by A
I’ll do my best.
―Five minutes. Take your positions.‖ The commander‘s voice cut through the confusion like a
razor. King Dahlmar rose from his seat at the table where a group of us had settled in to wait,
moving to take up a position in the center of the group. Creede rose next and reached his hand
down to me. Normally I wouldn‘t need the help, but I really did feel like I‘d been hit by a
truck. Whatever Matty had done hadn‘t killed me, yay. But it had done me some damage.
What remained to be seen was whether or not it was worth it.
―I‘m coming with you,‖ Matty said in a tone that brooked no argument. ―You need me in
case she summons that demon.‖
Creede looked at King Dahlmar, who gave a curt nod. Matty had blessed each and every
person in our group. Those who weren‘t Christian weren‘t really sure what to think about the
man in black with the cross, but a holy man is a holy man in pretty much every religion. It also
surprised me that Matty was able to switch between languages easily and that the prayer he
offered was slightly different for each person.
Creede stood directly in front of the king, Matty and I immediately behind Dahlmar; the four
of us and Adriana were surrounded by a thick ring of soldiers. I felt my stomach tighten with
nerves as a deep voice in the far corner began to count down from ten. At ―one‖ I felt the
familiar lurch, as if the world were moving sideways. I barely heard the word “now” and we
were there.
23
It‘s one thing to see a plan play out in a clairvoyant‘s bowl. It is another to have it happen in
real life. I‘d half-expected Okalani to run into a magical shield like the one we‘d erected earlier
around the conference room. Whether Kristoff was too arrogant, didn‘t have mages with
enough oompf, or there were too many people going in and out of the room, he hadn‘t
bothered.
We materialized into absolute chaos. The press conference was being held in a large room,
but the space was crammed with press and equipment. The only clear spots were a small area
in front of the stage and another small space between the table where Kristoff sat behind the
microphone and his uniformed men stood guard.
We appeared in front of the stage, weapons at the ready. Okalani disappeared immediately
and the mages who‘d replaced those injured by the demon attack raised a barrier, sealing the
room.
There were screams and the flashing of cameras. Kristoff‘s guards went for their guns and
curses—and froze in place when King Dahlmar stepped into view.
Kristoff staggered to his feet so abruptly that the chair clattered to the floor behind him. He
didn‘t realize the mike was live when he gasped, ―No. You‘re dead,‖ in a tone of unmistakable
horror that made it absolutely clear just how unhappy he was that his father had made it home.
Kristoff reached inside his jacket, probably for a weapon, only to be knocked to the ground and
subdued by one of his own guards—a man loyal to the rightful ruler of the country.
In all the confusion, I shouldn‘t have been able to hear Matty‘s horrified gasp: “Irene?
Emma?”
I turned and stared at the familiar faces that Matty was addressing . . . Eirene? Eirene, Irene,
Ren. How stupid could I be?
Her perfect features were twisted in rage. Emma screamed in shock and outrage as Eirene
grabbed her from behind and wrapped an arm around her throat. Emma kicked and struggled,
scratching at the siren‘s arm, but Eirene had preter-natural strength and knew what she was
doing. She‘d cut off enough of her captive‘s oxygen that Emma couldn‘t fight for long before
she passed out from lack of oxygen. Still using Emma‘s limp body as a shield, Eirene pulled a
small ceramic disk from her pocket. ―You will let me go, now. Or I will summon the demon to
destroy you all.‖
Kristoff reached out a hand toward her, panic etched on his face. ―Irene . . . beloved, wait!
Take me with you!‖ Great, just great. The prince struggled against the guards holding him, but
they shoved his face to the floor with considerable force. When the guard jammed the barrel of
his 9mm against the prince‘s temple, Kristoff stilled.
―Tell them, Celia. They do not believe me, but they should. I will loose the demon.‖ She
smiled and it sent chills down my spine. God help us, a part of her wanted to do it. She‘d used
the demonic too often. The demon was gaining the upper hand. She thought she controlled
him, but she was a fool. I could see it in her eyes.
―Let Emma go and I‘ll tell them to let you leave.‖
She laughed, just like I expected her to. But hey, nothing ventured— ―You don‘t get to give
me orders, Celia. No one is ever going to give me orders again. Adriana may be satisfied with
the scraps of power the others are willing to throw her. I am not.‖
Matty struggled against the guards on our side to reach her. He still believed he could talk
sense into her. I was sorry for that. Knowing that she was tainted by a demon, that she‘d been
in the DeLuca home, in the heart of their family—that was going to haunt him. ―Irene . . . think
of the baby. You have to give yourself up. We can help you.‖
That‘s when it really struck home with me that Bruno had lain with this . . . creature. He‘d
dated her, made love to her, and given her a child. Had he just been bewitched by a siren‘s
charms, or was it a much deeper, demonic issue? That thought scared the crap out of me.
―Baby?‖ She sneered and there was an unpleasant edge of hysteria to it. ―Ah, you mean the
lie I told your fool of a brother.‖ She turned to me. ―There was no baby. I merely convinced
the doctor to tell him that. But you—‖ She pointed at me with a long finger that was starting to
blacken from her constant brush with the demonic. ―You didn’t break. I took your man from
you. That should drive a true siren insane. But it didn‘t. You weren‘t destroyed. Not by that,
not by the curse, not even when we killed your prophet. You were supposed to break,
supposed to die. ‖
At last I knew who was behind Vicki‘s death. That she‘d remained in ghost form after we
jailed the doctor said something was wrong. I was both relieved that she could finally have
peace and heartsick that she‘d been killed just to hurt me. She deserved so much better.
A man‘s voice came from behind me. ―You‘ll never get away with this.‖ It was a cliché, of
course, but somebody had to say it. I suppose Creede was as good a choice as anyone else.
―Give up while you can.‖
―I don‘t think so.‖ She turned to Dahlmar. ―Order your people to drop the barrier. Let me
leave, or die with the rest.‖
He stared at her and for a moment I thought he‘d take his chances, such hate blazed in his
eyes. She‘d cost him both his sons, nearly cost him his throne. I was sure he‘d have his men
shoot her through Emma‘s unconscious body.
I was right. At a gesture they opened fire and hit—nothing. Over and over again. The press
were screaming and stampeding each other trying to find cover where there was none. Bullet
holes riddled the wall behind where Eirene stood, but there was no blood. None at all.
―Cease fire!‖ I bellowed, trying to be heard over the deafening sound of too much gunf
ire in
a confined space. ―You‘re wasting your ammo. She‘s phasing in and out too fast.‖ It was a
smart move and not something I‘d have guessed she could do. But it made sense. She might
not be able to move out of the room, but she could teleport a fraction of an inch within the
room and be dematerialized 99 percent of the time, giving them nothing to hit.
―Cease fire,‖ King Dahlmar repeated, and the guns fell silent.
Eirene held the ceramic disk in front of Emma‘s face where we could all see it. ―No more of
this. I leave. Now.‖
Dahlmar‘s voice was cold, hard. But he gave the order she wanted: ―Let her go.‖
The world lurched and they vanished. Eirene and the demon had Emma.
Oh, shit.
24
―Is this another one of Dahlmar‘s plans?‖ It was late evening and I was sitting in a cheap motel
room. There wasn‘t much space, the whole place was probably only twelve-by-twelve, with
most of the room taken up by a double bed. There was a dresser and a battered old television, a
mini-fridge, a microwave, and one of those small prefab laminate tables, its surface pocked
with cigarette scars. Helen Baker had set up a scrying bowl in the center of the table and was
trying to sooth my frazzled nerves by showing me what was going on.
It wasn‘t helping. I was in a foul mood and trying not to take it out on anyone. Of course the
only person I could take it out on right now was Baker, and she wasn‘t exactly the type to put
up with it.
I looked up from the scrying bowl to the woman using it. Baker might not be as powerful a
clairvoyant as her mother but had enough talent for this. She also had the added advantage of
being able to do double duty and serve as a guard.
―King Dahlmar may have been involved in the planning, I‘m not sure.‖ She gave me a
puzzled look.
―It just sounds like one of his plans.‖ I drained the last of my packaged shake and tossed the
empty can into the trash. I knew I should stop grumbling, but I couldn‘t seem to help myself. A
big part of it was that the plan had been foisted on me. I hadn‘t been part of the process. I‘d
just been told what to do. I don‘t obey orders well. But the people in charge of this operation
were all heavy hitters and I owed more than one of them my freedom and/or my life. So I went
along . . . grudgingly. It didn‘t help that I thought it was damned cruel, allowing most of my
friends and family to believe I was dead—to the point of actually holding the visitation and
funeral. Only a very choice few were privy to the truth: King Dahlmar, Matty, Bruno, Kevin,
Creede, Queen Lopaka and a couple of her people, and my grandmother. Too many, really. If
you want to keep a secret a secret, you don‘t tell anyone.
―They couldn‘t have at least picked a high-end hotel for this?‖
Baker laughed. ―High-end hotels have security cameras and staff that actually pay attention
to the comings and goings. Our people wouldn‘t be able to stand guard unnoticed.‖
True enough. But still. I couldn‘t help but look at the grubby carpeting again, not really
wanting to walk across it in shoes, much less barefoot.
I turned my attention back to the scene playing out in the bowl. I‘d been afraid Gran
wouldn‘t be able to pull off the whole mourning thing, but I could see she was acting up a
storm. Maybe she‘d missed her true calling in life.
―You did actually die, you know. During the exorcism.‖ Baker sounded impressed. I was
guessing it was because of the exorcism, not the death. Being in the military, she‘d probably
seen plenty of the latter. Then again, the sirens aren‘t exactly a military superpower, so maybe
not.
―So they tell me.‖ King Dahlmar and Matty had arranged for me to have an exorcism right
at the scene. A little unusual, but Creede‘s spell had actually held the demon away from me
and they were afraid if they waited, the demon would be able to zero in again. I‘d gone along
because I wanted the demon mark off of me. If we were going after Eirene to rescue Emma,
none of us could afford for me to have that kind of a weakness. First, Matty had cleansed the
room, moving in smaller and smaller circles until only Creede and I were left. The closer
Matty got, the worse I started to feel and the more Creede had to drain his own energy to keep
the gate closed.
I didn‘t really remember the actual exorcism. I only remember Matty starting to chant in a
singsong voice and then hideous, intense pain engulfed me for what seemed like an eternity.
The pain was followed by . . . nothing. Light, air, and absolute quiet. I remember standing with
Ivy and Vicki and that they wouldn‘t let me step past them. I vaguely remember Vicki pushing
me down a long flight of stairs . . . and then there was pain again as apparently my soul rushed
back into my body.
When I first woke, I‘d been incredibly angry with Vicki. More than I had ever been before.
Later, I realized what had happened and I was grateful. In what was very likely her last act on
this plane of existence she‘d saved me one last time.
I shuddered, my hand automatically reaching to touch the scars from where the demon had
clawed me. Weird, that. Before the exorcism there hadn‘t been scars—just an invisible mark
that had served as a psychic tie he could follow to find me anywhere. The full rite had cut that
tie. Thank God there was a medic ready with the heart machine. It wasn‘t until after they
revived me that the scars had appeared. I only wish I were confident that the demon mark was
gone. But I didn‘t think it would be until Eirene was dead.
I watched the image of Dottie moving slowly up the aisle with her walker. Her expression
was solemn, not sad precisely, more worried. I wondered then, if she knew. Clairvoyant that
she was, she might just have ―peeked.‖ It was something she‘d do. She looked up and I could
swear her eyes met mine, that she could see me watching.
―I just don‘t see the point,‖ I protested. ―What makes anyone think my dying is going to
bring Eirene out of the woodwork?‖
Baker explained it to me again, with only a hint of impatience. ―She is obsessed with you.
You ruined her plans. You have everything she wants. She will want to be sure you are dead.
And failing that, the demon possessing her wants you. He felt you die. But if he can search all
of the various planes of existence for you, he will not find you. And then he will wonder.‖
―That doesn‘t mean it‘ll draw them out.‖
―The bowl says otherwise. I‘ve seen it and so have all of the others.‖
I didn‘t say a word, just looked at her. She knew as well or better than I did that the future is
subject to change. And while the odds got better if more than one clairvoyant got the same
images, that didn‘t make it certain.
―Fine. Our profilers and those of the church agree that it is in the nature of this particular
demon to require it of her. It is most likely that he is the one in charge by now, whether Eirene
knows it or not.‖
That seemed likely. ―But it makes no sense. ‖
She threw up her hands in a gesture of irritated surrender. ―Celia, think about what you said.
She‘s insane. He‘s a demon. Of course it makes no sense to sane humans. Why would it?‖
Okay, fi
ne. I could concede that, but I still didn‘t like it. Something about the whole plan just
felt . . . wrong. I am more of a believer in planning than hunches—probably because I never
was psychic enough to get hunches. But I could understand now why people believe in them. I
was even more convinced something was wrong when the temperature in the room began to
plummet.
―Something‘s happening.‖ Could one of the ghosts have remained behind to see this
through? Whoever it was, was trying to get my attention.
―We‘ve got people surrounding the building. If something was wrong, one of them would
warn us.‖ Kevin was on guard, along with two more of Lopaka‘s people. Since he‘d been
missing since shortly after Vicki‘s death, no one would expect him to make it to my funeral.
As a werewolf with a background in black ops, he was a good choice for a guard. Plus he‘d
insisted.
After all, Emma was his sister.
Considering his skill set and metaphysical power, I should‘ve felt safe. Instead, I felt
trapped.
Baker gave me a look. Whatever she saw in my face made her uneasy. She extinguished the
scene playing out in the bowl, reached for her gun, and switched off the safety. I did the same
thing with my gun, then patted my pockets, making sure everything else I packed was in place.
There was a tap on the door and a familiar voice whispered, ―It‘s Kevin. We have a change
of plan.‖
Uh . . . a change of plan? I don’t think so. I pulled my One Shot left-handed. The little gun
of holy water didn‘t require the strength or accuracy the handgun did. All I needed it was a
quick squirt to make sure Kevin was Kevin. Call me paranoid if you will, but it keeps me alive.
Baker started to position herself behind the door, but I shook my head. She was strong, but
she wasn‘t going to be strong enough to hold the door closed against whatever might be
impersonating Kevin. Hell, I wasn‘t positive I was strong enough, but I had a better shot at it.
So I passed her the squirt gun and got in position.
―We need to verify you‘re who you say you are,‖ I said calmly. I wasn‘t feeling calm. It was
turning into an icebox in here and several small objects were starting to levitate.
―Damn it, Celia, we don‘t have time—‖