Ascension? His severe expression kept the question off my lips.
He slid his glare to Torrent, raked it over the half blood, jerked his chin in satisfaction, and left.
I waited a few moments, crossed the room, checked he wasn’t lurking in the corridor, and closed the door. “Six hours! I was going to use PC-Thirty-Four to get to the prince. I can’t find more, inject it, free the prince, and have it wear off in six hours.”
Torrent had turned to face the window again and the ocean beyond. He braced his arms against the frame, and a memory flashed: Torrent, his wings spread. But in a blink, the image was gone. “How long does it take to wear off?”
“Four hours if I go fully-demon at some point. Being demon pushes the dregs out.”
“That gives you two hours to get the rest done.”
Two hours? What could I do with two hours? “I don’t even know where to get more PC-Thirty-Four.”
“Where does Allard get it?” He shifted, half turning his head, keeping his back to me. Torrent’s tension had spread, encasing him in stone. And now his element had joined us in the room.
“There was an Institute guy at a demon fight. He was Allard’s source. But I don’t know how to find him.”
He fell quiet, his thoughts still far away. “What about your lady cop friend?”
Summoning a little demon into my vision, I saw exactly the ripple of his element pulled tightly around him. The shimmer gave him a blurred aura. Another memory, this time of the demon huddled in a corner, his wings wrapped around him. Those wings had been so warm and soft—not nearly as tough as they’d appeared.
He was afraid and hiding it well, as only half bloods could. What was he still doing here? Why didn’t he leave, just walk out and go far, far away. I stayed for Del because I could never abandon my brother. There were no such ties keeping Torrent here.
He turned and lifted his gaze through fine, dark lashes. “Go on, ask.”
“I…”
“You’ve been looking at me like that since I came back. You looked at me that way when you watched me heal in the bath. So ask me what’s burning you up so bad that you can’t say it.” A smile ticked across his lips, but it wasn’t pleasant. “You want to know what he did?”
“No. I… I already know.”
A moment passed between us, a pause filled with understanding.
“I’m sorry. Alright? For giving you up. I… I have to protect Del, and I knew Allard wanted you.”
“Thank you for that.” His tone cut, and I winced. “Truly. For a second there, I thought you were different. Thanks for setting me straight, Gem.”
“Then leave,” I blurted, turning my back on him and heading for the door. I couldn’t stand what his words were doing to me, making the guilt burn in my gut. “Just go.”
“He needs a water elemental. He’ll scour the city for me. Where am I going to go? And…”
I paused, hand on the door handle.
“And maybe I don’t want to go.”
Shame stuttered through his admission. My own shallow little smile tugged on my lips. I knew that feeling. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Allard had a way of making the pain feel right, like it belonged, like it was all you deserved, and you should be grateful for his affections. Half bloods must be owned. Sometimes, that demon truth was the only part of this half blood life that felt natural.
I pressed a hand to the feather tucked against my chest. “Maybe Officer Ramírez can get an address of the Institute doctor.” And then I asked the question he’d wanted, the question he’d seen on my face since he’d returned, bloodied and broken. “Are you with me, or are you with Allard?”
He didn’t reply, but he did cross the room in a few strides. I caught his eye when he stopped beside me. The bright turquoise swirl of color was back. His demon waited right below the surface. It would be easy to forget how strong Torrent could be. He wore his submissive armor well, almost as well as I wore mine.
* * *
The LAPD precinct was a hive of activity. Officer Ramírez wasn’t available. Torrent and I were told to wait. We gravitated toward a corner. I watched the other people in the waiting room like they’d any second declare me demon and brandish guns. Torrent leaned against the wall, a curious smile on his lips. He’d retrieved his raggedy old coat before leaving Fairhaven, but the crossbow was missing from his casual ensemble. I assumed Allard had taken it. Nobody else would have been able to pry it from Torrent’s hands.
After forty wasted minutes, Officer Ramírez emerged through a door. She smiled a flat, professional smile, sliding her gaze from me to Torrent and back to me again. A flicker of something tightened her smile, flattening it even more.
“Gem, I have some information for you.”
I’d forgotten I’d asked her to look for my brother. “I er… I think we found Del.” I pushed off the wall. “But I have something else to ask you.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows lifted. “You found your brother? That’s good.” She could tell from my face that it wasn’t. “Let’s go somewhere a little quieter?” The glance she skipped past me to Torrent was positively frosty.
Torrent moved to follow.
“Just you, Gem. I’m sorry, but your friend will have to stay here.”
I’d never been the best at reading expressions—the Institute technicians I’d grown up around were pretty good at hiding their thoughts from their faces—but Ramírez gave off some skittish vibes. If she was going to help me find the Institute doctor, I needed her on my side, not worried about Torrent.
“Wait here,” I told him. He’d already settled back against the wall and crossed his arms like he had all the time in the world. “I’ll be right back.”
I followed Ramírez down a narrow corridor, passing a few uniformed cops, and into a small, quiet interview room. Once again, the sterile, impersonal, windowless space reminded me of past interrogations. Ramírez knew better than to offer me a seat. She sat on the edge of a table and handed me a closed blue file.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
I looked at it, still in her hand. “I know where my brother is.”
“This isn’t about your brother.” Her expression softened, and the hard-ass cop persona melted from her shoulders.
“I just came to ask if you could help me find someone. It’s er… It’s pretty time sensitive.”
She opened the file, pulled a grainy color 8x5 photograph from inside, and held it up.
Corpses. Blood splashes in fans across a road, streams of blood running into the gutter. And a demon. His outline was blurred by the same forces that make it difficult to focus on a demon with human eyes. An aura of green-blue glowed from his impressive physique, but it was the wings that betrayed him. The grainy image couldn’t hide their pearlescent shimmer. He practically glowed. The photo wasn’t bad quality, I realized. It was rain obscuring the image, rain that washed the blood into the gutters, rain that glittered on his leathery wings.
“We believe that demon is responsible for the death of at least five hundred people,” Ramírez said.
I took the photo. A chill wrapped itself around my legs and climbed higher. My element responded to my racing heart. His face, the same inviting eyes, the same sweeping horns I’d seen when he turned fully demon. To many, demons all look the same: the wings, the horns, the claws. But not to me. There was no mistaking Torrent.
“That’s not him.” I held the photo out to her, eager to get rid of it.
Ramírez’s lips pinched together. She took another print from the file. This time, it was black and white. He crouched on the rubble of a collapsed burning building, wings arched, hunched, ready for the attack, and at his feet, his throat clearly cut—probably by claws—was a firefighter. The camera angle caught Torrent’s face turned up, searching the skies. Ramírez had a good eye to be able to recognize Torrent’s demon and identify it as the man currently in the waiting room.
My lips turned down. I couldn’t stop the revulsion b
leeding through onto my face. “It does look remarkably similar, but that’s not Torrent.” My throat tightened around the lies.
“I’m sorry.”
I cleared my throat and swallowed then plucked the black-and-white picture from her fingers. “When was this?”
“Prior to the Fall, a number of demons came through in a pre-wave attack. That one was one of the first. He vanished after the Fall. We assumed he’d gone back before the veil closed.”
The picture was taken before Torrent lost his memories. Or was that lies to stop me asking about his past, from finding out exactly who he really was. Whatever it was, I didn’t have time to deal with it. Clearly, Torrent wasn’t what I believed, but I had Allard to deal with. My six hours had rapidly dwindled to almost four.
“I told you I wouldn’t call the Institute in for you, and I didn’t. But I couldn’t keep this quiet, Gem.”
“What do you mean?”
“I alerted the Institute to Torrent’s presence as soon as you arrived. They’re already here. If you want to stay away from them, I can take you out the back exit.”
“They’re here?”
“They probably already have Torrent in their custody.”
They’re here. I had to get away. If they saw me, if any of them recognized me, they’d come looking. I couldn’t go back to the tests, the maze, the room that had been my prison for so long.
I looked at the door, wondering if any second they’d barge in. Coming here was a terrible mistake. “Show me the way out.”
True to her word, Officer Ramírez escorted me out the back of the precinct. Shouts and jeers sailed from the main street. “Demon!” the collective cries accused.
I stood at the back of the precinct among the cop cars and glared ahead, down the street, away from the noise, toward freedom. The picture in my hand was all the evidence I needed. Torrent was a killer and not just a mindless lesser who didn’t know any better, but a powerful, higher demon. I closed my eyes, feeling the sun warm my face. The graphic images stayed with me. The Institute would take him away and lock him down. He’d joked that he’d seen the worst anyone could do to him. He was wrong.
I hung back at the corner of the precinct and tried to see through the crowd. A number of black vans crowded around the front. I saw him, being led down the steps. His wrists were bound, and his eyes flashed. He sneered at the crowd, who bayed and taunted. The Institute team was clad in black and body armored up. At least twenty field troops. They were all armed, probably with PC34A darts. That was the only way they could have stopped Torrent from turning demon and ripping them apart.
I couldn’t help him.
Folding the photo, I tucked it into my back pocket and bowed my head.
If the Institute saw me—the escape, the netherworld, the demons, Allard—it would all be for nothing. The LA Institute hub was about as far away from Boston—my home—as you could get, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t be aware of the two missing East Coast half bloods. The safest thing for me to do was walk away.
I tucked my chin in and turned.
Someone screamed. Shouts rose up from the crowd in an angry wave. I could just make out Torrent struggling with an Institute solider. He was still bound at the wrists, but all that had done was slow him down. He flung his head back and cracked his skull against the guy behind him, throwing him off. It was hopeless. Torrent couldn’t fight off that many of the troops. The Institute trained for exactly this.
Torrent’s damaged wings snapped from his back, and he let out an enraged roar that sent half the crowd scattering. I stayed, glued to the spot, buffeted by those who ran, and watched the Institute open fire. The bullets smacked into him, punching him back. He fell.
“Wrap this up!” someone bellowed.
I couldn’t move.
I’d betrayed Torrent already, and he’d paid for it. He’d told me he didn’t know who he was before the Fall. The demon in the picture, that wasn’t him. He was different now. And I believed him. I was his friend, wasn’t I?
I couldn’t leave.
Ice sparked across the road surface. A woman to my right let out a ragged scream and scrambled away. “Demon!” Institute troops swiveled my way, and my six months spent in hiding fell apart.
I spread my stance, released my demon, and yanked on every cool spot I could find. Power pulsed over me, stripping back my humanity, revealing the demon beneath.
More screams.
I pulled harder, pushing my element through me, over me, and gritting sharp teeth, I went to work. The black-clad troops abandoned Torrent, still sprawled on the steps, to take up positions behind their vehicles. Ice sung behind me. My wings fanned open. Sunlight gnawed on my cold, but it also refracted through the ice, painting the street, the vans, the troops in jagged, brilliant light. Kinda hard to hit the demon when she’s blinding.
Kill them.
I twitched, and the madness hooked in. Ice danced around me, punching through their vehicles, through their Institute insignia. More. Shots fired, but I crafted shields and clutched them in front of me. Their PC34A darts tanged off, useless. Bullets chipped and punched into my ice, but it held.
More!
Yes. I could let go of everything. I could push power through my veins and rid myself of PC34A. No, no! Not yet. I needed it to get to the prince. I had to stay in control. Control was everything. Control the demon. The power. The rage, the delight, the revenge. I saw myself running through the maze, ice my protector, my weapon. They’d made me their weapon. Now watch me work.
I tore open the back of a van. “PC-Thirty-Four,” I snarled at the two occupants. Without body armor, they stared back at me, wide eyed and terrified. A dark patch bloomed on the pants of the guy to my right. Human fear cloyed the air, rich and heady. I swiveled my gaze to the guy who’d pissed himself. “Injectors. Now.” The depth of my voice rumbled the panels.
A gunshot boomed, and ice chips blasted from my right wing. A twinge of pain sparked down my right side. I shook it off. “Injectors! Now!”
“Here, here…take them… Don’t kill us.”
The guys in my van tossed me a bag. I snatched a handful of injectors from inside and narrowed my eyes at them. Kill them. Kill them all. Teeth chattering, I pulled back, slammed the doors closed, and iced them up then did the same with anything that moved, casting ice out like a net, catching anything that ran, anything that considered firing on me, anything that moved. It wouldn’t keep them down for long. LA’s relentless sunshine would make sure of that.
Torrent had rolled onto his side and was trying to stand. I shook off my demon, shoved the injectors into my pocket, scooped him up by his arm, and dragged him along. He swung his unfocused gaze around us at the ice carnage. “Whoa.”
“C’mon.” I smiled. And despite the throb in my arm, a delicious ripple of pleasure writhed through me.
“You could have left me...” He wasn’t smiling now. If anything, he looked angry, like I should have left him. Maybe that was all he’d been used to, being the worthless half blood. But he wasn’t worthless.
“You’re welcome.”
We hurried around a fallen Institute solider whose leg was clamped in ice. “I know you,” he said.
I kept my head down and doubled my pace.
Whether he’d seen the branding or recognized my face, it didn’t matter. It was done.
“Gem, ugh, I’m hit...” Torrent hissed and flinched against the pain. “I can’t—”
I pulled him along faster. “We can’t stop.” With my demon so close to the surface, I saw the power shifting inside him, the beautiful ripple of blues and greens, and that honesty, so raw in his eyes, asking for help. “Hold on... Just hold on...”
Chapter 20
We didn’t make it as far as the pier. The bike traveled fast enough for the streets to blur. A shudder ran through Torrent, and the world tipped sideways. Instincts wrapped ice around me, but I still hit the road hard. The impact jarred through my already wounded shoulder, snapped down
my spine, and skated down my back. I slid to a halt against a curb, ears ringing, ice melting, struggling to see through the pain and hear through ringing ears.
Torrent.
“It’s a demon!” A guy’s high-pitched shriek sounded to my right, slicing through my fragile head. A car door slammed, and tires squealed again.
I snarled and wished I hadn’t when my head pounded around the sound. I tried to roll onto my front and get my legs under me. After several failed attempts, I managed to stagger upright.
Torrent, where was Torrent? I swung my gaze around. My stomach heaved, and the street swirled in my vision. I’d broken something inside. If I turned full demon, I could shield myself from the worst of the pain, but this was LA, and I’d collected quite the crowd. They brandished cellphones, snapping pictures of the ice-demon stumbling along the street. Fabulous, I grumbled silently. If the Institute hadn’t identified me at the precinct, they’d soon find my demon face all over social media.
I saw the blood pooling in the gutter just like in the print. So much blood. So red. And there lay Torrent on his back in torn clothes, skin grazed down to bone. Oh, no. I made an ungainly lope forward. The street shifted, or my legs did, and I fell, knees cracking into the road. If I could see straight—think straight—I could get to him, but the road, the street, the people, they all slid sideways out of reach.
A car rolled to a halt, hiding Torrent’s broken body. I pushed up, mumbling his name, saw legs, and felt arms scoop me up. I smelled demon and instantly relaxed: not Institute. Allard’s guards.
I drifted somewhere between awake and asleep. Muffled voices mingled with Allard’s short, direct orders.
I must have fallen unconscious, because the next words I heard were, “Get out.” Joseph grabbed my elbow, hauling me out of the car. Instincts had me bristling ice, snapping it over his touch. He snarled, low and deadly, and shoved me back against the hood of the car. “Allard will deal with you.”
Allard. Where was he? I blinked into the sunlight, lifting my face into a warm, ocean breeze. There, walking across the sand, toward the surf. I blinked again and again, not sure what my addled brain was telling me. He carried a body in his arms.
Chaos Rises: A Veil World Urban Fantasy Page 17