Captive Heart (25 page)

Mother Keara’s face puckered. “They do, but damned if they’ll be givin’ us any easy answers. Queen Gwynneth lay ill, but she received us long enough to say her warriors are off searchin’ for what rightly belongs at the Unseelie Court.”

“That’s cryptic,” Jack muttered, wishing he’d had a chance to interrogate the faerie queen, or whatever the hell she was.

Mother Keara folded her arms and gave off even more smoke, along with a few stray flames. “The Host seem to be believin’ things were unfairly stolen from their kingdom. Queen Gwynneth wouldn’t let on what those things might be.”

“They can’t have their own children, right?” Andy’s frown deepened. “Camille said they used to steal humans to mate with—people they thought nobody would miss.”

“Aye, but the treaties we forged centuries ago put a stop to that,” Mother Keara said. “We don’t keep watch on the Host, and they let humans be unless the humans go willingly to the Unseelie Court and ask to be admitted.”

Her tone suggested only an idiot would make a move like that. Jack tried to take in that explanation, and got stuck on one point. “If one of your Mothers got injured just knocking on their door, so to speak, what are the odds any human would survive that experience?”

“Slim to none, unless the Host happened to be in a grand and charitable mood.” Mother Keara’s smile probably would have terrified small children.

“Do the Sluagh think we—the Sibyls or the OCU—know where their stolen objects might be?” Andy asked. “Do they think we have them?”

“No. We got that much out of the old hag.” Mother Keara’s scary smile shifted to a glare. “What they’re about has nothing to do with us—at least not at this time. By treaty, if the Host has issues with the Sisterhood, they’ll be bringin’ those issues to us at Motherhouse Ireland first. We’ll hear them out and set plans for resolvin’ the problem.”

“So we just ignore them.” Jack didn’t much like that solution. It seemed too passive and risky. “Even when they’re operating in our own backyard.” He gestured to the brownstone’s front window. “Or the park right across the street from our front door.”

“Until they give you reason to do otherwise, yes.” The old woman’s green eyes got impossibly brighter as she glared at him. “Do
not
engage them. Not for any reason. These aren’t simperin’ demons, man. The Host have abilities that rival our own, and they drink elemental energy like humans breathe air. I wouldn’t advise gettin’ within a league of any of them.”

Jack’s mind shifted to the next difficulty. “What do they look like? If I’m going to put out a general order for the OCU to avoid contact even if these creatures are sighted, how do I describe them?”

Mother Keara gave this a moment’s thought before coming up with, “Much like Astaroth demons, only with darker skin and hair and eyes. They have only one set of wings, thicker and more powerful, but they retract. In human form, they’re tall, dark-haired, and muscled—and quiet. They only move at night, and you’ll not be noticin’ them unless they choose for you to do so.”

Jack nodded. Not much to go on, but enough to give patrol officers a hint about what to avoid.

Andy didn’t seem satisfied. “What about all the dead leaves and grass and animals? Usually when creatures create a die-off, they’re not peaceful.”

Mother Keara gave a sharp laugh. “I never said the Host were peaceful. But what you’re callin’ a die-off, that’s a natural consequence of touchin’ one of the Host. Weaker life forces get drained right away. They don’t do it on purpose, and the stronger among them can control that effect for a time. In the end, though, living things around the Host tend to become dead things.”

She focused her attention completely on Andy. “The Host may be formidable and dark, but they’ve proven honorable over the years. They’ll be keepin’ their part of the treaty if we keep ours. Spread the word to the city’s Sibyls, if you will.”

Andy agreed, and Mother Keara moved back to the center of the table. She turned a single circle, then a second, surprising Jack with her spryness as she did the dance most fire Sibyls had to do to grind open the ancient channels. It didn’t take her very long, maybe half the time it took Cynda at the townhouse—and other fire Sibyls took even longer.

Wind chimes started to ring. The projective mirror on the wall brightened, and a few steps later, Mother Keara walked right off the table and seemingly into thin air. Jack had that skin-tightening sensation again, then watched in the mirror as Mother Keara walked across the communications platform back into Motherhouse Ireland. The smoke in the mirror swirled behind her, obscuring her tiny form, and then the mirror went dark.

“First time I saw that, it bent my brain for days,” Andy murmured, staring at the sleek black glass.

“I can imagine.” Jack tugged Andy’s wrist and turned her to face him. “You came to all this even later in life than I did. You’ve had to get used to a lot that would drive most people insane.”

Andy stared into his eyes as he bent to kiss her.

“If you start that,” she whispered, “I really might lose my mind.”

“In a good way?” He kissed her, and she melted into him, deepening the embrace. Jack liked how her loose shirts left plenty of room for his hands to find bare skin and roam. He really liked the soft moans she made when he ran his fingers along the small of her back, and—

The chimes over the front door gave a loud jangle.

Jack groaned and broke the kiss. “Tell me that’s your energy.”

“Not mine. Sorry.” Andy pushed back from him and straightened her clothes as voices rose outside and got louder.

Jack ached to take Andy back into his arms, but the front door burst open and Bela came in talking to Camille. Loudly. “No. No fucking way—no projective energy. I’m positive the Coven’s been busy refining their traps. They’ve probably dropped false leads and clues all over the city just hoping to snare us.”

Both women were dressed in jeans and T-shirts instead of battle leathers, but that did nothing to soften their severe expressions.

“I don’t like being helpless.” Camille flexed her fingers like she wanted to get hold of her scimitar. “And I’m sick of looking night after night and finding nothing. We’ve done this before, the entire time we’ve been dealing with the Rakshasa. Poke and hunt, poke and hunt—and we got nothing until we used our projective talents.”

Dio brought up the rear, dressed like a fashion model in her straight skirt and form-fitting blouse. Wind swirled through the house as she entered. “It pisses me off, too. There’s got to be something we can do to find the Coven before they make this mess any worse.” When she spotted Andy and Jack, she said, “We’ve got more dead people. Some of the Giotto crew shot it out with a few Bellagia family men in a convenience store in the Bronx. Three assholes down—and the store owner, too.”

“Damn it.” Jack glared at the ceiling for a second to calm himself, and he felt his face going red at the edges. “I knew this would start happening if we couldn’t move on the Coven.”

Andy looked like she might get sick all over the floor, but she pulled herself together pretty fast. “Nobody knows who started the killing, so every crime family in New York City is freaking the fuck out. A lot of people are going to die. Camille, can you figure out some new way for us to throw projective energy in the Coven’s direction so we can at least
look
for the bastards? Something they won’t recognize or expect?”

Camille didn’t answer right away because she was busy sniffing the air in the brownstone. “Who’s been here? The whole place smells like really old fire Sibyl.”

“Mother Keara brought us a message.” Andy pointed to the chairs, and as her fighting group took seats around the communications platform, she relayed what she and Jack had learned about the Host.

When Andy finished and sat on the couch beside Jack, Camille said, “I don’t like it. The Host are too dangerous for us to just let them wander around town unchecked. What if they accidentally touch a human child—or even somebody’s dog? Knowing our luck, they’ll start killing mobsters, too, and we’ll have full-blown gang Armageddon in the streets.”

Dio lounged back in her chair, her expression showing only mild concern. “If the Host really do honor their treaty like Mother Keara said, that won’t happen. And if they’re anything like the Keres, they mean what they say, and they never break their word.”

“I don’t like it, either,” Bela said, “but it seems like it’s a risk we’ll have to take for now.”

Jack leaned forward. “Unless we figure out what they want and make sure they get it. I could put a few teams on researching that and ask the Astaroths to help, if you think that might make a difference.”

Everyone paused, and all eyes moved to Camille, since the Host had connections to the fire Sibyls—and because Camille tended to be the academic in their group. If anybody could spot a flaw in a plan, she could.

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” she said. “The Astaroths won’t be at risk for an energy drain, and Jake Lowell has taught his crew to be very diplomatic. Maybe they’ll make friends.”

Andy smiled brightly. “If they don’t start an interspecies war. Think you two could convince your husbands to pitch in? Bengals should be safe from the Host’s influence, too.”

Camille and Bela both agreed, but Camille’s attention had shifted to the photo lying on the couch next to Andy. She pointed at it. “Who is that?”

“Oh! I almost forgot.” Andy picked up the photo. “Everyone, meet Frank.”

“No shit.” Dio studied the picture and obviously recognized the man. “Ari Seneca himself. Damn, he must have been whacked to let somebody do that to him.”

“I wonder how much of his actual mind and essence stayed intact.” Bela took the photo from Andy. “With paranormal genetic experiments, it could go either way—but it would be good to figure that out. Might help us guess what he’ll do next.”

“Either his emotions are ruling everything, or his handlers have absolute control,” Andy said. “What I sensed from the remnants at the warehouse crime scene added up to betrayal and fury. I don’t think what’s left of Ari Seneca has any control left to him at all.”

“Even if we could get the word out on the streets that he’s behind the first bunch of killings, I’m not sure it’ll stop all the conflict.” Dio let off a frustrated burst of wind. “The other gangs wouldn’t be happy until they got him, and if they went after him, we’d just get more piles of body parts. Our best shot is to find weapons to bring him down—him and his supermobster friends.”

All eyes went back to Camille, and Jack asked the question. “You got anything new for us?”

“I’ve adjusted the elemental locks on our bullets and blades to make them more lethal to the supermobsters, at least the kind that attacked you and Andy in the alley.” Camille pointed toward the weapons closet under the stairs. “When we shoot, we need to use the new hollow-points I’ve treated, direct hit to the head or do a lot of damage on the extremities—tear away flesh until they’re down, then make the head shot. I think our blades will cut them now, so beheading’s an option, too.”

Jack wanted to believe it would be that simple, but he’d been dealing with demons and paranormal monsters way too long. “And if all of that doesn’t kill them?”

“My best guess is, we handle them like Rakshasa,” Camille said. “Elementally treated metal to the heart, beheading, and burning. I don’t think we have to scatter the ashes so completely, though. I don’t think they can reconstitute.”

Jack filed that away to share with the OCU as soon as they finished with this meeting, but another question kept nagging at the back of his mind. He eyed Camille, then Andy, not sure if he should ask it, but in the end, he had to know.

“Which one is it?” He realized he was clenching his fists and made himself relax.

Camille gave him a blank look like she had no idea what he was talking about, but Andy picked up on the question right away. “Which Eldest survived, Camille? I know Motherhouse Russia would have checked, and so would you.”

Flecks of red formed between Camille’s freckles. “Oh. That.” Her breath came out slowly, like she might be steadying herself. “We think it’s Tarek.”

Bela’s jaw locked. Tarek was the demon who’d infected and almost killed her husband—and one of Jack’s best friends.

Dio and Andy also looked thunderstruck. Dio’s dreams had new meanings now, even though Jack wasn’t mystic enough to figure them out.

His fists clenched all over again because he couldn’t believe any of the Eldest—least of all
that
bastard—had gotten out of Camille’s molten ore bath alive. “How?”

“No idea.” Camille looked as frustrated as Jack felt. “The Sibyls and the OCU worked the aqueduct in teams. Each demon kill got logged before the remains got scattered, and Tarek’s checked off as dead.”

“He must have gotten out before we moved in and started recording,” Bela said.

“Or somebody took him out, or helped him escape.” Andy seemed suddenly tense, and Jack knew she was running through a mental list of who could have pulled off something like that and lived through it.

Bela reached out and patted the arm of Dio’s leather chair. “Knowing that Tarek’s not dead, what do you make of your dream now? I mean, he doesn’t have to come back to life if he’s already here, right?”

Dio gave this some thought as eddies of wind stirred against the tile floor. “It still feels real to me, that he needs a ritual to regain his full strength.”

For a few moments, nobody said anything. Then Andy let out a sigh, and Jack knew he was in trouble. She was moving to decision mode, and he had a gut-level instinct that he wouldn’t like where that took them.

“We can’t wait for a Rakshasa Eldest to show up on our doorstep,” she said. “He could be busy making another army of half-breed Created to take us on, along with however many supermobsters he’s got at his disposal.”

Bela rubbed her face with both hands. “But we could look for a month and never find a hint. No matter what, I won’t agree to us using projective energy to hunt them. That’ll just get us killed.”

Andy’s expression conveyed her increasing worry and frustration. “Then we need to draw them out, like I’ve been saying. Get them to take a chance.”

“Yeah, right.” Dio crossed her legs at the ankles and tapped her fingers on the chair. “Just exactly how are we supposed to do that?”

“Dangle something they want right under their noses,” Andy suggested despite the look Jack gave her. “Me.”

As Andy’s fighting group sat silent, contemplating that little bit of insanity, Jack thought fast. “I think it makes more sense to pull the Sibyls and the OCU out of the center of the city. Go to your safe houses, and we’ll form grids and launch tactical sweeps. Hard target moves. Big show of force until we flush them out.”

Camille shook her head. “They could stay ahead of us by moving around and slipping in and out of places we’ve already searched.”

“We can hit the informants hard.” Jack pushed his fist into his palm. There had to be another way other than Andy’s plan. Had to be.

“If there are any informants who know anything,” Andy said, “which there won’t be, the Coven will just kill them when they realize you’re tightening screws.”

“If Tarek is behind all this, then he’ll want us to take a chance like this.” Dio glared at Andy, and Jack decided he liked Dio more than he realized. “It’s playing into his hands. He’ll draw us in and cut us down. Cut
you
down.”

To Jack’s great relief, Andy looked thoughtful instead of pissed off at Dio’s challenge. “I’m not sure it’s Tarek or Seneca’s people who have a grudge with me. It may be Griffen or one of his Coven. That makes more sense, and that’s where my instinct keeps going.”

“Does it matter?” Dio fired back, her gray eyes wide and angry. “Dead’s dead, no matter who kills you.”

Yeah, Jack liked Dio—and by the look of the expression on Bela’s face, he was about to like her a lot more, too.

“Andy, I don’t think we can risk you so deliberately and totally, not without the consent of the other Mothers,” Bela said. “It’s one thing to take chances on routine patrol, but this—well. You’re one of just a few water Sibyls in the world right now.”

“Elana can do what I do.” Andy folded her arms and glared at each one of her group, one at a time. “And even if she couldn’t, I’m not just a Mother, I’m a fighter, and in my heart I’m still a cop. The risks I take are my call, nobody else’s.”

Before Jack could even begin to find an argument for that assertion, Bela’s cool voice took over the room. “You might be a Mother, but this is my quad. I’m your mortar, and it’s
my
call, and I’m saying no. For now.” Her gaze shifted to Camille even though Andy was sputtering for a comeback. “Earlier, Dio had a point. We need a new way to use projective energy, or maybe some new elemental protections. Care to join me in the lab?”

“I’m game.” Camille was on her feet in a second, and so was Dio.

“Don’t look at me,” the air Sibyl said. “I’m not going near that stuffy underground dungeon. I’ll check with the Astaroths, if I can find one. Their archives are even better than the ones at Motherhouse Greece, and if there’s anything we haven’t found on projective talents and protections, they’re the ones who’ll have it.”

Andy sat, apparently speechless, as her fighting group dispersed without making eye contact with her. Dio jogged up the stairs without so much as a sideways glance, and Bela and Camille scuttled off through the kitchen, heading for the downstairs chamber that housed the lab.

Before the swinging door between the living room and the kitchen even stopped swinging, Andy got to her feet and glared down at Jack. “Did all of you work this out ahead of time? I’m not some rookie who needs coddling and protecting—I have special skills, and these Coven assholes seem to want me, personal-like. It’s crazy not to use that to our advantage.”

Crazy
. The word echoed through Jack’s mind as he held up both hands, palms out, hoping he looked clean and innocent and completely nonconspiratorial. He stood. Slowly. No point in riling Andy into a mini tidal wave that might smash the brownstone’s front window.

“You’re probably right,” he said.

“Damn straight I’m right.” She jabbed a finger against his chest even though he still had his hands raised in a peace gesture and he’d just agreed with her. “And don’t forget, you asked me back here because I’m a strategist, and a damned good one—so why do you keep arguing with what I propose?”

“Give them a little more time to find an alternative to hanging you out in the wind. Please? At least something to better our odds?”

Andy kept glaring, but at least she stopped poking him. Her palm flattened against his shirt, and he wondered if she was about to push him through the living room wall. She hissed out a breath through her teeth, and her red cheeks faded to a slightly less hectic shade of furious.