Connor nodded. “Looks like.”
“That strike you as weird?”
Connor raised an eyebrow at his partner. “Spell it out for me.”
Sing shook his head. “Think HALO.”
HALO. “High Altitude Low Opening” for parachute jumps. A jumper would fly up to seventy thousand feet on a transport plane, jump, and then open his chute at a meager five thousand feet. Even cutting it so close, he’d still slowdown in time because of—
“Terminal velocity,” Connor concluded. The highest speed any object could reach in a free fall.
“Bingo.” Sing grinned at him. “She was going ten times that, easy.”
“So she didn’t fall—”
“Not a chance.”
“Shit,” Connor muttered.
“Exactly,” Sing agreed.
Something pulled the girl down from a high altitude faster than she could fall. There wasn’t many things that Connor could think of that could do it.
“Hey, man, does she look familiar to you?”
Connor glanced down at the girl’s driver’s license, cupped in Sing’s gloved palm. Now that he mentioned it, she did. Milky skin, almost white-blonde hair, and strikingly blue eyes. She looked very much like another picture he’d stared at recently. He pulled out his phone and brought the picture up from the Arcanum database. It was a few years old, but—aside from the tan, freckled skin—the girl on the pavement and the girl on his phone were dead ringers.
“You’re not going to believe this,” he said to Sing.
“Lay it on me.”
Connor held up the phone with his picture of Alexi.
THIRTEEN
It was always the same when she woke. For a few seconds, she thought she was in the box again—not at home in bed, but in that morgue beneath the nightclub, closed in on every side. She jerked awake to the sound of her own scream. She was sitting up in bed, hands clenching at the bedspread.
She stared into the darkness of her bedroom, her eyes slowly growing accustomed to a faint light seeping through the door that stood ajar. Footsteps approached, and Victor’s face appeared, dark skin against a dark background.
“Alexi?”
She pulled the bedspread to her chest. “Yeah.” Her voice was hoarse, as though she’d been screaming for hours.
“Are you okay?” He ran a hand through his tousled hair, as though he had also woken recently.
Alexi swallowed. “Yeah. I’m—” Mid nod, her throat clenched up, and a gust of despair broke over her. She shook her head, pressing her hands over her mouth as a sob broke free.
He stood there, eyes wide, as though he didn’t know what to do, but Alexi couldn’t stop the tears. She buried her face in her bedspread, curling her arms over her head. A few moments later, a warm, strong hand rested on her back. The gesture was so gentle and so foreign that a fresh wave of tears overtook her.
When the crying eased, Victor was sitting on the bed with both arms wrapped around her. It felt so strange to be held. She didn’t want to say anything, for fear he would let go. He would let go, and they would resume their uneasy distance, filled with unspoken words.
He was so warm, and she had been cold for so, so long. Just stay here, she willed him. Just stay a little longer.
A hand gently brushed back the strands of hair stuck to her cheek and wiped the tears from her face. Without thinking, Alexi took hold of his wrist and pressed his open palm to her lips. Something shifted in Victor—his muscles tensed, and he firmly, deliberately turned her to face him. And then he was kissing her.
When had she last been kissed? For all she could tell, this was the very first time. The sensation of his lips against hers felt new and incredible. He smelled so good, and he tasted . . . he tasted amazing. His hands were in her hair, and her arms were around his neck, and a sudden heat sprung up between them, sending a flush of warmth from Alexi’s temples to her toes.
Victor broke from her lips and bent his head to kiss her shoulder . . . and the skin of his neck brushed her lips. Warm, pulsing with blood. Alexi kissed his neck, caressing the skin with her lips. Victor’s hand came up to the back of her head as if he wanted her to give in. His other hand slid up her back, and whatever willpower her recent feeding had given her, it fled beneath a torrent of pure hunger.
Alexi bit him. Her fangs sunk into his throat. Blood gushed into her mouth, and with it, a wave of ecstasy. All sense of the physical fell away, and there was nothing but him and her and the warmth they shared. She drank his essence, filling the cold, lonely corners of her soul.
It wasn’t like all the times before, when it had never been enough. Then, she felt she could have consumed every last spark of life and still wanted more. This was different. She felt his willingness in the exchange, his complete lack of fear . . . and a deep, vast sense of satisfaction filled her, sending delicious tingles through every cell in her body. She felt like she was floating. A laugh escaped her as she pulled back from him and opened her eyes.
Victor looked down at her with wide eyes. Tear-filled eyes.
“Oh, god!” Alexi gasped. “I’m so sorry—did I hurt you? I’m so—”
He shook his head. “No.” Drawing her close, he almost crushed her against his chest. “God, no.” He buried his face in her hair and breathed deep.
“Vic?”
“You didn’t hurt me.” He allowed her to pull away and reached up to cup her face in his hand. “You don’t understand. I’ve been alone for so long. That was the first time in forever that I haven’t felt . . .”
Cold, Alexi finished in her head. For the first time in forever, she didn’t feel cold.
They lay together on the bed for what seemed like an eternity, her tucked beneath his arm. The silence was full, but not in the awkward, uneasy away it always had been between them. Victor was the first one to speak, and Alexi closed her eyes, listening to the rumble of his voice in his chest.
“When I was a kid, in Minnesota, my grandma had this little house—a cabin, really—made by grandpa when they were young. She would sweep the carpet. With a broom, I kid you not. Dad got her a vacuum cleaner—said it was the best, showed her how to fasten on all the little attachments. She wouldn’t use it. She liked her broom.” Victor ran his fingers through Alexi’s hair. “Grandpa built the house out of cedar, and that whole place had the greatest smell. Cedar, potpourri, and pound cake. She made one every time a guest came over. It smelled like home.”
Alexi imagined what his memory looked like as he spoke and wished she had one of her own to match it. What did home smell like to her?
“That was a long time ago.” Victor craned his neck to kiss the top of her head. “You make me feel like home again,” he whispered.
***
September rain showers poured intermittently from dark storm clouds that covered the area. Connor and Sing’s Ford Expedition cut through the puddles as it came to a rest. Connor sighed. He hated the rain, and he hated looking at crime scenes while it rained. This would be the second time in three days his unit was called about a murder that defied logic. That made it twice as many times as the whole previous month. Since Alexi showed up, things were hopping, and he couldn’t help but feel like she was connected somehow.
Connor fished his badge out of his coat. Today they were Homeland Security. It usually opened more doors than anything else they carried. The officer in charge of the scene, an older man covered in rain gear, smiled as the approached.
“Agent Connor, Sing—” They both flashed their badges. “Homeland Security. Mind if we take a look?”
“You’re not taking over the scene?” The officer sounded incredulous.
“Nah. Just need a look around,” Connor said with a smile. “The boss wants us to dot a few i’s and cross a few t’s.”
Connor and Sing spread out clockwise around the body. The shallow crater spread out almost twenty feet from the center. Most of her soft tissue had disintegrated on impact into a puddle of red and black. Her bones were cloaked
in the remains of her flesh. Sing poked around at her feet, taking measurements. Connor was more interested in who she was. A wet mass of blood-soaked hair covered what was left of her face. He used a pen to push some of it aside. Underneath the blood, flaxen-colored hair peeked out.
He didn’t need to check the eyes to know what color they would be. Sing tapped him on the shoulder. He walked away from the scene and from the prying ears of the uniforms.
“Based on the MO and the angle of impact . . .” Sing shrugged. “Alae Horrow, best guess. Winged Horror.”
“Good old Latin,” Connor muttered. He wasn’t the walking dictionary Sing was, and he couldn’t remember a scrap of info on that particular demon.
“Very dangerous—more so than most demons—not often summoned,” Sing supplied before Connor could pull up the Arcanum database on his phone. “Probably didn’t cross over on its own.”
“So were looking for a mage or witch powerful enough to summon a demon and control it. Great.”
Sing nodded in morose agreement. “I hate magic.”
The inside of their car was a welcome relief to the torrential downpour outside. Connor flicked his phone open; no messages waited for him.
“Victim looked like her,” he said after a moment’s silence.
“Yeah. We’re gonna have to talk to her, man. I know you said we needed to be hands-off, but . . .”
“I know, I know.” Connor sighed. “Let’s do it. Worse case, she kills us, and we don’t have to do any more paperwork, right?”
Not even a chuckle.
***
Starlight and streetlight beamed down on Alexi as she walked home from the bar.
Victor. Vic . . . tor. Viiictor.
Damn it, Alexi, she snapped at herself. She was like some dumb teenager, high on first love. Get it together.
She didn’t even know what she and Victor were really. They were definitely something, but she couldn’t be sure what. Or where it would go. She only knew that she couldn’t stop thinking about him. The last few days had floated by her like she’d been in some kind of daze.
For once, she wasn’t hungry. She hadn’t realized how hungry she’d become until she started to feed every day. There was no longer an aching pit in her stomach. And she wasn’t cold anymore. In the mirror, she could see that her pale skin had taken on a rosy flush. She looked healthy. Maybe even . . . happy.
Savanna hadn’t said anything, past the occasional knowing look, and she was grateful for her friend’s silence. She didn’t know what the future held for her and Victor, but for once, she didn’t want to think about it. She wanted to think only about now—or, more accurately, five minutes from now, when Victor would greet her with a hug. Maybe more than a hug.
That thought died in her head as she turned the corner to their house. A black SUV with government plates sat parked in front.
Great.
She’d been a fool to trust those guys who had talked to her at the bar. She knew they’d come after her eventually. But at home? How dare they.
Dropping to a crouch, Alexi skirted behind the parked cars until she was behind the SUV. She jostled the handle. Locked. Even at half strength, she could rip the doors off their hinges. With Victor’s energy running through her, though, she was anything but half-strength. The metal folded under her fingers. Hinges squealed, then popped, and the back door came off in her hands.
The back of the van housed a veritable arsenal. Alexi dug through the weapons. MP5 submachine gun. Beretta Tactical shotgun. M84 stun grenade. Her brain supplied the names for her, and the moment she touched them she was certain she knew how to use them. The MP5 slung easily over her shoulder. She stuffed several mags in her jacket. She thrust a pair of grenades in her other pocket.
Okay, they want me? Fine. They’ve got me.
Alexi circled the back of the house, avoiding the pools of light that stabbed the darkness. Her boots touched the earth without ever making a sound. The rear door unlocked with a quick turn of her key. With her foot, she gently closed the door. She paused to check if anyone had heard her.
A conversation drifted to her ears. No screams; it all sounded cordial. She didn’t hear Victor growling, though she could hear him breathing heavy. Whatever was going on he wasn’t happy about it. She made no sound as she sneaked through the kitchen to the small hallway that led to the living room.
Connor’s voice was easily recognizable. Every once in a while, another man would pipe in. That could be his partner . . . Sing? She couldn’t be sure that was his name. With the MP5 shouldered and the barrel pointing toward the living room, she proceeded.
Victor was leaning against the wall at the mouth of the hallway. He turned his head as he caught sight of Alexi. His eyes widened as he took in her new gear.
Are you okay? she mouthed to him.
He nodded.
She poked her gun toward the living room to indicate she could breach.
He shook his head and gave her a thumbs-up sign.
Well, that’s something.
“I’m very sorry, Miss Grace.” It was Connor’s voice. He sounded deeply contrite. “As you can imagine, we thought you were in danger. Part of our job is to protect the public from newborns.”
“Is the man who grabbed me okay?” came Savanna’s voice.
Grabbed her? Alexi’s hackles rose.
A pause. “Ah—he . . . will be, I’m sure.” There was no certainty in Connor’s voice. Alexi allowed herself a grim smile. The bastard should never have touched Savanna.
It didn’t seem as though a fight was likely, so there was only one way left to join this party. Alexi walked into the room, nodding at the two agents sitting on her couch. Connor’s face froze. Sing mouthed an obscenity, one hand going for his gun.
“Really?” She gestured at his pistol with the barrel of the MP5. “That’s what you’re going with?”
Sing snatched his hand away and raised both hands in the air.
“Damn. Uh.” Connor watched as she dumped the five mags on the coffee table. “You don’t mess around, do you?”
Alexi kept hold of the MP5 as she sat beside Savanna. “I guess I wasn’t clear last time.” She leaned forward. “These are my friends. And this is my home. What the hell are you doing here?”
“Look, we—a grenade, really?”
Alexi dropped it on the coffee table with the mags. “You’re the one that keeps them in the trunk. Outside my home.” She gave the last three words a sharp edge.
Connor glanced at Sing and shrugged. “At least we know she’s got training.” He looked back to Alexi. “Army maybe?”
Alexi’s eyes narrowed. “You can put your hands down,” she snapped at Sing.
“Everyone in the Arcanum is ex-something,” Connor said. “We can all recognize a vet when we see one.”
“Ranger, second, seventy-fifth,” Sing said. Alexi ignored him. The word ranger flashed in her mind when he spoke. She would have to look that up later.
“Listen, we meant no disrespect by coming here.” Connor pulled a little pile of photos from his jacket pocket. “We have a problem, and we think you ought to know about it.”
He dropped the photos onto the coffee table and carefully arranged them. Each one showed a shattered, bloody mess of a body. “See a pattern here?”
Alexi wrinkled her nose at the shattered remains. “All very dead.”
Savanna ran a finger over one of the photos. “Alatum,” she whispered.
The two agents cast a glance at each other. “You’re familiar with demons?”
Savanna nodded. “It’s a powerful demon, one of the chiefs of the lower planes. It . . . takes a lot to summon one.”
Both men turned their focus to Savanna. “What else can you tell us about it?” Sing asked. “Our database is pretty sparse.”
With a sigh, Savanna rubbed her face with both hands. “I summoned one once. It didn’t end well.”
Connor’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re a mage? We didn’t know.”
&nbs
p; Savanna’s eyes flickered to Alexi for a fraction of an instant. “Witch,” she whispered.
The mood in the room suddenly shifted, and Alexi watched the shoulders of the two agents tense ever so slightly.
“You realize that if you even think about hurting her—” Alexi began in a low voice, and Victor let out a rumble of a growl.
Connor held his hands up slightly. “Easy there. We’re not the enemy here, and we’re not here to fight.”
“Our number one mandate is to protect human life,” Sing said, “and witches usually aren’t too concerned with that. You understand where we’re coming from here.”
“I understand better than you do,” Savanna said quietly, though there was a hidden edge to her voice. “I use my own blood. When I’m selling my services, I’ll use the buyer’s blood. Never enough to kill. Never by force. But to summon an Alatum, you’d need a whole person. Maybe two.”
The two men conferred quietly for a second.
“Listen,” Connor began. “We need your help. Obviously. We’d like you to come into our office—contractors, consultants, whatever you want to call it. We need to stop this thing before it kills again.”
“All of us?” Alexi asked.
“I’m only authorized to bring you in, but I think Miss Grace would be really helpful as well.”
Victor growled low in his throat. His body language said I don’t like this.
“Why me?” Alexi asked. “I mean, why me specifically?”
Connor pulled another handful of photos from his jacket. “This is what each of the victims looked like before they were killed.” He laid the photos down, one at a time, over each crime photo. Most of them were driver’s license photos, and one looked like it had been taken from the web.
Pretty, pale, wavy blonde hair the same shade as Alexi’s. And blue eyes. But it wasn’t just the coloring that was the same. The features were similar. She could have been related to any of the women staring up at her from the coffee table. Savanna clapped a hand over her mouth, and Alexi felt Victor’s hand close comfortingly around her arm.
Connor looked at both women. “Someone’s killing Alexi in effigy, and we need to stop them before they kill again.”
With the Dawn (Faith of the Fallen) Page 11