limbs off and burn them back on in different places.” She tilted her head to one side. “Is that enough of a reason?”

  Brynna hadn’t thought Lahash could look more surprised than he had a moment ago, but he did. Even so, he managed to shake it off and draw himself up almost primly. “You know I don’t fight, Astarte. It’s dirty work and I dislike it immensely. That sort of thing is best left to the Hunters. And the humans—they’re quite good at it.”

  Brynna’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Then you’ll have no objections if I kill those nuisance demons and take her out of here.”

  Lahash shrugged. “I won’t … but he might.”

  His gaze flicked to something behind her and Brynna whirled. Someone—something—lunged at her and she swatted it aside without thinking. It sprawled heavily against a table on the right wall, sending a couple of candles and a mishmash of other things crashing to the floor. The candles spun and went out, while her hand throbbed unexpectedly; when Brynna glanced at it, the skin was swollen and red, as though she’d been stung by a dozen bees.

  She glared at the thing pulling itself up and realized it was human, a Thai man. He was older and bald, with gnarled joints and tough skin streaked with grime. Of course—this was the witch doctor Cho’s father had talked about. He hissed at her like a nasty little alley cat, and Brynna balled up her fist in response. She paid for it when the skin along the knuckles grated with pain and split slightly.

  “A human,” she spat at Lahash. “You would use a human to do your dirty work!”

  Lahash brushed away an imagined piece of lint on his jacket. He was dressed as a businessman in an expensive suit, someone who in the daylight could pass for a lawyer or banker. “I’m not doing anything,” he said blandly. He waved at the basement room. “This is Li Chin Kong’s game—his spell, his motives, his … arena.”

  “But you provided the implements. And the power.”

  The absolutely treacherous grin Lahash sent her was full of polished white teeth. “I only offered. It’s all about free will, Astarte. You know that. He can reject my gifts, but if he chooses to accept … well, choice is the spice of life.” He smiled wider. “And death.”

  “Variety is the spice of life,” she snapped as she kept an eye on the man Lahash was talking about. He was almost back on his feet. “If you’re going to quote a human saying, at least get it right.”

  Lahash looked absently at his fingernails. He was playing mind games with her, Brynna knew, but in a minute she was going to give him a lot more to worry about than a less-than-perfect suit and hands. “Variety,” he repeated. “Choice. Some people interpret those to mean the same thing.”

  Before she could argue, Kong lurched toward her. If he expected her to retreat, he was headed for enlightenment on demon attitudes—the very slight injury to her hand was already nothing but a minor annoyance. He was a stupid human dabbling in realms best left to those born with celestial powers, and the current plight of Cho Kim was enough for Brynna to decide that the man deserved whatever fate awaited at the end of her anger.

  Brynna strode forward, determined to pound this piece of human excrement into eternity. She’d taken two long steps when a sudden leeriness made her glance back at Lahash; too late, she saw his impeccably manicured hand unfold gracefully in Kong’s direction and a wisp of power, visible only as a thin blur of dark smoke, swept past her and into Kong too quickly for her to intervene. The elderly Thai man reached for it eagerly, wrapping himself in the energy like a freezing child taking shelter within a heavy comforter. By the time Brynna was a foot or two away from him, Kong was standing tall and straight, and his wrinkled skin was bristling with unreleased strength.

  Brynna paused and studied him warily. This time the old man waited, watching her as she watched him, gauging her abilities. “Does he know what I am?” she finally asked. “Does he have any idea at all what h
e’s facing?”

  “Right now, I don’t think he cares,” Lahash answered. Brynna could hear the carelessness in the demon’s voice. He had no regard for the lives of the humans he influenced, for their physical pain or spiritual destruction. And still Brynna had no idea why he was here and playing out his little drama with this foolish, greedy old man and the very unlucky Cho Kim. “Besides, I’m just a Searcher. It’s not my job to reveal such things. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the warnings of his elders. Deals with the devil and all that.”

  Brynna sighed as a slow, satisfied sneer spread across Kong’s face when he flexed his fingers experimentally.

  “Oh, crap,” she muttered, and self-preservation made her drop into a crouch before Kong sprang forward and swiped at her. The air where Brynna had been standing crackled harshly, as though a knife made of electricity had cut through it. Now Kong was within reach, so Brynna leaned to one side, balanced on her right hand and kicked her foot out in a tight arc. The top of it burned instantly—Lahash had obviously given the man some kind of shield—but she caught Kong at the ankle and pulled him off balance. He fell, landing hard. He came back up immediately, this time with an object clutched in his hand. Brynna had time to register nothing more dangerous than one of the dozens of bricks among the debris on the floor before he flung it at her. She yanked her forearm up just as the brick disintegrated and turned into sharp shards of metal. A thousand spots of agony erupted along the inside of her arm and lower face, but at least he hadn’t gotten her eyes.

  “I’ve had enough of this,” Brynna snarled, and launched herself full speed at the Thai witch doctor. It hurt—more, in fact, than anything she’d experienced so far as a human being—but Brynna knew if she didn’t take this guy out for good, Lahash would just keep feeding him power. She’d never planned on killing anyone, but Kong had been corrupted too much to ever return to any semblance of normality. One of them would have to die to end this, and it damned sure wasn’t going to be her.