Finally Redmond spoke. “Chul-moo and his son—were they in the room with you and the … witch doctor? At the same time?” He sounded as if he wanted to choke on the phrase. Brynna fought the urge to grin.
“No.”
“So neither of them saw you supposedly kill this person.”
“No.”
Sathi raised an eyebrow, as though he knew where this was going. “What about the girl? She knew he was there, didn’t she?”
Brynna shook her head. “No way. She was still unconscious.”
Redmond drummed his fingers on the table with exaggerated slowness. “Since you seem to be the only person who, uh, saw this witch doctor person, who is now gone, and since there’s no evidence of a body anywhere, I really don’t see a need to include any reference to him in the report.” He glanced at Sathi and his partner nodded in agreement.
It made no difference to Brynna what was or wasn’t in their report, but when she started to stand, Redmond held up a hand. “Oh, no. We’re not finished yet. You still haven’t told me what you were doing there in the first place.” His eyes were dark.
“I knew she was in there from when we went before, so I went back to free her.” She couldn’t make it any more simple than that.
Redmond’s eyes were fixed on Brynna’s face. “Even ignoring that you lied to us about that yesterday, why is it you didn’t call me?”
“Because it was too dangerous,” Brynna explained patiently. “The witch doctor would have killed you.”
“And how did you know the witch doctor was there?”
“I could feel him.”
Sathi tilted his head. “Did you know he was there yesterday too?”
“Yes,” Brynna admitted.
“And you knew the girl was there?”
“You already figured that out,” Brynna said. “But I also knew they wouldn’t let her die, like I told you.”
“Because of the demons.”
“Yes.”
More silence, then Redmond sighed. “We’re done here. If I put any of this in the paperwork, you’ll end up in a psych ward, Brynna.”
She spread her hands. “What do you want me to say? That’s the way it happened.”
Redmond squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. He seemed to do that a lot, as though he wished everything would go back to normal every time he tried it. “There was another killing last night,” he said suddenly. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Brynna sat very still. “Of course not.”
“Where were you?”
“At a Mexican restaurant. I stayed there all night.” Both detectives wore expressions of disbelief, and she realized how silly that sounded. It annoyed her, but if she didn’t explain, they might lock her up again. She’d had enough of that. “I stopped the owner from being robbed, so he’s letting me stay there nights.”
Sathi flipped open his notebook. “And this can be verified?”
Brynna shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” She gave the detective an approximate address and the owner’s name.
Across from her, Redmond rubbed his eyes again. They were shadowed and swollen, like he was running short on sleep. “I could charge you with withholding evidence, interfering with a police investigation, and probably a half dozen other things. But I guess I’m crazy, because I’m going to let you go.”
“I was just trying to help.”
“You already seem to get in enough trouble by yourself.” He glanced pointedly at the wounds on her face and arms, frowning deeper when he noticed the cut on her arm from the night before. “We don’t need your help with police business. Stay in your lane, and out of ours.”
Brynna thought that the thing they needed most in the world was her help, but she said nothing.
Finally Redmond stood. “I’ll show you where the ladies’ room is and you can clean up. I’ve got an extra T-shirt in my locker.”
BRYNNA STRIPPED TO THE waist in the restroom, ignoring the stares of the two women already in there. While the sight of her bare breasts and skin would usually tempt anyone, male or female, her cut, bruised flesh and seeping bullet wounds were unnerving enough to smother any unexpected impulses. They didn’t stick around and soon enough Brynna had the room to herself.
The long mirror above the row of sinks gave her an unforgiving view, and Brynna saw she was a far cry from the alluring young woman who’d been “born” into this realm only a few days earlier. The burns along her arm had healed, leaving a smattering of irregular scars that were angry, ugly, and red against her light skin. In addition to last night’s knife wound, which she’d closed by turning it into a long, thin burn, she was cut in dozens of places on her face and forearm from the shrapnel the witch doctor had tossed at her. However, none of those wounds came close to the damage done by the two gunshots, both of which had eased open again. Now they dribbled blood and were a blend of purple and yellow.
“Damn,” Brynna grumbled. “I thought I had enough burning before I got here.” Even as the thought crossed her mind, she felt the fingers of her left hand start to build heat. It took Brynna only seconds to sear first one, then the other, but the pain was harsh, much more so than she expected, and her vision sparkled dangerously. She fought it—it wouldn’t be a good thing to pass out half naked in the restroom of a police station when two detectives waited in the hall.
How much more could this human body take? It had been poorly used, that’s for sure, and she was paying the price. But she could fix that easily …
All she had to do was change.
Brynna hung on to the edge of one of the sinks, letting the feel of the cool porcelain ground her as she worked through the curls of agony spreading from her right shoulder to her abdomen. The simple act of reverting to the strongest of her demon forms would be like drowning in the healing waters of immortality—all wounds healed, energy revitalized, spirit rejuvenated. It should be so easy, but it wasn’t, not at all.
She thought back to when she’d searched out Cho Kim via her scarf, then to the killing of the demons plaguing the girl in the jewelry store’s basement. Neither time had been a full change, and each had given her only a glimpse of her true domain. Yet everything she saw could see her too. Only the human population had kept her safe from Hunters. A full change would draw Lucifer’s soldiers like water drew the damned in Hell.
No, it was too dangerous. Brynna straightened and found herself a little more steady, in a little less pain. A Hunter might be able to find her just as she was, but it would be stupid to encourage it with a homing beacon. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed after she’d finished with the second bullet wound, but it must have been a while, because suddenly a sound worked its way into her brain—someone knocking on the door. It had to be one of the guys, because a woman would have just walked right in. “Yes?” was all she could get out.
“Brynna, are you all right?” Redmond’s voice was muffled but growing louder—he was inching the door open. Not good; she wasn’t so out of it that she couldn’t smell her own burned skin in the air.
“Hold on. I’ll be out in just another minute.”
He didn’t answer and Brynna could almost feel the way he was considering coming in anyway. Finally she heard the tiniest squeak of the hinge as he let the door close again. Another few seconds and she felt strong enough to grit her teeth through the pain as she raised her arms and pulled on Redmond’s T-shirt. She smoothed the fabric, then looked in the mirror and couldn’t help laughing.
Of all the things she could be wearing, the shirt Redmond had given her read CHICAGO POLICE DEPARTMENT.
Eight
Brynna spent the next couple of days lying low at the restaurant, letting her body heal and rest in an environment that was as close to safe as she was likely to get. The three men who’d tried to rob Cocinero didn’t come back, although she half expected them to and still thought they might—humans could be stupid about wanting revenge when they t
ook a slap in their pride. She should’ve known things were going too well and it was only a matter of time before the tidy little existence she’d set up crumbled beneath her.
The shake-up came on the third day when Cocinero motioned for her to step into the back so he could talk to her where the few customers in the place couldn’t overhear.
“You can’t sleep here now,” he said. “I am sorry. Someone, I don’t know who, tells the Health Department. The inspector, he calls me this morning to ask if I have someone who lives in the restaurant. I am sorry,” he said again. Brynna could see the regret in his eyes.
She didn’t know much about the way places like this were run, but it was obvious that Cocinero was breaking some kind of rule by having her here overnight. There wasn’t much she could say besides “Okay.” She was mostly healed, so there was no reason she couldn’t figure out something else. “I’ll sit out front until you close tonight. Then …” She shrugged.
“Listen,” he said. He started to reach for her arm, then thought better of touching her; his fingers wavered in the air before dropping back to his side. “I know a place you can stay. The building, it is like here, not in so good a neighborhood. Worse, maybe. But someone like you …” He hesitated before continuing. “They could use that. You know what I mean? The man who owns the building, I think he maybe do the same for you like I did.”
She folded her arms. “Maybe,” she finally said. “I’d have to see.”
Cocinero nodded. “Good, good. I will take you there at closing, sí? In this building is where my sister lives. You will look, and then decide.” He smiled widely. “I will fix you something to eat, something especial. Steak maybe, or—”
“No meat,” Brynna interrupted.
“No meat,” Cocinero repeated. “Sí.” He hurried back to the kitchen and Brynna went out front to wait for her food and wonder what the next turn would be in her quest for redemption.
THE BUILDING COCINERO TOOK her to later that night was pretty much a shit hole by human standards. While a few of the apartments were probably kept clean and neat, most of the folks who lived here had zero money and even less potential for getting any, at least by honest means. Hopelessness and fear permeated an atmosphere smothered by neglect. With sixteen or eighteen units, it wasn’t a big structure, but it seemed to loom. The building also had a smell to it, the scent of turned meat, garbage, and blood not quite washed away. That smell combined with the darkness of the sidewalks and the burned-out streetlights to make the place seem like some kind of living monster, squatting just off the street and waiting to snatch at unsuspecting passersby. To Brynna it wasn’t at all intimidating, but to a fragile man or woman, or God forbid, a child, it had to be utterly terrifying.
There were doorbells but they looked disused, and although the lock on the inside door was sturdy, the door itself had become so battered that Brynna knew a couple of solid kicks would get an intruder through. The mailboxes were in decent shape, no doubt because many of the residents counted on monthly welfare, unemployment, or social security checks, but the floor was lined with dirty papers, discarded pieces of mail, and advertisements that no one wanted. A cockroach worked its way through the layers.
Brynna waited as Cocinero pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number, then told the person who answered, his sister, to come down and let him in. Thirty more seconds and Brynna saw a middle-aged woman peer from the edge of the staircase leading to the second floor. When she saw Cocinero, she hurried forward and opened the door, checking to make sure the latch clicked after they entered. She led the way to a third-floor apartment with Brynna bringing up the rear in the dimly lit, echoing hallways.
When they were safely inside her place, the woman looked quizzically from Cocinero to Brynna, then shyly introduced herself in Spanish as Cocinero made another call, this time to the owner of the building. “I am Abrienda. Ramiro is my brother. It is good to meet you.”
Was it? Brynna nodded, but really didn’t know what else to say. She just wasn’t good at this human socialization thing, and she was still trying to come up with something when a young girl walked out of a door off the living room.
Brynna blinked, completely caught by surprise. The child was beautiful, with flawless skin, long dark hair, and eyes so dark they might’ve been black. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen or seventeen. She was also over six feet tall and smelled like clear, clean ocean water.
Nephilim.
It was late and the girl was wearing worn pajama bottoms and a Chicago Cubs tank top. The faded pattern on the pants might have been hearts and dogs, and served as a stark reminder that no matter how tall and lovely the girl was, Brynna was still looking at barely more than a child whose eyes were puffy with sleep. “Mama? Is something wrong?”
Of course—under normal circumstances, a visitor at this late hour would never be good. “Everything is fine,” the woman assured her in English. “Go back to bed, Mireva.”
Mireva—miraculous.
“I was dreaming,” Mireva said softly. “About the science fair, I think.”
“Back to bed,” her mother repeated.
Brynna’s gaze met the girl’s curious stare, then Mireva nodded obediently and disappeared gracelessly back into the other room, moving as though she didn’t know what to do with her own lanky body and oversize feet. A moment later the door closed.
“This is the person I told you about,” Cocinero told his sister. “Did you speak to Castel?”
“Yes. He wants to meet her. He does not believe a woman can do this.”
Cocinero nodded and swallowed as he glanced at her. Brynna knew he was having his own doubts, because taking care of an entire apartment building was a much heavier task than kick-assing three punks out of his store. His judgment was on the line here, his reputation.
“Don’t worry,” Brynna said. Before she could say more, Cocinero’s cell phone buzzed softly. He answered it and spoke a few words, then closed it and back stepped to the door. Barely ten seconds passed before someone knocked lightly. Cocinero pulled it open without checking to see who was on the other side.
The man who entered wasn’t what Brynna had expected. In her existence, she’d seen a thousand versions of the building in which she now stood, always owned by greedy, uncaring men or women whose only priority was to collect as much money as possible and screw the people who got stepped on along the way. Sometimes they were ruled by pride and flashed what they owned; sometimes they tried to fit in with the common folk so they could lie about why they didn’t take care of their property. But the ordinary people always knew better. So did Brynna.
This man, presumably Castel, was clean shaven and dressed in fresh clothes, but he smelled like soap from a recent shower and his eyes were heavy-lidded with exhaustion. He was lean and muscular, like a gangbanger. His knuckles were scarred too. Brynna couldn’t help raise an eyebrow as her gaze touched on his face.
“So,” he said in Spanish, “you are the woman Ramiro talks about.”
Brynna said nothing.
Castel shook his head and glared at Cocinero. “You are crazy, to think that a woman can keep the building safe.”
“No,” Cocinero insisted. “Talk to her—”
“Nice black eye you’ve got there,” Brynna interrupted. “Regular visitors, or someone new testing the scene?”
Castel’s eyes darkened. “They are only neighborhood punks, but you are no match for them. Being tall will not help you here.”
She smiled at him, and something in her expression made him frown. She wondered if he realized he was barely a step away from making a deal with the devil. “I have my methods.”
His eyes narrowed, but then he shook his head. “No, it is too dangerous. You have no weapons, and I don’t want shoot-outs or knife fights anyway. I don’t need you on my conscience.”
“One night,” she said. “A trial period. Then you can see if you want me to stay.”
Castel started to protest again, but Cocinero cut him of
f. “She can do it,” he argued. “I swear—just give her a chance.”
“Fine,” Castel said abruptly. Brynna couldn’t tell if he was angry or impatient. “But don’t blame me when she gets hurt. Or worse.” He dug into his pocket and yanked out a key. Tied to it was a white tag on which someone had scrawled 01 Front. “It’s not much. One room, a bed, refrigerator, a hot plate. I’m not renting Better Homes and Garden.” Brynna had no idea what he was talking about, so she accepted the key without saying anything. “You’ll probably be gone by morning,” he predicted. “Just don’t leave too much blood behind you.”
Brynna laughed. She couldn’t help it.
Castel frowned again as Cocinero avoided his eyes and Abrienda rubbed her hands together nervously. He started to say something, then shrugged instead. “Whatever. It’s your funeral.” He left, giving the door a solid slam behind him. Brynna wondered if that made him feel better. She doubted it.
There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence, then Abrienda swallowed and stepped forward. “My brother will show you where the apartment is.” She hesitated. “Are … are you sure you want to do this?”
Brynna nodded. “Of course. I’m not afraid.”
“Maybe you should be,” the other woman said softly. Cocinero waved her off and motioned for Brynna to follow him into the dark, decrepit hallway.
CASTEL HADN’T BEEN LYING about the apartment. The jail cell she’d been in was only one step lower than this. The place was small, with walls that were a dirty yellowish-brown from decades of cigarette smoke. It was bigger than she had expected, with a separate eating area and a small kitchen on the other side of a short wall that had a pass-through window in it. The refrigerator that Castel had referred to was small, but that was okay with her. The hot plate didn’t look like it worked, but there was a beat-up microwave that had possibilities. The sole light was from a dim, overhead fixture, a leftover from long ago that had somehow managed to keep working. The sheet-deprived mattress was an adventure waiting to happen, and the bathroom was dirty, but at least all the plumbing looked as if it worked.
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