I got out of the car and hurried the short distance to the house with Jimmy right behind me. He’d never been here before, never met Megan or Max, though I’m sure he’d heard about them from Ruthie.
Jimmy had been out of my life so completely for the past seven years that having him in it now still felt like a dream. Hell, my whole damn life felt like a dream these days—and not a very good one.
I paused on the porch steps. The night was clear and warm—exactly like the night Max had died. But the moon was different. Then it had been just a sliver; tonight it was headed toward full.
I glanced at Jimmy. When it became full, his demon would break free of its bond. I wasn’t sure what we were going to do about that. Jimmy reached for the doorbell.
“No,” I said quietly. “The kids.”
I didn’t want to scare them, and a doorbell in the middle of the night would. Hell, it would probably scare Megan. If she was still alive.
I reached for the knob, planning to break the lock. There wasn’t a door made by human hands that could keep me out any longer. But Jimmy hissed his disapproval and pulled a pair of lock picks from his pocket. Part demon, part Boy Scout. What a combo.
He motioned for us to head around back. Wouldn’t do for anyone to come along walking a dog and find us messing with the front door of Max Murphy’s house. Local police trolled this street more often than any other. Cops took care of their own, especially when one of their own went down in the line of duty.
Jimmy fiddled with the locks on the back door—no alarm. Too expensive. No dog. No time. But at least Megan had invested in a dead bolt, and that would take a little concentration to bypass—I stared out at the yard.
The house was large for a city house, with a lot of shrubs and some decent-sized trees, the grass littered with toys. The Murphy kids were five, six and eight, and they owned a lot of crap. Since I wasn’t all that familiar with kids, I wasn’t sure if they had more than the usual number or less.
In the far corner, a garden lay fallow. Megan always made big plans to grow vegetables, maybe even a flower or two, but since she had a hard enough time getting in a shower each day, gardening wasn’t really on the menu.
Something long and sleek and dark curved around the outer edge of the weedy plot. I moved closer, frowning at the statue of a panther. Megan didn’t seem the type.
In the dark, the thing was hard to see. Which might have been why it appeared slightly off—the shoulders and arms more like a man’s than a beast’s. The entire piece was ink black, except for the spooky sheen of its jeweled chartreuse eyes. Whoever had sculpted that had been either downright strange or just plain bad at it.
A muttered curse was followed by the clink of one of Jimmy’s lock picks against the porch. I spun around—I’d given him enough time; now I was just gonna break the door—and the wind picked up.
I paused, my head tilting as I listened. Not the sway of the leaves. Not the swish of the grass. What was that?
I faced the yard. The damned statue was missing.
“Shit,” I murmured.
As if my whisper had brought it to life, a large, lean black panther slunk along the edge of the garden, yellow-green eyes fixed on me. He no longer appeared half human but all beast.
The smooth slice of Jimmy’s switchblade announced his presence at my side. The cat shrieked, a wild, furious, primeval call that did not belong in a backyard in Milwaukee.
The animal’s tail switched back and forth. His paws were huge, his claws even huger. The thing snarled and bared teeth that seemed sharper than average, though my experience with panthers was very limited.
Jimmy flipped his knife around, something he did when he was nervous, then stepped forward. I pulled my own knife and joined him.
I was so glad we’d come to Milwaukee. The thought of that thing crashing into Megan’s house, hunting Megan and the kids . . .
The panther charged. I was so preoccupied with the image of finding the Murphys the same way I’d found Xander that I was too slow, and the beast slashed my arm. I dropped the knife.
Jimmy sliced the panther across the back. The animal roared, but he didn’t burst into ashes.
“Fuck,” Jimmy muttered.
Not a shifter. Which meant we could poke the panther with silver until we were old and gray, but he wasn’t going to die. Now what?
In the past, Ruthie would have told me ahead of time what we were facing. We would have found out how to kill him through research—books, Internet, phone calls to other DKs. But now we were floundering around a bit blind, and I hated it.
The panther crouched, belly to the ground, tail twitching, rear end shifting. Jimmy shouted, “Lizzy!” and threw himself in front of me just as the cat launched himself into the air.
As the paws left the earth, the animal became a man; inch by inch the beast arched, going up a panther, coming back down a person. He crashed into Jimmy, who smashed into me, and we all fell in a tangle of legs and arms onto the dry grass.
Jimmy grabbed for the guy, but he slipped away—it’s hard to get a grip on the naked. Instead of running or kicking, biting, scratching and punching, he went to his knees.
“Mistress,” he said, and kissed my foot.
“Oh, brother,” Jimmy muttered.
“I swear my allegiance.”
“Swell,” I said. “You can—uh—get up now.”
He got up; then I wished I’d let him stay down. Standing, naked in the moonlight, he was disturbing. Tall and sleek, he resembled the panther he’d so recently been. His hair shiny and dark, his eyes were an eerie yellow-green.
I glanced at the garden. “You were the statue.”
The man lowered his chin in agreement.
“He was a statue?” Jimmy asked. “And you didn’t think this was something I should know before I stuck him with silver?”
“I didn’t connect it right away.”
“You see a statue of a panther, then a panther shows up, but you don’t connect it.”
“Yeah, weird, hey? How bizarre that I didn’t realize the statue had come to life.”
Jimmy lifted his eyebrows at my sarcasm but didn’t comment; instead he turned to the panther man. “Gargoyle?” he asked.
The man spread graceful hands, the muscles rippling beneath his moon-pale skin. “I am.”
Gargoyles had once been animals. They’d aided the fairies left on the earth after the doors of heaven slammed closed.
The fairies had been lost. They had no idea how to survive. They were suddenly human, and they had no idea how to be.
Certain beasts of the earth helped them, and as a reward they were given the gifts of flight and shape-shifting. Gargoyles can sprout wings; they can turn to stone.
Once the fairies could manage on their own, the gargoyles were charged with protecting the weak and unwary from demon attacks. The more humans the gargoyles saved, the more human they became.
“Summer sent you,” I said.
The man nodded, his gaze on Megan’s second-floor window. “No one will hurt her while I am here.”
There was a slight cant of the Irish in his voice, but not much. I’d been told that many of the fairies had gravitated to Ireland after the fall because the rolling green hills reminded them of heaven. I’d bet money that a lot of the gargoyles had gone along.
Jimmy put away his switchblade. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Quinn Fitzpatrick.”
“And you just hang out in Megan’s yard all night?” I asked.
“Shouldn’t I?”
“What about during the day?”
He grinned, his teeth no longer sharp and large but normal, if extremely white. “I’m the new bartender.”
My eyebrows lifted. “The one who’s so lame Megan doesn’t believe you can walk and chew gum at the same time?”
Quinn’s grin faded. “She said that?”
“Not in so many words.”
“Well, I didn’t want her to know, you see, that I was sent.
So I had to pretend to be more human than I am.”
“By dropping things?”
“How else?”
I had no idea. How did one seem more human? If I knew, I’d have tried it long ago. I’d always been considered odd, even before Ruthie had touched me and made me even more so.
“Megan doesn’t know?”
“That I’m her bodyguard? No.”
“Keep it that way.”
Megan had told me in no uncertain terms that she didn’t need any help. She was wrong, so I’d ignored her. But I wouldn’t put it past her to make life hell for Quinn if she discovered he was the babysitter.
“Have there been any Nephilim sniffing around?” I asked.
“Legion.”
Man, I hated that word.
“When you say ‘legion,’ ” I continued, “I don’t get a clear picture.”
“Dozens, mistress.” He straightened, puffing out his extremely nice chest. “They’re all dust.”
“Uh—nice job.”
I thanked God again that I’d sent someone to watch over Megan. Thanked Him three times that Summer had actually listened, and that she’d sent someone who knew what he was doing.
“The more Nephilim I kill, the more hours each day I can remain in this form,” he said. “Soon I will be completely a man.” He glanced up at the window again. “Although I do not protect her for my benefit. I would protect her even if I lost my humanity instead of gaining it.”
Hmm. Interesting.
“Any clues as to why they’re after her?” I asked.
“They aren’t after her, but you.” Quinn’s gaze met mine. “They think you’ll come back to see your friend. Visit your home.” He spread his huge paws—I mean hands. “The grave of your foster mother.” He peered around nervously. “You should go.”
“You’ll watch over Megan and the kids.”
He put his hand over his heart. “With my life, mistress.”
“Call me Liz.”
“Liz. I’ve ended more Nephilim here than I ever managed when my seer was alive.”
“Your seer died?”
“In the recent purge.”
Jimmy turned away, but not before I saw the pain flash across his face. He still thought it was his fault.
Technically it was. Jimmy could dream walk—stroll through a person’s mind while they were sleeping and pluck secrets from the mist. That he’d been compelled to steal the names and locations of the federation’s members from Ruthie’s head by his vampire father did not make what Jimmy had done hurt him any less. That so many had died because of it—that Ruthie had—was something he might never get over.
“You need a new seer?” I asked.
“I work here now.” Quinn shrugged. “I’ve no need of anything else.”
Good. One less thing. If I ever got my own power back, became the seer I was supposed to be before everything went to hell—or before hell came to me—I’d take him on. I’d lost a few DKs in the purge too. I had openings.
The dead bolt on the back door clicked. All three of us froze, glancing first at one another and then at the door as it began to open.
The next instant, we were behind the thick shrubs that separated Megan’s yard from the yard to the north. I hoped the neighbor didn’t have a yippy dog that would announce our presence.
Megan stepped onto her porch, her gaze searching the shadows. She wore a pair of Max’s old department sweatpants, cut off above the knee, and a shamrock green tank top that read: Murphy’s.
She looked exactly the same—short and cute, with curling red hair and dark blue eyes, a few freckles on her darling pert nose. Her arms were round but toned—from lugging around three kids, their stuff, trays of food and drinks—her legs solid and sleek. Twelve hours a day on your feet will do that.
“Liz?” she murmured.
I bit my lip, forced myself to remain silent. If she knew I was here, she’d want to spend time with me, talk awhile. I wanted that too. I missed her so damn much. But I couldn’t hang around, couldn’t risk any Nephilim seeing me with her, knowing how much I cared. So far I’d been lucky. But luck never went my way for very long.
Megan sighed. Her shoulders sagged. I felt like a shit. I promised myself I’d call as soon as I could and do my best to reassure her that everything was fine.
Jimmy tapped my shoulder. I turned my head, and he jerked his at Quinn. The gargoyle stared at Megan with an expression I recognized—complete fascination and utter devotion.
“He loves her,” Jimmy whispered. “Nothing will ever hurt her while he’s here.”
For an instant I closed my eyes and remembered what it was like to know that Jimmy loved me that way and what it had been like to destroy that love for the sake of the world.
Sucked, but I’d do it again.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about a gargoyle being in love with my best friend and my partner’s widow, but Jimmy was right.
That devotion would keep Megan alive.
Eventually she went back inside. I hurried along the side of the neighbor’s house and onto the street a block away. Jimmy and I would only have to cut around one more corner and we’d be back at Murphy’s, where we’d left the car.
Quinn emerged from the shadows with his pants on. At least he was human enough to know that walking down the street naked would get him noticed.
“Thank you.” I held out my hand, and Quinn took it. I had a flash of fire on the ocean, ice bobbing in a sea of flames.
I tilted my head, and he smiled. “If I hurt her, feel free.”
I realized he’d just shown me the way to kill him, although I wasn’t sure how flames could dance on water and ice survived fire, but if he hurt her, I’d figure it out. That he’d shown me such a secret made me trust him even more.
I handed Quinn my cell phone number. “If you need help—”
He pocketed it and nodded.
“We should go,” I said.
Though we were alone on the street, we couldn’t hang around. Someone might glance out the window. A cop could come by. We might not resemble gang members, but we had no business loitering on a street corner in the middle of the night. Who did?
Max had always told me “nothing good happens after midnight,” and he’d been right. If I was still a cop and I saw us, I’d pull over and run every one of us through the system. We’d all be detained. Jimmy’s record was . . . colorful, mine newly blackened and Quinn’s . . . Lord only knew what would turn up.
With a nod to the gargoyle, I turned toward the car, and Jimmy followed. “We need to get to New Mexico.”
“Summer’s not dumb enough to go there,” he said.
“I don’t need her. Sawyer’s been around long enough to know what a dagda is and where to find one.”
“Dagda?” Quinn echoed, and I froze, even as Jimmy cursed.
“Do you know where to find one?” I asked.
“One?” His face creased in confusion. “There is only one.”
“Explain.”
“The Dagda. The good God.”
I stilled as icy dread skated up my back. “The Dagda is a god.”
“No. There is only one of those. Although many aspire.”
Whew.
“So the Dagda is on our side?”
“Not necessarily.”
“But he’s good.”
“Not good as in morally, but good as in all-powerful. Good at everything.”
Well, I had been searching for an über-fairy.
“Do you know where he is?”
“He isn’t anywhere.”
“Everyone’s somewhere, Quinn. Spill it.”
“The Dagda has immense power. He can kill many with a single blow of his club and resurrect them simply by tapping the lifeless bodies with the handle. His caldron contains magic beyond compare.”
“Just the guy I need to see.” I narrowed my eyes. “Now.”
“Those who approach the Dagda do not return the same.”
I glanced at Jimmy,
who appeared fascinated by the descending moon. “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”
“What do you want of him?”
I didn’t care to explain the particulars of Summer’s sex spell—even if I’d known them—that kept Jimmy’s vampire nature dormant, unless there was a full moon, so I stuck to the facts.
“I need a spell reversed. He can do that, right?”
Quinn nodded, but still he hesitated. “The Dagda is both good and evil. He hasn’t yet chosen a side.”
“All the more reason to have a talk.” An all-powerful fairy god just might come in handy. “Point me in the right direction, Quinn, and I’ll do the rest.”
“There is no direction, mistress.” He cleared his throat when I gave him a narrow glare. “Liz,” he corrected. “The Dagda lives in the Otherworld, a land that exists parallel to this one.”
“Parallel,” I repeated.
He spread his hands. “Another realm that is beneath.”
“Beneath what?”
“The earth.”
“How far beneath? Tartarus level?”
His yellow-green eyes widened. “No! He isn’t a Grigori.”
“But he lives beneath.”
“The Dagda lives in the Otherworld because he does not care for this one.”
“Why not?”
“Do you?”
Actually, I did care for it, very much. Otherwise I wouldn’t be risking my life, love and the pursuit of all my happiness to save it. But explain that to a gargoyle.
“How do we get there?”
“I know the way.”
I shot a glance at Jimmy. He still stared at the sky. “Summer didn’t.”
“She wouldn’t. Until we chose a side—good or evil—we resided in the Otherworld. Summer chose right away.”
“Wow, she’s a saint,” I muttered.
“She may become one if the forces of light triumph. If the forces of darkness rule”—he shook his head—“I wouldn’t want to be her.”
If the forces of darkness ruled, I wasn’t going to want to be me. Hell, no one on our side was going to want to be us anymore if the demons ruled the world.
Which meant we had to move forward. Jimmy had to become again a darkness that was equal to my own. Ruthie had said that was the only way we could fight the Grigori that had been released and were even now repopulating the earth with a legion—that cursed word again—of Nephilim. We had to be as badass as they were.
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