Highborn

by Yvonne Navarro

  When the priest was silent, Eran sighed. “Look, I know it must all sound crazy, and you’re right—I don’t have a written history or witnesses. But you see how quickly Brynna is healing. You have to admit that a normal person wouldn’t be able to do that. Don’t you think that’s indicative that something’s different here, or that it might at least be smart to consider the possibility that what I’m telling you is true?”

  “If you’re asking if I can accept that the woman downstairs is an extraordinarily rapid healer, then yes, I can do that. But the flipside is you telling me she’s not human, that a trio of street criminals set her on fire in the alley and she changed into a demon in order to survive the attack. That she grew wings.” When Eran started to say something, Father Murphy held up his hand. “Then you go on to tell me tales of nephilim and serial killers and some kind of divine plan regarding the children of angels, and the deeper you go into your story, the more fantastic and outlandish it gets.”

  “If you think I’m that damned insane, then why not tell me to get out?” Eran couldn’t help the frustration in his voice. “Or call the cops—my division captain, or just 911. Why put up with it?”

  “I may not be an expert, but I’ve dealt with a lot of people and I really don’t believe you’re dangerous,” Father Murphy said. “Or that you had anything to do with that woman’s injuries. And frankly, it’s not my job to judge. Only to help as best I can.”

  Eran didn’t know what else to say. If the priest wasn’t going to believe him, there wasn’t much he could do. It certainly wasn’t like Brynna could snap her fingers and presto-change-o into the being she’d been in the alley. Or maybe she could. Even if she would, there were, provided he understood things correctly, real dangers associated with doing just that. Dangers like the Hunter in the alley that could just as presto-change-o kill whoever got in its way.

  He didn’t know why it was so important that Father Murphy believe him, or what it would accomplish if he did. A sense of validation? Camaraderie? Or sanity? In any case, there was nothing the priest could do to help other than provide a sort of “safe house” if they needed it. And even that wasn’t permanent—they couldn’t stay here forever.

  “A couple more days,” Eran finally said. “Then I think I can move her to my place.”

  “And the men who attacked her? You said she’s crossed them before.” Concern showed in Father Murphy’s green eyes. “If they learn she survived, they might try again.”

  “Definitely a consideration. But I worked with Ramiro Cocinero, Mireva’s uncle and the man who owns the taco place, and we identified two of them. My partner and I picked up both yesterday morning and charged them with attempted armed robbery. We’re still looking for the leader, but there’s an APB on him so it’s just a matter of time.”

  The other man folded his hands on the desktop. “You mentioned a partner—”

  “Bheru Sathi. Yeah, we’ve been together a long time, almost a decade.”

  “What does he think of Brynna and all this?”

  A corner of Eran’s mouth lifted. “He was much more open-minded right from the start. He saw a lot of the strange things that Brynna could do, the unexplainable results, the way she heals. He has an acceptance of it all that took me awhile to find.”

  Father Murphy gave a small nod. “I see.”

  Eran stood, and the priest did likewise. “Listen, thanks again for all your help. I hope we didn’t cause too much grief. I know you had to reschedule some stuff to keep folks away.”

  “No problem.” Neither man said anything for a moment, then Father Murphy came around the desk and touched Eran on the arm. “I’m not shutting out the possibilities, Eran. But you have to understand that in my business—religion—a lot of people make a lot of claims about a lot of miracles. And that, in essence, is exactly what you’re doing. The Church has a strict policy about miracles, and it’s a tough one. It has to be.” He gave Eran a lopsided grin. “Otherwise every piece of toast and moldy sink sponge that shows up on eBay would end up in the Vatican.”

  Eran had to laugh, but then his expression turned serious again. “Okay. But I have a feeling that someday you’ll be looking at Brynna in a whole different way.”

  “I DON’T THINK THIS is a good idea,” Brynna said. She was standing in Eran’s living room, feeling awkward and jumpy while his dog snuffled warily in Brynna’s direction. The place was spotless and rather sparse, with painted black furniture and plain cushions that gave it an almost industrial feel. There were a few pictures on the walls, but they looked like they’d been chosen as afterthoughts, something to fill the too-large expanses. The windows were covered with white metal mini-blinds that did little to block the light and only accentuated the officelike atmosphere. A thin, cream-colored throw covered most of the couch, but there were no knickknacks or family photographs.

  “Of course it is,” Eran said. “Come on in, make yourself comfortable.” He motioned toward the couch. “Sit—you’re not a hundred percent well, you know. Don’t overdo it.”

  Brynna did, then jumped in surprise as the huge white dog climbed on the couch and settled next to her, regarding her with sky-blue eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, and Brynna finally asked, “What do I do?”

  “Pet her,” Eran said, sounding amused. “She’s a Great Dane and her name is Grunt. I’m sure she’s glad to see us. I’ve been gone so much of the time she was starting to think of me as a stranger.”

  Brynna extended her hand and scratched Grunt’s head; to her surprise, the dog pushed herself into the gesture then squirmed on the couch until she could rest her big head on Brynna’s thigh. Grunt made a little grumbling sound in her throat, then sighed in enjoyment. In her entire existence—a monumental amount of time—Brynna didn’t think she’d ever touched a dog like this. It was kind of pleasant, comforting. Were cats like this? The dog had instantly liked her yet expected nothing in return. No wonder humans liked pets. “She’s certainly friendly. Nice doggy.”

  “She can’t hear you,” Eran said. He was flipping through a stack of mail that he’d picked up on the way inside. “Born deaf.”

  “Interesting.” Still stroking Grunt’s neck, Brynna decided to turn the conversation back to where it should be. “As I was saying—”

  “There’s no reason to think anyone, or anything, knows where you are,” Eran said, stepping right back into it. “You’ve never even been here before.”

  “They could track you,” Brynna pointed out. “It’s not like you’ve been hiding.”

  “Why would they want to? They’re not interested in me, just you.”

  Brynna’s eyes were shadowed. “Don’t underestimate the Hunters, Eran. Or Lahash. You’ve made it very clear that there’s a connection between us. They’ll use that any way they can.”

  “All right,” he said, but she could tell he was just placating her. It must have shown on her face, because he came over and sat on the edge of the coffee table, where he could face her. “Look, this is the only place we have right now. Father Murphy was starting to have problems—he had too many things on the church’s schedule and he was rescheduling enough to where people were starting to take notice. If you really don’t think it’s safe, then we’ll find you another apartment. Obviously you can’t go back to yours.”

  She took a deep breath, then nodded. Whether he really believed there was an issue didn’t matter. That he would do something about it did. “Okay.”

  “In the meantime, take it easy here. There’s food in the fridge, a soaking tub in the bathroom, and Grunt to keep you company. I have to go in to work. Father Murphy isn’t the only one who’s been putting things off.”

  Brynna nodded and levered herself up, earning a reproachful look from the dog. Her ankles were layered with fresh, pink scar tissue, healed on the surface but still tender beneath the skin. The scars would disappear—the ones on her shoulder were almost invisible now—but she still needed an inordinate amount of sleep. To her left was a set of
open French doors, and when she walked through them, she was in a sort of dressing room. Like the rest of the place, there wasn’t much furniture, just a triple dresser with a nearly empty surface, a leather chair next to a modest round table and lamp, and a man’s butler over which a carefully pressed pair of slacks hung. A folded-up ironing board hung from a holder on the wall.

  “Bedroom’s to the left,” Eran told her. “The sheets and spread on the bed are clean.”

  “I never doubted it,” Brynna said. The queen-sized bed had no headboard or decoration, and was covered in a spread that was exactly the same as the one on the couch. A small night stand holding a reading lamp and an alarm clock stood next to it, but there was nothing else in the room. “This place is like a hospital.”

  Eran blinked and opened his mouth, then closed it. “I guess I haven’t gotten into decorating much. Anyway, I’m off. I probably won’t be back until this evening, so it’ll be nice and quiet. If Grunt goes to the door, would you let her into the yard? She only needs about five minutes. Leave the outer door open and she’ll come back onto the porch. If you forget to let her into the house, she’ll start yelping.”

  “I think I can handle that.”

  “I put your cell on the kitchen table,” Eran said. “Give me a call if you need anything.”

  When he was gone, Brynna checked to make sure the door was locked, then satisfied an ill-defined desire to know more about Eran by wandering through his coach house apartment. In hindsight, she was sorry she’d made that comment about a hospital—she could tell by his expression that it had stung. She might never say it again, but it was still pretty accurate. His place, though large and well lit, was oddly personality deprived. Was Eran so much into his work that his apartment was nothing but a box in which he could put his dog and his belongings? Or was there a deeper, darker meaning to a lifestyle that was so austere? Even his closet was military-neat, shirts hung according to color, shoes lined up neatly on a black shoe rack.

  She’d never thought to ask him about family or his childhood. It struck her again that there were no photographs, not of friends or family, no games or sports equipment, like a baseball glove or football, in any of the closets. There was only one thing that hinted at how he spent some of his time: in the living room was an extensive collection of DVDs—in alphabetical order, of course—in a double set of bookshelves to one side of a flat-screen television. The titles were all over the board and gave no insight on the man who owned them.

  Back in the kitchen, she made herself a sliced-tomato-and-cucumber sandwich, settling at the table in the center of the immaculate, roomy kitchen. Even with Grunt lying at her feet, Brynna felt odd and out of place here, something messy and unpredictable in this orderly, almost sterile room. The only trace of Eran Redmond was his detective’s star lying next to the neat stack of mail he’d left on the counter. Beyond that, the surface was clear of everything but a coffeemaker. Even the knives were precisely hung according to size on a magnetic strip above the stove.

  What was she but a heated catastrophe on the edge of exploding into Eran’s cool and collected existence? In all of eternity, she’d never seen the union of an angel and a human endure, much less a relationship between a demon and a human—it just wasn’t doable. She had no idea if redemption would ever be within her reach, but whether it was or wasn’t, she was immortal and Eran wasn’t. Period, end of discussion, nothing left to argue about. Eran’s mortal life would pass in the blink of God’s eye, and hers would go on; if she loved him—and right now, at this moment, was the very first time she’d let herself even think that word—how would she feel when—

  Grunt lifted her head and growled.

  Brynna jerked, then realized the Great Dane wasn’t growling at her, wasn’t even looking in her direction. Instead, Grunt had turned her head and was focused on the storm door as she sniffed the air, taking it in with rapid, frantic breaths. The soft hair along the expanse of the dog’s white back had risen and every muscle in her body was taut.

  “Oh, shit,” Brynna said as a maroon shadow flickered on the other side of the glass. Her chair tipped backward as she started to rise, but it was already too late to run. Less than ten feet away, the metal handle of the door glowed a sudden, sultry red before it melted and slid downward; when the door swung inward and the room filled with the stench of sulfur, she wasn’t surprised to see the Hunter slouched there.

  “Time to go home, Astarte.”

  “No,” she said, then realized it couldn’t hear her over Grunt’s sudden, vicious snarling. The dog was pressed against Brynna’s side, snapping at the air between her and the Hunter. Her spittle flew through the air and fizzled where it splashed against the beast’s skin. “No!”

  The Hunter ducked through the doorway but still couldn’t quite stand up straight. Its gaze swept over Brynna and stopped on the dog, then it laughed. “Not exactly hellhound caliber, is it?”

  Brynna hooked the fingers of one hand into Grunt’s collar and pulled her backward. “Go back where you came from. I’m staying here.”

  “You know that’s not possible, Astarte.” The Hunter gestured at her, making Grunt snarl more fiercely. “I tire of this game. Lucifer awaits.” It grinned hideously. “Anxiously.”

  “Tell him to take a tranquilizer for his nerves,” Brynna shot back. “I’m not going.”

  Lucifer’s soldier gave a twisted shrug, then snatched at her. Brynna yanked herself out of range, but Grunt, suddenly freed of Brynna’s hold, went forward; in an admirably fast move, her teeth snapped shut on the creature’s first two fingers. A millisecond later Grunt released them and shook her head wildly, baying at the foul taste the Hunter’s bodily liquid had left in her mouth. Before Brynna could blink, a fireball the size of an orange streaked through the air and slammed into Grunt’s shoulder. The dog howled in agony and scrambled away on three legs, slipping and clawing across the linoleum to disappear into another part of the house. “Brainless animal,” the Hunter spat. It turned to glare at Brynna and flexed its fingers. “I don’t kill you only because Lucifer desires to do so himself. But we go NOW.”

  The Hunter lunged for her, swatting aside the table and chairs as if they weighed nothing. Brynna feinted to the right then leaped left, scrambling through the living room entrance and sliding left again into the bathroom. There was no use closing the wooden door, so she didn’t bother to waste time. The only thing she could think of was the window—she was on the second story, but the drop wasn’t too far. The bathroom was on the backside of the coach house: a tumble to the alleyway below and she’d be off like an Olympic runner. A quick glance behind her when she reached the window and—

  Where the hell had the Hunter gone?

  “Damn it,” she said under her breath. This wasn’t right, not at all—it should have followed her, nothing in the world should have made it pause. Except …

  Eran.

  She bolted back the way she’d come, careening around the doorway and nearly tumbling over one of the upended chairs.

  Sometimes she hated being right.

  Eran had slipped into the kitchen behind the Hunter, and the beast’s attention was now wholly focused on Eran and the service revolver aimed at its forehead. “Get out of my house,” he told the Hunter. His voice was flat, emotionless. “Or I’ll shoot you right between the eyes. I never said you could come in here.”

  Lucifer’s soldier actually looked startled for a moment, then it belted out a grisly-sounding chuckle. “You’ve watched too many movies, human. We roam where we will, and you can do nothing to stop us.”

  “Then I’ll just shoot you and be done with it,” Eran retorted.

  Brynna saw the muscles in his hand flex and gasped—she knew he’d never be quick enough. And she was right; faster than her human eye could follow, the Hunter slapped the gun to the side and wrapped one huge, cruel hand around Eran’s neck. The beast lifted him in midair and held him there as though Eran weighed no more than a bag of feathers.

  “Foo
lish human. What do you think having a soul has given you? You are no better than a cockroach, something to be stepped on and eliminated forever.”

  The Hunter’s fingers glowed, then tightened. Brynna heard Eran choke as he flailed at the grip around his windpipe. She was frozen, her mind flipping lightning-fast through options, examining and discarding one before trying the next. Every damned thing she came up with to fight this Hell soldier would kill Eran, too, but if she didn’t do something, he was going to die anyway, she had to move—

  A sound roared through her ears once, then again, a rapid double instant of thunder that blotted out her thoughts and sent her reeling backward. Gunshots—Eran had never let go of his revolver, and as he’d promised, he’d brought the weapon back up and squeezed off two hollow-point rounds. One had taken off part of the Hunter’s jaw and the other had gouged out a two-inch wide path of flesh through its neck.

  Gagging, Eran tumbled to the floor as the Hunter staggered backward. Brynna darted forward, hammering her shoulder into the creature’s rib cage, driving it back against the counter. She’d never get another chance like this one, and she wasn’t going to lose it. Before the Hunter could right itself, she kicked viciously at its knees, using every bit of strength she could find, again and again, until the spindly legs buckled and sent it to the floor.

  It wasn’t enough—the beast was injured but nowhere near critically. In a minute or less, it would be back on its feet and coming after her, killing Eran and taking her back to Hell. There had to be something she could do that didn’t involve destroying it in a demon-sized furnace blast.

  Brynna could hear Eran trying to get up. Looking for anything to use, her gaze swept the wall behind the Hunter then paused. She kicked the creature again, just to keep it miserable, then lunged over it and grabbed the biggest knife she saw off the magnetized rack. It wasn’t really that great, only human-sized, but it was the best she could get her hands on. If this didn’t do it, she and Eran were both more than screwed. They were doomed.