In a fashion similar to the rest of the book, the author chose not to expound on what these properties could be. Before one could assume the role of apocalypse-bringing psychopath, they had to prove themselves worthy of solving arcane riddles.
More interesting than these were the handwritten notes—added afterward by Blaise. The list of candidates was notable for including both Ruby Callaway and Nadia Santos. Given that there were only ten names present, that struck me as significant.
So, after wrecking the Sol Council, these supernatural abominations, as the Order so eloquently called them, had a new mission. Locate a vessel at Marrack’s behest. One important enough to avoid a direct confrontation with me.
That was important indeed.
Presumably, the same search was happening in other magical hotbeds. It didn’t make me feel better to know that every place was turning to shit. Although I wondered how Marrack and Isabella would contract the resources necessary for that kind of hunt.
Creatures of darkness weren’t exactly known for their undying loyalty. They either had a lot of money, or something else was at work.
I jammed the paper back in my pocket and leaned back. A little more reflection, then back to the loft. The plan was simple, but the last two days caught up to me with a vengeance. I awoke to a janitor shaking my arm.
I grabbed his hand and almost crushed it.
Paranoia.
He grunted and said, “Christ, it’s damn near midnight.”
I mumbled an apology and stumbled out of the theater. The street was dead, although still lined with visiting vehicles. Shoving my hands in my jeans, I walked stiffly down the sidewalk, trying to regain my thread of thought.
After a couple blocks, I got the vague sense that someone—or something—was following me.
I turned around just in time for the red-and-blues of a police cruiser to spring on.
19
I kept walking, shoulders slouched in nonchalant disobedience. The cruiser responded by speeding up and jackknifing in front of me. With nowhere else to go but through the damn car, I was finally forced to acknowledge its presence.
With a sullen glare, I watched the driver step out. He adjusted his department store suit pants with a self-satisfied smirk, his beady eyes broadcasting a victorious glint.
I didn’t know what this little stop-and-frisk was about, but it had all the hallmarks of something vastly unpleasant.
“Funny finding you out for a midnight stroll, Aeon.”
“Officer.”
“It’s Detective,” Detective Scott answered, annoyance seething in his authoritarian tone. “You’re a little far from home, Aeon.”
“Taking walks is illegal now?”
“Funny thing about that,” Scott said. “I heard you were at the movies. Been getting reports about a suspicious man covered in blood walking around Main Street. Scaring folks.”
“I’ll let you know if I see him.”
“See, I started thinking.”
“That’s never a good sign.”
“I start thinking,” he said again, his voice a growl, “that description sounds awful familiar.” Scott’s hand settled on his holster, ready to draw. He’d been growing increasingly unhinged in his attempts to nail me. Sure, I might not have been completely on the up-and-up.
And there was the incident with Roderick almost four years ago. In my defense, my actions were justified.
But Scott clearly didn’t share my opinion on the matter, and had already proven willing to cross the line. He’d threatened to shoot Nadia after catching us ransacking his apartment for a USB drive filled with files on me. I’d saved her life, catching a round in the shoulder. So I had little doubt he’d put me down where I stood if I displayed any sign of aggression.
Or maybe he’d just do it anyway. Although, with his new partner in tow, that might be a tough sell.
“Sure looks like blood to me, don’t it Berkson?” The woman in the passenger seat grunted an affirmative response. Scott strolled over, his stout chest puffed out like he had me dead to rights. I stared at his beady little eyes, regretting that I’d taken part of his soul once to feed my demonic magic.
In retrospect, an exceptionally short-sighted decision.
Then again, he’d had my number long before I’d messed with his soul.
“I spilled a slushie.” I looked down at my inside-out white shirt and shrugged.
“You’re real funny, you know that Aeon? You should have your own show.”
“I was considering a tour.”
By now we stood nose-to-nose. Bold, since he knew I could pull some magical stunts. He hadn’t witnessed the extent of my magical powers—but the taste was enough to put him on notice.
Clearly, that notice had been discarded.
“I ain’t gonna let you burn my town to the ground.”
“I have no plans to do so.”
“Then you might be able to tell me where you was during the hours of four and about six.”
“Let me check my diary.” I reached toward my back pocket.
His service weapon flashed in the moonlight. “Hands up you son of a bitch.”
“All right, all right, take it easy.” I held my empty hands out. “I don’t even carry a diary, Officer.”
“You think this shit is funny, Aeon?” He spat on the ground, his face twisted in a permanent scowl. “I’ll tell you something that gets me laughing.”
“Can’t wait.”
“The thought of you behind bars, thinking about all the—”
A glass bottle shattered behind one of the nearby buildings. Detective Scott whirled around. I was tempted to lower my shoulder and drive him straight into the asphalt, but his new partner was already out of the car with her weapon drawn. Being immortal didn’t mean I could waltz through a hail of bullets without serious complications.
I turned my attention toward the disturbance. It came from a recently razed lot that was now framed out in fresh timbers and plastic sheeting. A chain-link fence covered in blue tarp blocked most of the street-side view.
After Berkson gave the lot’s perimeter a cursory check without further incident, Scott finally turned back around. I heard her slam the door to the passenger side of the cruiser as he said, “That image of you in jail keeps me going, Aeon.”
“Should’ve snapped a memento when you had the chance.”
Wrong button to press. Tina Chen getting me off without a charge—after I’d broken out of the Inonda Precinct with Gunnar’s assistance—was still a sore spot. The pistol whipped toward my head.
I ducked a little too fast for a human, and the cold steel hit nothing but air.
“Holy shit,” I heard Berkson mutter.
“Told you this bastard is dangerous.” Scott looked satisfied instead of chagrined—which should have been the natural response to whiffing in spectacular fashion.
I hadn’t even moved that quick. Demons are speedier than your average mortal, but we didn’t have a patch on vamps or wolves. And being half-demon reduced those reflexes considerably.
Scott scratched his sturdy stomach with the tip of the service weapon and said, “I don’t know what the fuck you are, Aeon, but you’re gonna pay for what you did to Roderick you—”
I was about to make another smart reply when a second crash came, much louder than the first. A feral screech followed, careening up the street like a deranged ball. I saw the yellow, sunken eyes, pupils like quicksilver, before anything else. Legions of them vaulting over the fence, all hissing the same horrible song.
Guess I knew where the nest had wound up. One of the daystriders charged straight toward Detective Scott.
I really should have let him eat it.
But instead, with no time to draw, I did the only thing I could.
I crumbled off a sizable chunk of my tattered soul,
snatched a little part of Berkson’s—sensing something odd as I mixed the two together—and then screamed “Firus ignitus!”
The entire block went up in a shelf of fire, the daystriders roaring as the pyres consumed their flesh. I leapt toward the stunned detective, tackling him out of the flaming vamp’s path. The fire singed my skin as the daystrider jumped over us, screaming curses in a long-dead language.
With a smooth motion, I yanked the .45 out of my waistband and hit the daystrider right between the eyes twice. Even on fire, I didn’t trust my magic to subdue him at night. Although the pained symphony of howls suggested that I’d killed quite a few with my initial salvo.
The tremendous emptiness within my chest told me that, too.
Wasting no time, I pulled Scott off the ground and yelled at Berkson, “Start the fucking car!”
She didn’t need to be told twice, scooting over to the driver’s side faster than any human had in their life. The engine roared to life as I tossed the borderline catatonic detective in the back—wishing I had time to stop and appreciate the irony—and dove into the passenger seat.
“W-w-what—”
“Hit the gas.”
Berkson floored it, sending the cruiser careening directly toward the only way out.
There was one slight problem.
A wall of burning vampires sat between us and freedom.
And they weren’t going to move.
20
Without better options, the daystriders’ last-ditch suicide attack wasn’t a bad call. The center of the road blazed with vampire candles, standing upright and three-deep to block our retreat. Despite the obvious pain and imminent death, they seemed resolute in their desire to end me forever.
Clearly they weren’t pleased with Kitsune’s trickery. I had not possessed the resources or abilities necessary to dispatch a fully guarded nest. Although the current light show on display did at least suggest one thing: I was not to be attacked lightly. After mainlining a shitton of essence to defeat Athena the Goddess Killer, I now possessed some impressive brute power.
That realization gave me a sort of savage, frightening joy as the cruiser skidded toward the vampire blockade. Five feet away, I could feel the heat trickle through the air vents, smell it melting the tires. A quick peripheral glance allowed me to see the trickle of sweat dripping down Berkson’s temple.
The vampires wouldn’t kill us; the heat would.
Thinking on my feet, I prevented the cruiser from certain immolation by dialing back the intensity of the flames with my mind. There was the thump and crunch of charred bone as the cruiser slammed through the bodies. A particularly resilient daystrider scraped along the roof as it tumbled over, its hands tearing through the metal chassis.
Then he was gone, left behind on the smoldering road. The newly framed house was alight, the blue tarp warped and bubbling against the chain link. Scorched rubber permeated every square inch of air within the car as we roared away from the dying beasts. Their terrible screams seemed to follow us around the empty streets, even after a couple miles.
Berkson pulled the chugging cruiser into Lux’s parking lot. I hadn’t even realized we were headed this way. My eyes had been focused on the side mirrors and rearview, convinced at any moment that Blaise would dive down from a rooftop.
But their fearless leader hadn’t been present. That was more of a scout party, totaling about a dozen daystriders. Maybe a quarter of their impressive army. And now, like the cruiser, I was drawing on the reserve tank of my soul. The yellow caution light had come on a few spells ago, but I’d ignored it.
I didn’t want to know who I’d become when it hit E.
The cruiser, for its part, coughed and died on the outskirts of the lot. An aroma of gasoline managed to cut through the interior for a brief moment. Same bastard from the roof probably punctured the gas tank.
“That was impressive.” Berkson glanced over, eyes wide and nervous.
“Would you believe me if I told you I’d rigged the block with C4?” I said.
Scott briefly stopped speaking in tongues—or whatever the hell he was rambling about—to snort. Berkson, for her part, shook her head with a mirthless smile.
“I might prefer it, though.” The words were oddly robotic, like she couldn’t process the scene.
I reached out to comfort her, but she recoiled like I was, well, a demon.
“Thanks for the ride.” I reached for the door handle. “You’re gonna be all right.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she repeated over and over, like a New Age mantra. I wanted to make a joke, that she could become a witch or a sorceress with that kind of chanting ability, but instead I decided to leave.
The click of the door’s lock brought Berkson back. Her nails dug into my forearm.
“Everything’s going to change, isn’t it?” She scanned my face for reassurance.
I glanced back at Detective Scott, who had decided to take a nap. Whether it was the near-death experience, or totally irrefutable proof that I was as scary a motherfucker as he had always thought, the evening had taken its toll on his psyche. Sometimes you want something for so long that, when it finally comes gift wrapped, the mind refuses to believe.
“Everything always changes,” I said, trying to shake free of her grip. She refused to let go. I squinted in the darkness to make out her name. “Look, Officer Berkson—”
“Lisa.” Her eyes reset in her head like some sort of slot machine. I saw the light come back on, along with the level-headedness that allowed her to walk a beat, catch perps, all that. Normally, I wouldn’t like that type of gaze on me. “I’m a detective, too.”
“I have things to take care of, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Her nails pinched into my arm before letting go. “I wouldn’t want to keep you.”
“I’ll see you around, Detective. Detectives.”
“Hey, Aeon,” Lisa called to me as I got out of the ruined cruiser. “I thought he was crazy like everyone else. But what the hell else is out there?”
“Hopefully you’ll never find out.” I jogged inside Lux, leaving the ruined car behind. After a brief discussion with Trevor, I reacquired the keys to the Range Rover. I took back the essence jug distilled from Javier, too, recalling that Nadia—freakin’ Nadia—had somehow managed to steal Ingi’s body from Gunnar. Then again, I’d lost the Remkah Talisman and Carmine Chain to Isabella, so it was really a toss-up for most incompetent.
Oh, and the tabby was apparently not a blues fan, because the furry bastard insisted on coming with me.
Heading back outside, I saw Berkson on the phone, calling someone to pick her up. I had to wonder if she was telling them the rest of the tale, a story tailor-made for the talk show circuit. It briefly occurred to me to offer them a ride, but then I remembered that it all started with Scott trying to jerk my chain.
Magnanimity quickly morphed into the urge to light the smoking ruin of their cruiser ablaze. Instead, I stepped on the accelerator, tires squealing as I pushed the SUV toward the town. It didn’t take long to chew up the mile distance, and soon enough I saw the familiar outline of the Porsche ahead.
I pulled in behind the convertible and got out. Light streamed through the loft’s bullet-battered brick, its façade resembling a still frame from a gangster flick. Nothing had been spared from gunfire. Argos and Ruby were probably in there, shooting the shit, trying to come up with a plan of attack. I walked up the crumbling stairs, wondering what I would say. It’d been a day and a half since I’d seen them last. But it felt like a year—like I was a nomad returning to a home completely unfamiliar.
I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to center myself. I couldn’t trust Ruby, but the dog would be safe with her. There was enough history to know that she’d protect him from harm—even if her soul was black as subterranean ice.
My stomach twiste
d in a knot as I realized I had left him behind. Alone.
Before I could try the knob, the door opened. Ruby’s brown hair was scattered around her face, like she hadn’t slept at all.
“Well, you look like shit,” I said.
“It’s Argos,” she said, the words solemn. “He’s—”
I rushed past her, sprinting across the scarred wood, the last human part of me screaming no.
21
Argos tumbled down the stairs in a black-and-white blur, a heavy book bouncing behind him. It would have been comical, seeing him in a sad heap at the bottom of the steps, if not for the way he shivered.
My gut turned over as I walked across the bullet-marred interior. Ruby had cleaned up the glass from the broken skylight. A cool breeze and a clear moon filtered down through the empty space.
Argos whimpered as he tried to stand. I picked him up, his forty pounds seeming weightless.
“It’s okay, buddy.”
“No it’s not.” His voice was haggard, closer to death than life. I placed him on the couch and he didn’t move. His sunken eyes gazed at me with a resigned sullenness. The kind of expression only worn by the hopeless.
I scratched his ears, fur coming off in tufts. A quick glance at my shirt revealed more patches of hair. Returning to the bottom of the stairs, I picked up the volume Argos had been trying to bring down. It was old, the title in Latin. Roughly translated, it was called A Brief Treatise on the Medical Care of Blood Curses.
I thumbed through the pages, the diagrams and explanations within meaning nothing. It made me regret years of avoiding books. Then the feeling vanished into a blank kind of non-caring. A hand settled on my shoulder, but I didn’t need comforting.
Concern tried to fight its way through the apathy, but it was a losing battle.
“He got sick an hour ago.”
“I’m surprised it took that long,” I said.
“Look, about the damn desert—”
“No need.” I walked to the coffee table and dropped the ancient volume with a loud thump.
Moon Burn (The Half-Demon Rogue Trilogy Book 3) Page 10