Kindling the Darkness

by Jane Kindred

  “Not them. Just you.”

  Great. So she was leaving her extra luck outside as well as her hell beast alarm. Her own luck and intuition would have to do.

  “Thanks, guys. I can take it from here. And thank Leo for me.”

  Gunnar smiled. “Already done. Good luck.”

  Lucy grinned. “Nice one.”

  A guard on the inside of the compound stopped Lucy as she reached the entrance. “No weapons.”

  “It’s only loaded with trank bullets.”

  “No weapons,” he repeated, holding out his hand.

  With a sigh, she turned over the Nighthawk Browning. “I want this back.” He continued to hold out his hand.

  Lucy rolled her eyes and slipped the knife from her boot and the larger tactical knife from inside her belt holster at the small of her back. “That’s it. I swear. I left my crossbow in the car.”

  He didn’t crack a smile, but he let her in. “This way.”

  Lucy followed him down the overly bright corridor to what looked like an interrogation waiting room. “What is this?”

  “You’re supposed to wait here.”

  “I want to see Oliver Benally.”

  He shrugged and took his place to stand guard at the door. After several minutes, a dazed-looking, half-awake Colt was escorted into the room. His eyes widened when he saw Lucy, and he pulled away from his escort and ran to stand behind her.

  Lucy drew him close to let him know she would protect him. “Where’s Oliver?”

  Colt’s escort held the door open. “You and the boy are free to go. Agent Benally is remaining voluntarily as an employee of Darkrock.”

  “I want to talk to him.”

  “Send him a letter.”

  Getting Colt away from them—and getting him somewhere safe from the beast—had been Oliver’s singular goal. Short of taking on the entire compound single-handedly and unarmed, there was nothing she could do here. Lucy let the escort lead them out to her car, making sure he returned all her weapons.

  Still out of it, Colt fell asleep on the way back to Jerome, and despite the fact that it was morning by the time they returned to Oliver’s place, after drinking enough water to operate a fire hose, Colt climbed into the guest bed and went back to sleep. Lucy had figured Oliver’s place would be more comfortable for Colt than her own, but she was going to need a better solution. They were sitting ducks here. What she needed were some magical wards. There were witches on retainer at Smok Consulting, but it was better to keep something like this off the books, and if the Carlisle sisters were Lucy’s family now, as Rhea had said, Lucy had one of the most powerful witches in Sedona in her family.

  She didn’t really know Ione Carlisle at all, but there was no more talented witch in Arizona than the high priestess of the Sedona branch of the Covent, the world’s largest organized coven.

  After calling Leo to thank him for his help last night, Lucy dialed Ione’s number. Halfway through explaining the nature of her request, she realized what a tricky subject this was going to be for Ione. The beast Lucy needed to ward against was a creation of none other than Carter Hamilton, the last person Ione ever wanted to hear about. His campaign to steal whatever power he could get his hands on had begun with Ione, who had unwittingly dated him while he was stalking her sister Phoebe in order to steal Rafe Diamante’s “quetzal” power—Rafe was an avatar of Quetzalcoatl, who could command the dead. At the same time, Carter had been murdering local sex workers to use the shades of his victims as “step-ins” to control other women during sexual transactions his clients paid for.

  “There’s something I should tell you about the thing I’ve been hunting,” she said to Ione. “But I think it would be better to talk about it in person. I’m kind of babysitting the subject in need of protection here in Jerome. Could I possibly impose on you to drive all the way out here?”

  Ione was gracious. “I don’t have anything on my calendar this morning. Anyway, it’s stronger magic if the work is performed on-site by the witch providing the wards, so it only makes sense for me to come to you.”

  When Ione arrived, she wasn’t alone. Phoebe had come along for the ride. As the lawyer who’d put Carter in prison, she’d also been a victim of his ongoing campaign for revenge when he cultivated the Carlisles’ long-lost half sister Laurel as an apprentice to try to steal Phoebe’s soul. This was going to be awkward.

  Phoebe and Ione were as much a contrast in style as the twins. Where Ione’s style was button-up conservative—even more so than Lucy, who was going for professional but chic—and her dark chestnut hair, highlighted in gradually lighter tones of auburn to dark gold from top to bottom, was professionally straightened, Phoebe looked like something out of a vintage pinup calendar—Bettie Page bangs, bouncy curled ponytail, tight sweater, cigarette pants and all.

  Phoebe glanced around the café after Lucy let them in—double-checking to make sure the Closed sign was still up and the door was locked. “This is fantastic. What are you doing in Jerome? You don’t own this place, do you?”

  Ione frowned at her. “I’m sure that’s none of our business, Phoebe.”

  “It is,” said Lucy. “But it’s fine. There’s no reason for secrecy. I’m kind of watching the place for the owner, Oliver Connery. He’s my client.”

  Phoebe turned back from perusing a stack of arcane books. “A client, huh? That’s not how Rhea described him. I think the term she used was ‘that insanely hot silver fox that Lucy bagged.’”

  “Phoebe.” Ione was still playing the disapproving mom. A role she’d apparently taken on after the Carlisle sisters’ parents were killed when she was only nineteen. Lucy found Ione more relatable, even if—or maybe because—her manner was a little cool. Early responsibility was something Lucy knew well, even if she hadn’t had to raise any siblings. Unless you counted Lucien’s years of playing the irresponsible screw off. “You’ll have to forgive Phoebe,” said Ione. “She’s just giving you the Carlisle treatment. Take it from me, it never ends, and it’s maddening.”

  “The Carlisle treatment?” Lucy raised an eyebrow.

  Phoebe laughed. “Affectionate ribbing about our marvelous taste in men. And it’s not really the Carlisle treatment. The twin terrors started it. It just rubbed off on me. Love the hair, by the way.”

  “Thanks.” Lucy fingered the back of it reflexively. “But Oliver really is a client. And I wouldn’t call him a silver fox, exactly.” The words were accompanied by a burgeoning heat in her cheeks, which ruined the whole protest. “I mean, he’s not even forty. He’s just...” She was digging herself in deeper. “Oh, crap.”

  Ione smiled politely. “Welcome to the family, Lucy. It only gets worse from here. Now, what kind of wards were you looking to put up? Is it a general protection spell you’re looking for, or is there a specific threat you want to address?”

  She hated to ruin Ione’s day when she was being so generous. “I think you’re both going to want to sit down.”

  Phoebe and Ione exchanged looks as they sat on one of the plush couches.

  “The creature Oliver’s group hired me to hunt is something I’ve never encountered before.”

  “Right,” said Phoebe. “Some hell beast Lucien let out.”

  Ione was more diplomatic. “Theia mentioned to me that there had been a brief period during Lucien’s transformation that allowed some unorthodox creatures to enter our world from the underworld.”

  “That’s true. But it turns out this isn’t one of them. At least, Lucien has no record of it in hell.”

  “Thank goodness.” Phoebe breathed a sigh of relief. “I was afraid this was going to be another Carter Hanson Hamilton nightmare where he was using power from hell somehow, still letting things out.”

  When Lucy cleared her throat, Ione groaned. “Oh, no. Don’t say it.”

  “Sorry. But if the beast itself is to be be
lieved, Carter created it.”

  Phoebe jumped up and paced in frustration. “Goddammit. Why the hell can’t he just die already?”

  “Well, technically, he did,” said Lucy. “Being dragged to hell will do that to you. But, sadly, there’s no way to wipe out someone’s soul from the universe itself, or I’d be happy to help do it.”

  Phoebe clenched her fists. “We should have had Leo take him to Náströnd and throw him into that corpse lake to let the dead feast on his bones along with that damn Nazi’s. You know how Carter met that guy, right? In prison. They met through Carter’s Aryan Nations pals. That bag of Nazi dicks. I’m surprised he didn’t end up as a special adviser to the White House.”

  “The thing is,” said Lucy, wanting to get to the point, “I apparently...helped.”

  Phoebe stopped pacing. “Helped what?”

  “Create this thing. It claims to have been...sort of...birthed...by me as Carter channeled the energy he was stealing from hell through the earth and into me—something he was able to do because of the step-in that was possessing me.” Lucy sighed. “Because I’m weak and empty, apparently.”

  Phoebe sat carefully on the couch. “Being accessible to step-ins does not mean a person is weak and empty.”

  Lucy blanched. She’d forgotten that hosting step-ins was what Phoebe did. “I didn’t mean to suggest—”

  “No, of course you didn’t.” Phoebe smiled thinly. “Most people don’t appreciate the strength it actually takes to host someone else’s essence for an extended period of time without going completely insane. You simply weren’t prepared for it, and Carter took advantage of that. But he wouldn’t have been able to use you if you were weak. It’s quite the opposite.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do, really. Theia told me you were able to regain control long enough to do your dragon shift thing and save her from falling off a cliff that night. The fact that you were able to do that without any training while a seasoned, powerful necromancer was actively directing a shade to control you is nothing short of amazing.”

  “I don’t think it’s amazing that I stood there like a zombie while Carter filled me up with hell energy and hatred to bring this nasty thing into being.”

  “No, sweetie, that’s not amazing, it’s horrifying. And I’m so sorry he did that to you.”

  Lucy ran her fingers through the hair hanging over one eye. “I thought you guys would be furious with me.” Maybe Ione was, though. She hadn’t said anything yet. Lucy glanced at her nervously.

  Ione’s hands were clasped in her lap. She was the kind of person who tried to keep everything in. “We are most certainly not furious with you, Lucy. We’re furious for you. So I take it that’s the reason for the wards you need, to keep this thing from coming for you.”

  “No, I’m still coming for it. I just haven’t figured out how to destroy it yet. But I need to keep it from getting to Colt, the little boy who’s asleep upstairs.”

  Phoebe glanced at her curiously. “Oliver has a son?”

  “No, Colt...well, to be perfectly honest, Colt is one of those things Lucien let out. He’s under Oliver’s protection.”

  Ione frowned. “An escaped creature from hell hardly qualifies as a boy. I’m surprised you’d approve of harboring something like that.”

  “Not half as surprised as I am.” Lucy shrugged. “But he hasn’t done anything to harm anyone, and he even risked his life to save me when the beast was attacking me, and it was four times his size. I know we can’t keep him here. He has to go back where he belongs. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to kill a little boy to right the dimensional balance—or stand by while a malevolent energy I helped into the world kills him for sport. Until Oliver gets back, Colt is staying right here.”

  “And where is Oliver?” Ione asked.

  “In the belly of the beast. So to speak.”

  Chapter 21

  Artie and Finch had been sent to “debrief” him. Oliver refused to engage until he had proof that Colt had been freed unharmed. After several unsuccessful attempts to coerce him physically, Artie gave in and brought in a laptop, pulling up the footage from the surveillance camera showing Colt walking out the front gate—hand in hand with Lucy.

  What had Lucy been doing here? He had no way of knowing whether she’d taken his advice and proposed a cooperative effort as a ruse—or was actually in league with them. But for all appearances, Darkrock had fulfilled its end of the bargain with Oliver.

  “Satisfied?” Artie closed the laptop and set it on the steel desk behind him.

  Oliver licked blood from the corner of his split lip. “For now. Are you going to keep these cuffs on me and keep punching me like a coward?”

  Artie ignored the dig. “If I have your word that you’ll cooperate, I think we can take the cuffs off, sure.” He nodded to Finch, who stepped forward with the key.

  “You already had my word. I was just waiting for you to stand by yours.”

  “Fair enough. Finch.” While Finch unlocked the cuffs, Artie waited with arms folded to accentuate his overdeveloped pecs and his legs planted in a wide, imposing stance, clearly not intimidated by Oliver at all. “So let’s hear it.”

  Oliver rolled his shoulders and wiped his mouth with the back of his fist. “Hear what?”

  Artie’s broad arms unfolded. “Don’t fuck with me, man.”

  “I’m not fucking with you. You asked me about forty questions before honoring the deal. Which one do you want me to answer?”

  “All right. If you insist on being belligerent, let’s start with the firebombing of the blood lab. There was no explosion, despite the official story given to the press. No incendiary devices or accelerants were found. Was it or was it not accomplished through telekinetic means?”

  “I don’t know about ‘telekinetic,’ but I don’t have a natural explanation for what happened.”

  “You admit that you were the cause of whatever unnatural phenomenon occurred there.”

  Oliver sighed. “As far as I know, yes.”

  “And how long have you had this ability?”

  “I don’t know. It had never manifested before that night.”

  Artie looked doubtful. “There’s another question that’s been on my mind, personally. Did you start the blaze before or after your team was compromised?”

  Oliver steadied his breathing. “I’m not sure I’m hearing you correctly. It sounds like you’re accusing me of betraying my own people. Of murdering my own people.”

  “Nobody said the word murder.” Artie’s face was stone hard. “I’m asking when this mysterious blaze started. You said yourself you didn’t know how it happened. I’d just like to know if it happened after your teammates were killed...or before.”

  “My wife was on that team.”

  “Yeah. Oh, I get that, man. So maybe you wanna answer the question carefully. Because a lot of us cared about the guys on that team. A lot of us cared about Vanessa.”

  He had to swallow this rage before he let Artie provoke him into doing something he’d regret. Which was probably what Artie was hoping for. Not that it made what he was insinuating any less despicable.

  “You want all the ugly little details, Artie? Fine. When Vanessa and I broke down the back door, Baker’s and Keene’s bodies were being held upright while a couple of vampire lords drank from where their heads used to be like they were their own personal fountains. Another one grabbed Vanessa and cut her throat before either of us could even process what we were seeing. So if you want to get technical, yeah, Vanessa was still ‘alive’ when I started burning things. I doubt her spine was fully severed by the human bone blade the vamp was holding and licking, because her limbs were convulsing when he started drinking the blood straight out of her mouth.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Fuck, man.” Finch looked green.
<
br />   Artie actually took a moment to compose himself before he went on. “So you just...went nuclear.” He nodded as he processed the idea. “Guess I can’t blame you for that. But Darkrock’s going to want to get to the bottom of how this ability of yours manifests.”

  Oliver shrugged. “Guess you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.”

  “As for the other thing...”

  Oliver wasn’t giving them anything. Whatever they knew, they were going to have to tip their hand first. He sure as hell wasn’t going to tip his. “What other thing?”

  “Come on. Are we really going to do this again?”

  “Why don’t you just be clear? I’m not a mind reader.”

  Finch laughed. “Well, that’s one thing he can’t do.”

  Artie glared at him. “Shut up, Finch.” A little something, almost imperceptible, flashed in Finch’s eyes. He’d been with Darkrock longer than Artie had. Oliver imagined he didn’t appreciate having a pompous jarhead promoted over him. “There’s a rumor that you’ve been protecting subhumans in Jerome. That you’re some kind of sin eater.”

  “Sin eater?” Oliver laughed. “How does that work, exactly?”

  “We’ve interviewed a few of these subhuman locals. They say any violence done against them is somehow countered by you. They get punched, but the bruise disappears. Somebody stabs them or shoots them, the wound closes up without leaving a scar.”

  “That’s very imaginative, but I have a feeling they’re exaggerating my pledge to protect them. It’s just magical thinking. Using the idea that they can’t be harmed as a sort of ward against anyone who threatens them.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that.”

  Oliver frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Artie switched on a screen behind him, showing another room like the one they were in. Watched over by a pair of Darkrock troops, a young were-badger was seated in a metal chair like Oliver’s. Oliver recognized him—Pete, he thought his name was. He hung around the Mine Café sometimes, looking for scraps.

  “Is this one under your protection?” Artie asked.