by Liz Meldon
An empty street greeted her—not a car, bus, or student in either direction. A quick check of her phone showed nothing from Ella or Severus, and Moira finally stopped her aimless pacing, leaning against a fat, heavily graffitied campus security post—press the big red button if being attacked!—and frowned.
Should she be concerned that neither were responding to her?
“Excuse me?”
Moira looked up sharply at the figure standing in front of her. Dressed in a salmon-pink collared tee and jeans far lighter than hers—ugh, and very white shoes—the guy was the physical manifestation of every douchebag who partied in the frat house across the street from hers in the suburbs.
“D’you know where Morrisey house is?”
Typical. It made sense that a guy who looked like that, with a six-pack of beer in one hand, was headed directly for said noisy frat.
“Uh, yeah.” Moira pushed off the security pole, strolling toward him and pointing back toward the FHU campus core. Something hummed in her ear, and she swatted at it distractedly—were the mosquitos out already? Wasn’t it still spring? “You’re just on the wrong side of campus. You can cut across the Hills, then through the pass between the biology building and the greenhouses. It’s like four streets over from there. You can’t miss it.”
Especially if those assholes were having a party. The whole place would be lit up like Christmas, lights strung along the balconies and porch railings. Kegs delivered the day of. Police arriving by 2 AM, right on schedule. They always invited Moira and her roommates to join them, but thus far no one had ever taken them up on the offer—excluding the one time last September that Moira and Ella’d had to drag a belligerently drunk Lee away from the party house, but that had only been because she thought the frat house was their house and she just wanted to go to bed.
“Oh, shit, really?” Frat Boy Junior, young enough to maybe be a year out of high school, scratched at the back of his neck. “Damn. Okay.”
“Okay.” Moira looked down at her phone again. Nothing. Where the hell—
A startled cry caught in her throat when the guy backhanded her—hard.
Demon hard.
Moira staggered into the pole, her phone clattering onto the sidewalk at the same time the six-pack of rattling beer bottles did, forgotten. Her hands warmed as they shot up defensively, Frat Boy Junior closing in with black eyes and a horrible smile.
“Lights out, half-breed,” he sneered, moving faster than she anticipated. He skirted her outstretched hands and pressed a wet, scentless rag to her face. She lashed out at him, trying to duck out of reach, but found her movements instantly sluggish. Her mind slowed. Her hands cooled. Her knees buckled.
And as she felt his arm coil around her, darkness clouding her vision, the last thing Moira heard before she lost consciousness was the sound of tires screeching across pavement—headed straight for her.
“Sir, a moment of your time?”
“What, Thompson?”
Severus smirked at the sharpness of Alaric’s tone. Just about every demon present was on edge now that the auction was over an hour behind schedule, and having his vampire babysitter loitering outside, constantly checking in on them, had been driving Alaric up the wall.
Generally, Alaric’s watchers kept their distance, but only because Alaric’s nights mostly consisted of bartending at the Inferno. No risk there, not with his father working one floor above. Any demon who tried to hurt, maim, or kidnap his roommate would be on a suicide mission. However, when Verrier had learned they’d be attending this auction, it had taken all of two seconds for him to insist they bring Thompson with them. Severus wasn’t a fan of the bloodsucker either, but he had learned to tune him out a long time ago—the same with all of Verrier’s babysitters. As far as Severus was concerned, they were nothing more than the hired help. Flies on the wall. Insignificant and easily replaceable.
Alaric rolled his eyes and stepped into the hall, leaving Severus all by his lonesome in a small room stuffed full of demons representing the three demon mob families of Farrow’s Hollow. The number of mob families had fluctuated through the decades, but there were currently five key players running the city’s dingy underworld. Five groups who sometimes played nicely together, but usually did not.
At the moment, there was Verrier’s posse in the legitimate private sector, usually there to quash larger conflicts before an angel was forced to step in; Diriel’s ragtag band of thugs, whose sole purpose in life was to party like it was their last night on Earth; and finally, the three mob families, each specializing in either the sex, drug, or weapons industry. Most of the Farrow’s Hollow demons fit within one of those groups—being alone was oftentimes worse. Severus would know.
It was Alaric’s contacts who had rooted out the auction’s time and location, and while Severus had been disgusted at first to be stuck in this small space, nothing more than an empty stockroom at the back of a demon-run clothing boutique, he was now getting a kick out of the fact that the auction had fallen on its face before it even started.
The mobsters were all eager, of course, whispering and gossiping with one another about Farrow’s Hollow’s only human-angel hybrid. Everyone had had to sign a treaty, blood signatures only, at the front of the room that stated all would honour the outcome of the auction. Whoever won Moira tonight had first dibs on acquiring her. Alaric had his black card ready to go, and had even signed his father’s name just for some additional security. The rest of the black-suited, low-jean-wearing cretins hadn’t said a single word to Severus since he’d arrived, and only a few dared ask Alaric why his father was so interested in a hybrid. Naturally, they had received no response—only a withering glare that would make Verrier proud. The questions stopped shortly after that.
Sighing, Severus retrieved his phone from the deep pocket of his black trench. An hour and five minutes late—and still no signal. With a clenched jaw, he lifted the phone, moving it about, hoping to see the bars fluctuate at least a little. Nothing. He scowled. One of the families had probably used their witch to block reception to the building tonight.
It was quite hush-hush, this auction. All the proceeds were to be held in a trust at the lone demon-run bank in the core of the business district. Once the winner claimed Moira for himself, the funds would be transferred to the communal fund used to pay off the city’s human authority figures. No one liked groveling, but the cooperation of some key players was essential to ensure demon comings and goings went on unnoticed by the general public.
The mass hysteria of humans learning demons walked among them… It would be a mess. A mess most demons would relish, mind you, but it would certainly make things more taxing on those who just wanted to assimilate.
“Sev?” Alaric’s face appeared in his peripheral view so suddenly that he jumped.
“Something wrong?”
“We need to go.”
Without questioning it, Severus slipped out the propped-open stockroom door, then followed Alaric down the dingy back corridors, not speaking again until they were out the fire exit. Thompson had picked them up from the Inferno, changing from Alaric’s flashier vehicle to something a little more low-key—as low-key as a burly black Lincoln Navigator could be, the enormous SUV taking up nearly the entire width of the alleyway they’d parked in.
“What is it?” Severus demanded now that they were out of earshot. His first thought was Moira, but Alaric would have been in more of a panic had that been the case, surely.
“Chatter says angels are breaking up the party in about two minutes,” Thompson remarked, a black earpiece with a wire trailing down under his suit giving him quite the federal-agent vibe. All he needed was a pair of sunglasses and he’d be set.
Lean, pushing six-and-a-half feet, with skin whiter than freshly fallen snow, the vampire had been Alaric’s nighttime watcher for about seven years. Given the fact Verrier hadn’t seen to replace him, he must be damn good at his job—and that meant angels were, in fact, headed this way.
But Thompson was already standing at the back door of the SUV, gesturing for them to get moving—stiff and expressionless as ever.
Alaric, however, hung back, hands in his pockets. “You want to wait around and see? Thompson’s sources are usually pretty on point.”
Did he want to sit tight and wait for an angel to gate-crash? Not really, but the idea that someone had leaked the intel just to get Severus and Alaric out, knowing they had been spotted with Moira, made the inner demon anxious. The beast had prowled to and fro all day in anticipation of tonight, stalking the breadth of its cage—demanding to be set free. Severus couldn’t risk it. Even if he had been bolstering his strength with daily client visits, plus touching any human he could in the meantime, he’d be outmanned at the auction—outmanned by demons whose brute strength didn’t rely on humans. No, the inner demon could gnash its teeth and stay put.
“It might be a trick,” he said after a moment’s consideration, his voice low—though he knew Thompson’s sensitive vamp ears would hear every word anyway. “You know, to get us out of the way?”
“Yes, but…” Alaric fell silent when Severus distractedly pressed a finger to his downturned lips. A high-pitched whine, like the sound of an incoming bomb strike, grew louder and louder with each passing second. A quick look to Thompson showed that the vampire heard it too, and in an instant he was by Alaric’s side, making the hybrid jump and curse under his breath.
“We need to move—”
Whatever was falling collided with the top of the building, everything from the walls, the bricks, straight down to the foundation rattling on impact. It all happened so fast—the crashing of a lead weight between the floors, windows noisily bursting on the street side and the odd two at the back shattering into the alley. Severus yanked Alaric aside to avoid the fallout, only to stagger back as a blinding white flash of light radiated throughout the building. Short-lived screams from the demons inside assaulted his ears.
“Sir, we must—”
The fire exit door, purposefully weighted like a dying star to keep humans out, flung open, the angelic light bathing the alley. All three cried out, Severus falling to his knees and curling into a ball to shield his face—and Alaric crawling on top of him like a hybrid shield. The holy light seared whatever bits of skin it touched, and Severus gritted his teeth through the agonizing pain. Had Alaric’s body not been covering him, he’d be a blistered nothing.
Just as swiftly as it arrived, the light vanished—someone had turned off the juice. As darkness cloaked the alley once more, Severus pushed Alaric off him and flopped onto his back, gasping and writhing. What skin had met the angel’s light bubbled in a manner akin to a human’s third-degree burn. His body would heal, even if it took a little longer on Earth than in Hell—and hurt a whole lot more.
“Are you all right?” Alaric whispered, crawling back to his side, that bright green stare sweeping up and down his body. “Did it get you?”
“We should have just gone,” he muttered. The largest knuckle on every one of his fingers was a scorched, bubbling disaster. The skin around it had also reddened, but nothing worse than a severe sunburn. Severus would survive. The demons inside wouldn’t be quite as fortunate. “You good?”
“Fine,” Alaric insisted as he helped Severus sit up. “It did sting a bit, though.”
“Well, look at you.” He patted his friend’s shoulder, the movement searing across his damaged skin. “Seems like you’re growing into your demon skin yet.”
“Doesn’t seem like a benefit in these circumstances.” The strain of lifting him flashed across Alaric’s face as he hauled Severus to his feet.
“No, I’m afraid not. Better hang on to that h-humanity until all this is settled.” Over his friend’s shoulder, Severus spied what was left of his vampiric babysitter. “Didn’t do Thompson much good either.”
Alaric whirled around. “Fuck. Father’s going to be so annoyed.”
Touched by the angel’s light, the vampire had become nothing but a pile of black ash—truly dead at last. He had to hand it to the guy; at least he’d stayed behind in a foolish attempt to protect his charge. Severus would never speak ill of him again.
“He really hates interviewing new handlers,” Alaric continued as they shuffled toward the SUV.
“What about—” Severus gritted his teeth when his hand closed around the passenger-side door handle and one of the blisters burst. Acidic puss oozed between his fingers, and he wiped it off on his pants—only to burst two more in the process. Breathing deeply, evenly, he wrenched the door open and climbed inside as the engine roared to life. He didn’t bother with the seatbelt like Alaric, and instead stared straight ahead, his entire body quivering as he tried to ignore the agony coursing through him. “What about K-Kingsley? He’s been gunning for Thompson’s post for,” he swallowed hard, eyes clenched briefly, “years.”
“Yeah, I’ll put a recommendation in. Kingsley’s just a real boring old sod, you know? Dresses like it’s still 1896, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile,” Alaric muttered, and the SUV jerked backward when he slammed his foot on the gas. Hightailing it down the vacant alley in reverse, he handled the enormous vehicle with an impressive amount of finesse.
“Yeah, b-because Thompson was such a hoot,” Severus fired back, his smile dropping as soon as he saw that fire exit door burst open again. Before he could catch a glimpse of the creature responsible, Alaric slammed on the brakes, kicked the SUV into drive, and made a sharp turn into an alley between two buildings that would take them onto the street. He lost the passenger-side mirror for his effort, and Severus watched the rearview until they were back on Flemming Street—expecting to see an assailant at their heels. Nothing.
Instead, they were greeted by the wail of sirens and the stunning flash of red and blue lights; fire, ambulance, and police vehicles were already hurtling down the street toward the scene, the boutique on fire and glass everywhere. Alaric pulled over to let the brigade pass.
“What a mess,” he said with a shake of his head. Both he and Severus turned back to watch the rescue efforts unfold through the SUV’s tinted back window.
“They got here fast,” Severus noted thickly. While demons paid off their fair share of human officials, he figured angels had their hands in many of the do-gooders’ pockets too. Fire and ambulance were a given, though he had always thought the police force could go either way. “Probably tipped off that they’d be needed for cleanup.”
“Gotta look like an accident,” Alaric agreed as he slowly rejoined the stagnant flow of traffic. Across the street from the boutique, a crowd had already started to gather, many with their phones out to film the aftermath. “Do you think anyone survived?”
“Not at the auction. I know there are human apartments above. They’ll be untouched…by the angels, anyway. The fire is a different story.”
Fire wasn’t supernatural. The angel responsible for that light wouldn’t do much to stop it—hence the call to the fire department. Additional emergency response teams raced by them on their way back to the Inferno, but when Alaric bypassed the nightclub completely, Severus nodded in its general direction with a grimace.
“Don’t you want your car?”
“I’ll drop you off first,” his friend insisted, making a U-turn on the relatively empty street and parking in front of their building. “I’m sure Moira’s annoyed that we’re not back yet. Start the movie without me. I need to tell Father what happened tonight.”
In no mood to argue, Severus offered a curt nod before all but falling out of the vehicle. As he was closing the door, Alaric’s phone went off, its ringtone muffled once the door shut.
Severus wasn’t sure what prompted him to check his phone. The inner demon was eager to get back indoors, desperate to rub up against Moira so she could coddle him through his injuries. The redness in his skin had already started to fade, but the blisters still screamed as he
retrieved his phone. Service at last—and a voicemail from Moira.
Severus stared down at the screen for a moment, his physical aches fading to background noise—anxiety swiftly taking their place. He tapped his knuckles on the window as he dialed into his inbox, motioning for Alaric to wait a moment, then brought the phone to his ear.
“One new message, I know, I know,” he hissed at the automated voice recording. He never had messages. No one but Alaric ever communicated with his personal phone—work phone was a different story, of course. As he tapped around to open the first unheard message, his concern spiked, a flood of adrenaline pounding through his limbs—and only made worse by Moira’s message.
“Hi. So. It’s me. Don’t be mad, but I’m on campus because I needed to drop off these essays with my prof. So far, so good. No black-eyed creatures following me—”
“Fucking woman,” Severus growled, throwing himself at the front door. He called for her as soon as he got inside—but first addressed the smoking tenderloin in the oven. He yanked it out without oven mitts, hands fried enough that he didn’t care about the additional burns, and then raced through the building, shouting her name.
By the time he reached his floor, he sounded frantic even to his own ears. “Fuck.”
The building was empty. Not a pretty little hybrid in sight. Severus slammed his fist against his bathroom mirror, hissing as the shattered bits sliced into his hand. The pain didn’t matter—and it couldn’t compare to the anger the inner demon expelled, burning him from the inside out.
He had to find her. Nowhere in Farrow’s Hollow was safe for her—hadn’t he drilled that into her thick fucking skull enough this week?!
How had she managed to get out? He’d asked Cordelia to enchant the front door before she went to Hell last week, and his cousin provided a talisman to lock it completely from the outside whenever he needed.