Any Given Doomsday (The Phoenix Chronicles)

by Lori Handeland

  “What?” I managed. “He’s your son.”

  “So?”

  True. Guys like him usually ate their young. So why hadn’t he?

  Because Jimmy had been useful. At his feet could be laid the deaths represented by those colored pins. That he hadn’t known his brain was being picked wasn’t going to matter to the dead.

  “The last bit of humanity in him will die with you,” the Strega said. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

  He let me go with a little shove. I whirled, then froze. Jimmy stood right behind him.

  “Kill her,” the Strega ordered, and Jimmy smiled. “Whoever’s still alive at the end of this gets to be my second in command.”

  “I don’t want to be your freaking second in command, you psychotic bloodsucking witch.”

  The Strega’s eyes narrowed. “Then die.”

  Shit.

  The Strega moved out of the way as Jimmy began to circle.

  “Why don’t you kill him?” I asked Jimmy. “I’ll help.”

  “I… c-c-” He clenched his fists. Since he wore his usual outfit, loose cotton trousers and nothing else, I caught every ripple of muscle as his biceps bulged. “Can’t.” The word seemed to explode past his lips, as if something had been keeping it prisoner and only supreme strength had forced it free. “Without him I’d be nothing.”

  Without him you’d be you, I thought. But too late now.

  With an almost nonchalant movement, he backhanded me. I flew off my feet, missing the pile of pillows by inches and landing on the marble tile so hard I could have sworn I heard my bones shatter.

  I’d hoped for a better outcome; I’m not sure why. The Strega controlled Jimmy. There was no way Jimmy would be able to break that hold and save us all. I had to accept my failure. I would die here, probably within the next few minutes, and the Strega’s plan for mankind would succeed.

  But I wasn’t going to give in without one helluva fight. I wasn’t defenseless. I had Jimmy’s strength and his speed. He just didn’t know it.

  Jimmy moved quickly. I saw his shadow coming at me across the ceiling. I lifted my legs, thrilled when they worked without pain, and kicked him in the stomach. He landed on the kitchen table, breaking it into a dozen shards.

  I did a kip, from my back to my feet. I’d always been spectacular at them. Jimmy was already up and heading in my direction.

  He swung; I ducked and came up with a left hook. He flew again, this time putting a dent in the wall. I started to feel very much like a terminatrix. There was no reason to hide my superior strength and speed any longer. Letting go felt unbelievably good.

  Jimmy shook his head as if I’d loosened a few teeth. “How did you—”

  I didn’t wait for the question I had no intention of answering. I sprinted toward him and planted a kick right in his chest.

  Or at least I tried to. He grabbed my foot and threw me heels over head. I hit the ground right next to the shattered dining room table. He was on me before I got my breath back.

  My grasping fingers touched wood. He lunged for-ward, going for my throat. His eyes flared red; his fangs lengthened. His face was no longer the face of a man but a monster.

  Intent on his kill, he didn’t pay attention to my legs. I twined them with his, yanked, and he flipped onto his back, taking me and the splintered table leg with him.

  “Go ahead,” the Strega urged, his voice the hiss of the serpent in the garden, temptation incarnate, evil down through the ages. “You know that you want to. They all died because of him. She died because of him.”

  “He didn’t know.” I muttered. “You made him do it.”

  “Technically, it wasn’t me. I had to hire that out. But… she’s still dead.”

  My fingers tightened on the stake.

  “Do it,” the Strega whispered, his excitement shimmering in the air like the sun across the morning dew. “I’ll make you my concubine queen: together we’ll rule this rock.”

  I was torn. There was killing Jimmy because I had no other choice or because he really, really needed killing. And there was killing him because this creature wanted me to, because killing him would make me his concubine queen.

  Who talked like that?

  “To end a dhampir you must strike twice in the same place—once for each nature, human and vampire.”

  Was he telling the truth? Considering his method and Sawyer’s legend were remarkably similar, I had to think so. Since I didn’t have a better plan, I tightened my fingers around the wood and plunged the stake into Jimmy’s chest.

  He gave a gasp that was more like a shriek, and I almost lost my nerve. How could I do this to him? Though I knew in my head I had to, my own heart was aching as badly as his must be.

  But I’d gone too far to stop now. Thankfully, when 1 yanked the stake out, he went limp. Blood pattered onto the floor like rain.

  “Once more.” The Strega had moved closer, but not close enough. “I’ll be invincible.”

  “I—I can’t.” I made my voice tremble. It wasn’t hard. The sight of that hole in Jimmy’s chest made me want to do a lot more than tremble. “Not when he’s unconscious. It’s—”

  “Inhuman?” The Strega’s voice wavered too, but with amusement.

  “Unsportsmanlike,” I corrected.

  “You make it sound like this is a game.” He was closer still. “You will be the most wonderful queen. If you just do what you’re told.”

  There was something off in that reasoning, but with him there usually was.

  “I can’t,” I repeated.

  He slithered closer; he was right behind me. “Do it, or he’ll do you. You’ll scream like Ruthie did, but in the end you’ll die. Just like she did.”

  Ah, well, maybe I could.

  I lifted the stake, but instead of striking forward, into Jimmy, I flipped it so the pointy end faced away; then I slammed it backward with all that I had.

  “Oof,” said the Strega.

  I twisted the stake, ground it in as far as it would go before I stood to face him and pulled it out.

  The stake wouldn’t kill him, only Jimmy could, but it would slow him down long enough so that maybe I could get away. And if I did, if I could rally those left on my side, maybe one of them would know another way to end this guy.

  I also had high hopes of planting the pointy end in Jimmy’s chest for the second strike, permanently ending him. But, as usual, my plan didn’t work quite the way I’d thought.

  The Strega staggered backward until his shoulders met the wall of windows. Behind him, the sun set, turning the sky to crimson flame.

  He looked down at the gaping hole in his chest. Blood poured out in a fountain, splashing onto the floor and washing over his feet.

  “Blood of my blood,” he said, in a horrible, gurgling howl.

  Then he disintegrated. One minute he was bleeding, the next he was blood, a river flowing across the tile. I’d never seen anything like it. I hoped I never saw anything like it again.

  “What the hell?” I stared at the stake.

  Blood of his blood, Ruthie whispered. Abilities shared.

  I glanced at the ceiling. “Today you get chatty?”

  But she did have a point, one I hadn’t considered.

  My empathetic abilities allowed me to absorb the powers of those I had sex with, and one of Jimmy’s powers was that he could kill the Strega.

  Now I had to kill him.

  I hurried back, intent on finishing this before I thought too much about what I was doing, but as I leaned over Jimmy, he opened his eyes. He moved so fast, I couldn’t get away.

  I tensed for the pain as his teeth tore into me, but it didn’t come. Instead he wrapped his arms around my waist, pressed his cheek to my stomach, and whispered in a voice so broken I ached: “Lizzy.”

  Chapter 40

  The weapon tumbled from my suddenly senseless fingers.

  Jimmy tilted his face, the anguish there almost too much to bear. “Oh, God, baby, it was me. My fault R
uthie died. My fault all of it.”

  Well, yeah. But since when did he care?

  Tentatively I stepped back. He clutched at me like a child. “Let me see,” I whispered.

  The big hole in his chest had healed, though the skin was still puckered and red.

  “It wasn’t you.” I smoothed my palm over his hair. “You didn’t know.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” he managed. “She’s still dead.”

  Exactly what the Strega had said. The spell over Jimmy appeared to have broken with the death of his father, but what remained?

  “What do you remember?”

  “Everything. I was trapped inside of myself. I could see myself, hear myself, but I couldn’t stop. The things I did, Lizzy.”

  He was still wrapped around me. I let him hold on. I wanted that connection too. Just because the Strega was dead didn’t mean we weren’t in a lot of trouble. The building was full of vamps, and they weren’t going to be too happy to discover the boss man was a big red stain on the Italian marble tile.

  “You need to let me go, Jimmy. We have to get the hell out of here.”

  “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “You’re right.”

  He got to his feet, slowly as if he hurt all over. I know I did.

  His gaze went to the floor where the Strega’s Hugh Hefner outfit lay in a puddle of blood. “How did you do that? Only I’m supposed to be able to kill him, and I… I couldn’t.”

  “It turns out sex makes me take on supernatural abilities like other people catch viruses.”

  “Son of a—” Jimmy rubbed his forehead. “You’re an empath.”

  “That seems to be the consensus.”

  I couldn’t stop glancing at what was left of the strega. I hadn’t needed Ruthie’s crucifix after all. I patted my pocket, relieved to find both it and the turquoise still there.

  Or maybe I had. Maybe that blessing had been just the boost I needed to succeed.

  For the first time I could remember I wanted to embrace who I was. I wasn’t a freak; I was the leader of the light. With the powers I had, and the ones yet to come, I could really help people. And it was so much less stressful to be myself rather than trying not to be.

  Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door.

  “Trust me,” Jimmy whispered.

  As the door swung open, he grabbed me by the neck and squeezed. I didn’t have to fake the choking sounds that spewed from my mouth. I clawed at his hands without being asked.

  “What do you want?” he demanded.

  “The master?”

  “Not here. I’m busy. Get out.”

  The door closed. Jimmy let me go, catching me when I would have fallen to the ground.

  “Sorry.” His lips pressed against my hair. “Sorry. We can’t let them know.”

  “I’m all right.” I rubbed my throat. “All in a day’s work.”

  “That should keep them happy for a while. Follow me.”

  He moved into the next room, a bedroom fit for a fat Middle Eastern pasha. Filmy bed curtains, low, round bed, huge fountain that poured into what looked like an actual restored bathhouse from some country that had once been ruler of the world and had fallen when the outlaw hordes came. There were quite a few. The walls were equipped with cuffs and chains—several pairs. I gave Jimmy a quick glance, but he was studiously avoiding that area, focusing instead on a panel next to the closet.

  “What are you doing?”

  “There’s a passageway.” He put his shoulder to it and shoved. The panel swung open and cool, musty air wafted out.

  “No one else knows about this?”

  Jimmy shook his head.

  I took a step toward him and a photo on the night-stand caught my gaze. Because the Strega didn’t seem the type to keep mementos, I paused to look and then I couldn’t breathe.

  The woman of smoke. What in hell was she doing here even in a picture?

  I snatched up the framed photograph. I guess I hadn’t dreamed her after all. Here she appeared even more lifelike since she’d been captured in living color.

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  Jimmy glanced at the picture and shrugged. “Never saw her before.”

  A sound from the other room made us both start. “Gotta go, Lizzy.”

  I nodded, then, as he turned away, I yanked the back off the frame, folded the picture into quarters and tucked it into the pocket of my harem pants with everything else.

  Silently we trailed downward. The path was dark, but I could see as well as Jimmy now, move just as quickly too. A short while later we reached a door that opened outward, spilling us into the same alley I’d entered weeks before.

  My pantaloons ruffled in the spring breeze. My bare stomach got gooseflesh. I was headed into Manhattan in a harem outfit. No one would probably notice.

  “Hold on,” Jimmy said, and disappeared inside.

  He was gone so long I began to panic. Right before I rushed back in, he appeared, bursting from the gloom in a great big hurry. As soon as he saw me, he caught my arm. “Run.”

  I didn’t have to be told twice. I figured they were on to us.

  We found a break in traffic, streaked across the street, ignoring the horns and the curses. When we reached the far side, Jimmy stopped.

  “What are you—” I glanced back, figuring the vampire legion was already there and we were dead; why fight it? But the only thing behind us was the traffic, the normal crush of people, and the big, black chrome-and-glass hellhole.

  Except there was something off about the glass. The sun was down, so why did every floor flicker orange and yellow, like the dancing light of—

  “Fire,” I said.

  “The Strega’s final solution.”

  “To what?”

  “Everything. Revolt. Invasion. Capture. He had the building rigged.”

  “They’re going to burn.”

  He looked at me and the Jimmy I knew—or at least the one I’d discovered since he’d showed up in my hospital room—was back. “Got a problem with that?”

  “Not a one.”

  Chapter 41

  We checked in to the first hotel we found. I hit the gift shop, charged a T-shirt, sweatpants, and some flip-flops to the room. I guess, for the time being, I did heart New York.

  When I got out of the shower, Jimmy stood at the window. Something about the slump of his shoulders made me uneasy. He should be happy. No more desire for blood. No more controlling freak of a father. We’d gotten out alive.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Let’s see.” He faced me. Though the red pinprick in the center had disappeared, I still didn’t like what I saw in his eyes. “I’ve killed Ruthie and a shitload of others, ruined any chance we had to win this war, hurt you, debased you, why wouldn’t I be all right?”

  “You didn’t kill Ruthie.” I left out the others. I was pretty sure he’d killed a few people since he’d been in the Strega’s lair. Best not bring that up.

  “I may as well have.” He turned away again. I wasn’t sure what to do.

  Love is stronger than hate.

  Trust Ruthie to show me the way.

  I opened my mouth to tell him, but I couldn’t. I’d never been very verbal with my feelings, at least the softer ones. I could shout hatred from the rooftops, but when it came to love… I was better at show than tell.

  I let the towel drop to the floor. His reflection in the window tensed; his eyes closed. I moved up behind him and pressed my breasts to his back. He never had found a shirt. His skin against mine felt delicious. Would he-taste just as good?

  I licked his shoulder—definitely delicious—so I nibbled at his neck, inched my palm around his side and laid it against his flat stomach.

  “Lizzy,” he said, his voice full of warning.

  “Make me forget the other times,” I whispered. “Love me like you used to.”

  For an instant I thought I’d gone too far by referring to the Strega’s high-rise. Then he moaned as if I’d punche
d him in the gut, turned and gathered me into his arms.

  I touched his face, lifted it, met his eyes, let him see that I’d never stopped loving him. I doubted I ever could. Even when a despicable creature had lurked inside, I couldn’t give up the hope of reaching Jimmy, of bringing him back. And I had. That alone was cause for this celebration.

  His hands skated over me, reverent but sure, tracing the curve of my thigh; the swell of my breast. My head fell back; his lips brushed my neck, ins tongue tracing the vein.

  I didn’t tense; I trusted him completely. He needed me to.

  His mouth warmed me from collarbone to belly button. My skin tingled at the scratch of his beard, the flutter of each and every kiss. He was on his knees again, arms around me, face pressed just below my breasts. I rested my hands on his shoulders, kneading the harsh knots beneath the skin until they smoothed, though they never faded completely away.

  I took his hand and drew him to his feet, then with me onto the bed. He still wore his loose trousers. I worked them over his hips, following the descent with my mouth. He was hard; I couldn’t wait. I made a move to straddle him and he reared up, tumbling me onto my back and sliding into me.

  Sure, slow strokes, deep, wet kisses, I lost track of how long we lay together, bodies in tandem, light, tender touches, a murmur, a moan. He never lifted his mouth from mine, even when our movements became faster, more frantic as we climbed together toward that peak we craved.

  His hand cupped my breast, lifting, stroking, the sensation shooting from my nipple straight to my center. He framed my face with his palms, brushed our lips together, tentatively met my tongue with his own, delving within as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of my mouth. The last time I’d been kissed like that I was seventeen and so damn in love I thought I’d die of it.

  That memory made me come in a rush that left me gasping. As the tremors faded, he pulsed, increasing the tempo, drawing out the orgasm. His forehead dropped to mine for just an instant before he rolled to the side. I caught his hand as he fell away, and his fingers tangled with mine.

  There’d been something different about that last kiss, something I couldn’t put my finger on, especially since I was drifting toward sleep on a killer combination of adrenaline letdown and afterglow.