by Stacy Gail
There. Back under control. And only a few measly brain cells singed around the edges.
Kyle released a slow breath before he pushed to feet that felt like they weren’t touching the floor. His skin tingled, as raw as if he’d gotten too much sun, and his dick pulsed with an insistence that it was time to play. Instead he grabbed for the robe he’d slung over the weight bench and shouldered into it, ignoring the physiological demand through sheer force of will. Increased sex drive was an unavoidable reaction to the chemicals he’d unleashed by using his powers, but out of long habit he turned his back on pleasurable temptation. An active libido was something he’d be all too happy to crow about, but damn, he hated the part of himself that enjoyed the very sensations that had destroyed his father. It was weak. It was mindless. And at the moment he didn’t have time for any of it.
He should have thought about his Neo-Philim web meeting before he energy-sucked the life out of a stupid summer squall. He scowled, heading out of the exercise room adjacent to the master loft, which overlooked the clean, modern lines of the living room below. For all he knew Nikita had already been to the strip club and back, and he’d done all that for nothing. Now here he was, stuck with an inappropriate hard-on and an over-stimulated electrical system that might short out his laptop or phone the moment he got too close.
He really was an idiot.
It wasn’t that he’d forgotten about Neo-Philim. Far from it. No matter how hard he tried to get on with his life, his thoughts never strayed far from the secret web site and the people who frequented it. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. What his thoughts never strayed far from was the reason behind the Neo-Philim web site’s existence.
The sole purpose behind Neo-Philim’s creation was to put a stop to the end of the world at the hands of the demon known as Dantalion
Kyle tugged the tie out of his hair, finger-combed the too-long tangle back into what he hoped was a semblance of order and retied it. The fact was, he had high hopes the demon had been sent back to his own realm last spring. Every member of Neo-Philim did. But they couldn’t afford to forget the demon’s two-fold agenda of eliminating people like him, and making the world a new kind of hell. He wasn’t all that thrilled about the former point, but the latter goal was the one that made his boy-parts want to crawl back up into his body and never come out again. Worrying about the end of the world was something he wanted to put behind him in the worst way. No doubt he wasn’t the only one who was sick of hanging his future on the hope that Dantalion was probably gone.
When talking about the end of everything, probably just didn’t cut it.
On the post-modern Dutch walnut bureau situated across from his rumpled bed, his watch lay waiting for him. After eyeing the timepiece to verify it was still ticking, Kyle snapped it into place, waited for what he thought might be a minute, then peeked at it again. A relieved breath escaped him when the second hand continued its faithful sweep, and with renewed vigor he headed down the stairs to the white-tiled first floor. Low-slung contemporary furniture occupied the minimalist-style living room done in shades of grays and blues. Storm colors, as he’d always liked to think of them. Surrounding himself in his favorite colors brought a certain Zen-like peace to his frenetic personality, and he was almost calm by the time he made himself comfortable at the dining nook between the living area and the galley.
When Kyle logged on to Neo-Philim’s web site, several green dots next to the names of its members told him he was late to the party. Just the sight of his gathered online family made him smile. For the majority of his life, he’d only had his messed-up father to look to as the ultimate anti-role model for what a person with his unusual bloodline should be. But through sheer happenstance he’d stumbled onto Neo-Philim and found a tiny but highly active community of people who were descendants of angels, the twenty-first-century version of the Nephilim.
Quickly he typed in his password, hesitating only a fraction before agreeing to turn on the webcam. He hadn’t bothered to glance at himself in the mirror, but he could guess what he’d see. The few times he’d absorbed energy from a storm, he’d been left looking like he should be flying over a cuckoo’s nest. But if any group of people would understand weird side effects from the genetics they’d been burdened with, the modern-day Nephilim would. And if he could manage to get his wildly hopscotching brain under control long enough to hold a coherent conversation so soon after controlling the weather, so much the better.
“Good afternoon from not-so-sunny Florida, everyone.” He leaned a little closer so his voice hit the built-in microphone. “Is everyone on?”
“As of now, yes.” As always, Macbeth was the first to respond. Bespectacled with frames made out of copper clockwork gears and sporting a buzz-cut that currently had his favorite baseball logo carved into the side of his head, Macbeth was the computer genius who had created Neo-Philim. While Macbeth was all human, he was employed by a company run by the Savitch family, descendants of a warrior Seraph, and he knew their every secret. While Macbeth’s talents seemed to be hacking into places that were unhackable and eating his weight in snack food, Kyle still felt a deep kinship with the younger man. There was just something about Macbeth’s naughty web wanderings that he understood completely. No one knew better than he that nothing was more satisfying than breaking rules into tiny pieces with your bare hands.
“Sara’s in the field today guarding some oil guy who thinks everyone’s going to shoot him because of gas prices, so her dad’s sitting in for her,” Macbeth went on, mentioning his boss with that unconscious reverence Kyle had always noticed. Not that the reverence was surprising; even a thousand miles away he had a certain awe for Sara Savitch himself. “I was just introducing William to the rest of the group. Kyle, say hello to the recently retired head of Lynchpin Security International and Sara’s father, S. William Savitch. Officially he shares Florida with you, though he’s on the Gulf side, in Tampa, but at the moment he’s coming to us from Tokyo. It’s the middle of the night there, so let’s make this brief for his sake, everyone. Sir, this is the guy I keep talking about, Barakiel Beaudecker, bounty hunter from Miami. Kyle, for short.”
“Barakiel.” Another video window had opened to reveal a man with salt and pepper hair and strong features. Obviously, with those looks and sharp gray eyes, Sara had inherited more than just her seraph abilities from S. William Savitch. “Named after your progenitor who is also known as Uriel, one of the seven powerful archangels, and the only angel to have defeated the demon known as Envy. And lastly, the archangel who rules over the order of the Seraphim.”
“Don’t worry about that last part. Like I once told Sara, I’m barely in charge of myself, so I have no desire to order her—or you—around.”
“That’s good to hear.” S. William Savitch had a drawl so dry it threatened to suck the humidity out of Florida. “Barakiel’s dominion was over lightning. This is a talent you’ve inherited, correct?”
“Pretty much.” It was both so much more and so much less than that thanks to his fragile, mostly human body, but Kyle didn’t see any reason to confuse things with facts. “You believe in doing your homework, don’t you?”
“I’m a firm believer in knowing who my allies are.” William showed one of those rare Savitch smiles, and Kyle found himself liking Sara’s father. “It doesn’t surprise me your people settled in Florida. Lots of lightning down there for you to play with.”
“I do revel in the three things that feed me—air, food and negative ions.” Kyle grinned before he tried to restrain it. No need to look like the madman he was to someone he’d just met. There was always time for that later. “It’s good to meet you, sir. Do we have any updates on our favorite demonic arch enemy?”
“’Fraid not, dude.” This came from the upper section of his screen, where Nate da Luca’s hulking image had appeared. He was a descendant of an angel of vengeance, and he looked every inch the part. �
��I’m getting a better handle on how my inner vision works, but it’s not something I can force, at least not yet. Every time I try to guide it to where the demon Dantalion is hiding, all I get is something akin to the dreaded blue screen of death. And don’t say it—I know. That’s weird.”
“Either that, or Dantalion’s become one with the ’net,” Macbeth offered, looking genuinely horrified. “And he’s plotting to take over the world through technology by crashing every networked computer in existence. We’d have to go back to the Stone Age. Or at least the ’60s.”
“Dantalion.” The upper middle window held the image of two people together, with the auburn-haired woman resting her cheek against the man’s massive shoulder. Zeke Reece, whose progenitor was an angel of death, sat with his wife Kendall, sleepy-eyed and stretching. Considering they were in San Francisco, Kyle figured they had been up with the sun to get ready for this online meeting. “Since Nate wounded that faceless hell spawn so severely this past April, Dantalion might very well have lost the strength he needs to stay in this world. For all we know, we’re worrying over nothing.”
William shook his head. “You know what they say—hope for the best, but expect the worst. If this demon spawn were truly gone, I suspect Nate’s locating abilities wouldn’t show him anything, but that’s not the case. As such, we at Lynchpin won’t stand down until we have verifiable proof that Dantalion is gone from this realm, and back in hell where he belongs.”
Kyle nearly snapped off a sharp salute. If all Seraphim were as no-nonsense as William and Sara, no wonder they were known as the soldiers of heaven. “A demon that creates madness in the minds of humans is going to be hard to find. Dantalion could have already unleashed his mind-warp on Miami Beach, but since everyone’s loco there, no one would notice.”
Nate raised a hand. “Same for Atlanta.”
“And San Francisco.” Kendall yawned, then kissed her husband’s cheek. “I need coffee, baby. Try not to be interesting until I get back.”
“No chance of that happening since no one has anything new to report.” Zeke sighed as Kendall moved off-screen. “I just hate waiting for something to break. If Dantalion did manage to stay in this world, he’s so close to his full manifestation it’s not even funny.”
“If he is still in this realm, he needs ten deaths committed at the hands of his proxy, a human who’s stupid or crazy enough to sell their soul to him.” Macbeth tapped on his keyboard, and on Kyle’s screen popped up a list of the eight innocent victims Dantalion had managed to accrue so far. “When Nate beat the crap out of Dantalion this past spring, Dantalion only needed two more deaths to complete his manifestation and telepathically take control of every human mind on the planet. We’re now in the first week of August. If Dantalion was still here, wouldn’t he have gotten those two deaths by now, and wouldn’t the apocalypse already be happening?”
“As much as I’d like to point to the peace we’re enjoying as evidence we’re in the clear, I’ve noticed there seems to be a rest period between each strike this demon makes—a sort of recharging time.” Zeke rubbed at his bleary eyes, the picture of a man who was losing sleep over dark thoughts. “And after what Nate put him through a few months ago, I’m pretty damn certain it’d take this monster that much longer to recover what energy he could. No activity doesn’t mean he’s gone, Macbeth. Not in my book, anyway.”
Kyle exhaled, and only then did he realize he’d been holding his breath. “Guys, we need proof that we’re in the clear, because worrying about it is wreaking havoc with my regularly scheduled goof-off time. If this thing is still hanging around and gains full power, the world will be plunged into a chaos I can’t begin to imagine.”
“No need to imagine it.” William shook his head, his hard face grave. “The world’s already seen the effects of Dantalion in action before. I have no doubt this was the demon that got to Nero, and the result was nothing less than the burning of Rome. Dantalion got to only one person in power back then. With today’s weapons...” His expression became downright grim as he clearly imagined the scenario. “As of now, no one assumes Dantalion is gone from our world, understood? We all stay alert, and we do our best to make these daily meetings to keep our lines of communication open.”
Communication was all well and good, Kyle thought as he signed off, only to have his email chime sound. But the fact was, the twenty-first-century version of the Nephilim were nothing more than a ragtag bunch of mostly human people who weren’t even supposed to exist. They were heaven’s mistakes, the abominations. The unloved. How were they supposed to stop a demon that had the terrifying telepathic ability to warp reality on a worldwide scale?
When Kyle opened the email from one of the bail bondsmen he worked with and found a request to track down a new jump, he pounced on the distraction. He might not be able to find a demon bent on making the world a new hell, but a runaway hooker who missed her court date was another story.
* * *
The storm was all but gone by the time Nikita splashed her SUV to a stop in The Toy Box’s parking lot. Since she’d left without so much as an explanation the day before, she wasn’t exactly expecting a warm welcome. That was why it came as no surprise when Dibby and Dodie made shoo-shooing gestures as she approached the bar.
“This is private property, you can’t come in here without a warrant.” Dibby, the brother that kept his bad comb-over as black as the crude oil it resembled, hopped off his stool and tried to look tough. She could have told him that a man could never look tough when he had to hop off a stool. “Got a warrant?”
“I’m not the police.”
“Don’t care. You have no warrant, so you have no right to be here. Buh-bye.”
“I might not be the police, but I do know the law. This place is privately owned by you, yes, but it’s a property that’s commercially zoned for business. Since you’re open for business, according to your posted sign and hours, I have every right to walk in here, without a warrant, for the short time it takes for me to collect my personal things and get my paycheck for five days’ work.”
A twitch showed up above Dibby’s right eye. “Wait. What?”
“You heard me.” Her gaze flickered to Sonny behind the bar, who seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face. “Where’s my money?”
“You...you want your paycheck? When you ruined business for me yesterday? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“After wearing those plastic torture devices you optimistically call shoes, you’re lucky I’m not sticking you with my podiatrist bill.” When he didn’t move but continued to gape at her like a twitchy-eyed grouper, she tried not to sigh out loud. “I’d hate to call the Better Business Bureau and report The Toy Box for not paying its overworked, underappreciated waitresses. After all, this is such an upstanding place, what with its willingness to serve bail-jumping fugitives who offed their senile grannies for their gold watches.” That last bit was a stretch. Maybe that no-good Man-Baby hadn’t actually killed his grandmother, but she figured he was just as responsible for her passing as if he’d held a pillow over her face.
Both Dodie and Sonny swore while Dibby looked away, appalled. Apparently there were some standards that even they couldn’t stand to have violated.
“I didn’t like the look of that saggy bastard anyway.” Lip curled in magnificent disgust, Sonny dried off the bar. “So, he was a bail jumper? You’re a bounty hunter?”
“The best in Miami, baby.” If you don’t count Kyle.
Shoulders hunched even more than normal, Dibby stomped toward the back office. “I’ll cut you a check. Once you pick up your crap, I never want to see you back here.”
“A hot chick bounty hunter.” Still seated at the bar, Dodie took in her sleeveless neon-yellow chiffon top, tight white capri leggings and strappy yellow sandals, and shook his head. “You don’t look like any bounty hunter I’ve ever seen.”
“Man-Baby.” Sonny chortled and snagged a cold bottle of water out of the small fridge to place it in front of her. “Shit, that’s perfect.”
“It wasn’t so bad.” Dodie smoothed a hand over his platinum-dyed hair and looked around the front room, his gaze lingering on one of the flickering floor tiles as if it had insulted him in a personal way. “A few people bugged out after you hustled Man-Baby out of here. I guess they thought you were the police and everyone was going to be rounded up or something.”
“If they ran, it means they’re creeps who shouldn’t be lurking around here anyway,” Sonny put in. “We might not be Miami Beach, but The Toy Box isn’t a hole where just any sleaze can park his ass. We don’t want or need that kind of trouble.”
Dodie looked like he wanted to object, but the good guy in him couldn’t let it happen. “It wasn’t so bad,” he said again, shrugging. “By midnight the whole thing was forgotten.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I was worried.” She smiled her thanks at Sonny as she tipped the water bottle his way. “This is hard work you do here, and everyone in this club earns their pay. I didn’t want to mess with that.”
“I knew you were one of the good ones.” It looked like it nearly killed Dodie to admit it. “I don’t suppose I could talk you into sticking around as talent? We’re short-handed since Bambi still hasn’t shown up, and you know how to work a pole.”
Her gulp of water nearly came out her nose. “My pole-dancing days are over, trust me.”
“Maybe you guys should hire her to find Bambi,” Sonny suggested. “I know Dibby keeps saying she’ll show up to get her paycheck, but we’ve been open for a couple hours now and she still hasn’t rolled in.”