Demon Night (26 page)

“Yes,” Castleford agreed.

“And they managed to imprison the nephilim—though where or how, I have no idea,” Lilith said. “I've never seen any evidence of it—but there are many parts of Hell that were closed to me, or where I wouldn't have dared to venture.”

Ethan frowned. “Why imprison them rather than destroy them?”

Lilith shook her head. “Perhaps they couldn't—or, if that imprisonment included Punishment, Lucifer might have preferred they experience an eternity of torture.” Her brows drew together. “And the demon went on about a prophecy—in which the destruction of the nephilim would herald Lucifer's fall from the throne, Chaos breaking open on Earth, and the world saved by the sons of Belial—the standard doomsday bullshit that always looks best to those who believe it. So it might have been he didn't really know what happened to the nephilim, but just told me the version that flattered Belial.”

“If it's bullshit, then why do you even mention—”

Lilith answered before Ethan could finish. “Because if Belial's demons believe it, then they might act as if it's truth. And if this was one of the nephilim, Belial's demons will be doing anything they can to kill them.”

“It ain't going to be by fighting them,” Ethan said. “Sammael rabbited awful fast.”

“And you tried to run, too?” Castleford asked. There was no reprimand in the question, only curiosity.

“I would have if it had let me. Jake's the only reason I ain't in pieces at the bottom of Puget Sound. That, and after Jane Newcomb yelled at Sammael, the demon assisted me a bit.”

Both Lilith and Castleford sat back, their faces reflecting their surprise.

“Fuck me,” Lilith said. “Does he
love
her?”

“I reckon.” Ethan didn't know if that would make it all easier, or more difficult. “And it wasn't us that the nephil came after—not at first, leastwise. But once it got wind of Charlie, it sure was eager to get a kill. I figure it was what tortured that other vampire, as well.”

Castleford looked at Lilith. “Did the demon who told you the story mention anything about vampires?”

“No. I don't think vampires even existed then,” Lilith said, her voice dark. “And that adds another question: Is this nephil connected to the vampire massacres in Berlin, Rome, and D.C.?”

If it was, Ethan sure as hell wouldn't be leaving Charlie alone in Seattle. He made to turn toward the office door, but halted when Castleford's gaze narrowed on him, and the other man frowned thoughtfully.

“You're wondering about Sammael,” Ethan guessed, figuring Castleford must have read something in his tone when Ethan had been talking about the demon. When Castleford nodded, he explained, “He's the one who gave me the poison.”

Lilith sat up a little straighter, a line forming between her brows. “And your brother?” she asked.

“Sammael saw him hanged.” Ethan glanced down at his boots, then up at Castleford again. The other man was studying his expression and would know Ethan wasn't lying. “It won't get in the way of protecting her. I'll do the job.”

Castleford regarded him a moment longer. “All right,” he said finally.

Lilith's grin was back in place. “I suppose it doesn't hurt that ‘doing the job' means that you'll probably chop Sammael's head off.”

Just the thought of slaying the bastard had Ethan smiling with grim satisfaction. “That it doesn't,” he agreed.

 

Ethan found Jake in the tech room at the back of the warehouse. The light shining in from the single, small window high up on the wall glared on his computer screen, but Jake didn't look as if he was paying attention to it, anyway. He was sitting low in his seat, his hands tucked in his pockets.

Lilith hadn't been mistaken; Guardians did tend to beat up on themselves better than anyone else could.

“You got the video?”

Jake nodded without looking away from the computer.

“Pull it up,” Ethan said, and crossed the room to stand beside Jake's chair.

With a deep sigh, Jake hauled himself up and fiddled with the mouse until the video was playing.

Ethan let it run through. “There's two things you ought to have done different,” he said finally.

“Only two?” Jake's reply hung somewhere between sarcasm and surprise.

“You had to go out. If that had been Jane, and you'd watched a vampire get on her like that without doing anything, I'd be feeding your head to Sir Pup. And having Charlie assist you was a good idea, because with Jane's throat ripped up, there wouldn't be no way for her to get inside by herself.”

“But?”

“You ought to have had Charlie wait inside until you made certain it was Jane. You had to think quick once the vampire showed, and I reckon if you'd had another second, you'd have realized that. But you often don't have seconds, so you have to think quicker.”

Jake nodded. “How would I have communicated it to her through the spell?”

“Charlie's smart enough to figure that you taking off and running for your life was a damn good indication that it wasn't Jane. Have a bit of faith in the people you protect—they want to keep themselves safe just as bad as you do.”

A blush spread over the kid's cheeks. “Yes, sir. What's the second thing?”

Ethan called in a sword, laid it next to the computer. “It takes less than a second. Next time, you leave weapons for her. Give her something to defend herself with if it all goes to hell. It may be she won't have a chance to use them, but a little chance is better than none. A gun might have given her a second to get back into the house; a dagger might have let her get away once the vampire got hold of her.”

“All right.” Jake was silent for a moment, then he looked up at Ethan with a startled lift of his brows. “That's it?”

Ethan frowned. “You want me to lay my fists into you? I'm willing.”

“No. No, I just—” Jake shook his head. He turned back to the computer. “Charlie's debit card is showing a purchase at a 7-Eleven, and a pending charge at a motel in Woodland.”

“You see that she's reimbursed for that.” Ethan leaned down to look at the name of the motel, and nodded. “All right then. You got anything else in?”

“No, but I checked your inbox, and Savi sent you some preliminary info on Senator and Mark Brandt. She flagged one part—said she didn't know if it mattered, but Mark Brandt works for Senator Gerath.”

Ethan remembered the younger Brandt mentioning that, but it hadn't meant anything to him then, either. “Why the flag?”

“Because Gerath is on the closed-door senatorial committee that formed SI. The same committee that Rael, our friendly demon congressman, had to testify in front of before they approved funding.” Jake pulled up a document on-screen. “And look here: the elder Brandt was firmly against the research contract that Congressman Stafford—Rael—pushed through for Legion about six months ago, though Brandt supported a similar contract two years previous.”

Ethan read through the page, and remembered the senator's comment about Legion's money not being the kind he wanted. At the time, Ethan had thought it political bluster—but Brandt, Gerath, and the demon Rael all belonged to the same party.

With a narrowing of his eyes, Ethan said, “So maybe young Brandt has been breaking confidence as legal counsel to Gerath, telling his father about Special Investigations, what's going on here. And Senator Brandt maybe knows that Stafford is a demon, and—considering that he's connected to Legion—was against the contract to keep from funding demon activity.”

“That's my guess,” Jake said.

“So how does Jane Newcomb fit? What were they trying to accomplish by contacting her?”

“You don't think it was just the son looking up an old flame?”

“Oh, he was partial to her—but the father was pushing him, too. And the coincidence is just too damn big.” Ethan stepped back, shook his head again. The senator was trying to block Legion; normally, Ethan would have approved. But something just wasn't sitting right. “You forward this on to Castleford and Lilith, I'll ask her to feel out Rael about Brandt and Gerath.”

“Done. Are you heading back up to Seattle?” Jake slipped the question in above the clacking of the keys.

“Only to Woodland. I'll be stopping at the Gate, visiting Caelum first.” And getting himself as clear as he could; Charlie would be feeding from him later that night, and she'd be hungry. The bloodlust would hit hard—he didn't want to go to her without a few hours of drifting. “You're wondering if you're going back with me.”

“Yes.”

“No. Not today, leastwise,” he said when Jake's shoulders slumped. “I'll be bringing Charlie on down. So I'd be grateful if you could ready one of the rooms upstairs—I figure SI is the safest location until I can get her settled elsewhere.”

Ethan ignored Jake's wide-eyed stare. The rooms were small and utilitarian—more to give novices time alone than for living in. In some cases, however, they'd been used as temporary lodging for vampires who were visiting or undergoing training. “I've got her things,” Ethan added, “but maybe you could order flowers or something pretty to put in there.”

Jake turned back to the computer with a wide grin, and a moment later the screen filled with a webpage advertising flower delivery. “Right. A room for Jane, too?”

“If you want to order two bouquets, go on ahead. But I reckon it'll only be Charlie.”

Jake blinked up at him. “Why?”

“Because Sammael helped me when she told him to—and because she loves him almost as hard as she does Charlie. And Sammael is twisted in his thinking, but he ain't a fool—he knows what matters to her. I figure she'll convince herself that discovering a blood substitute will save her sister long before Sammael gets a chance to do the same—and she'll believe that Sammael will change for her.”

“You're serious.”

“Yes.” Ethan nodded slowly, heaviness settling in his chest as he thought of what Charlie's response might be. “I'd wager anything on it.”

Jake snorted. “That doesn't mean anything. You'd put money on a pair of deuces.”

“That's true enough.” Even if his odds were low, Ethan would lay down money and bluff his way through. “But I wouldn't put one cent on Jane not returning to Seattle within a day or two.”

Charlie woke with a scream paralyzed in her throat and the cold metallic flavor of blood in her mouth. She scrubbed at her tongue with the palm of her hand, tasted nothing instead of salt and skin. Only a memory—and it faded as quickly as the nightmares that had brought it to her tongue.

God.
She opened her eyes, hoping to push away the images of blood and torn flesh that flashed behind her lids. The feather lay crumpled in her fist. Her clothes were damp with sweat.
Dear God.

Her hands shaking, she carefully lifted the edge of the blanket. A faint strip of light ran along the bottom of the drapes, but it was too white to be sunlight. Probably the glow from the fluorescent fixtures outside, then.

The shower was running, and she could hear,
feel
Jane's heartbeat. Her book lay open and upside down on the table—Jane had managed to get through a quarter of it. Not much. Hopefully she'd slept the remainder of the time.

Charlie wasn't certain she had; her body felt tired and achy, as if she'd gone several rounds and hadn't cooled down. Hunger gnawed within her—not just her stomach, but from each cell, chewing every nerve on a path to her fangs.

She glanced in the mirror over the dresser as she slid off the bed—then froze, looked again. It was as if she'd lost fifteen pounds overnight: her cheekbones sharp, her eyes dark and sunken.

Strung out. Needy.

Almost frantically, she washed her face and hands in cold water, ran a comb through her hair. Unplugged the phone from the charger and grabbed a gun from the table. The weight of the weapon in the pouch pulled the sweatshirt tight across her shoulders.

She knocked on the bathroom door, then poked her head in. The wafting steam settled on her skin, made her jerk her face away from the opening. “Jane? I'm going outside for some air.”

And some blood some blood some blood
.

Her teeth clenched, and she was outside an instant after Jane made a noise indicating she'd heard.

And was assaulted. Exhaust. The flickering motel sign. The roar of a semi on the highway, the cry of a baby in a room on the first floor. Bleach in the storeroom. Dogs and conversations and televisions and—

Verdi. Panting, she covered her ears, backed up against the door.
La Traviata.
Maria Callas's intricate, emotional performance.

The rest fell away.

Slowly, she stuck her hands back in her sweatshirt pouch, opened her eyes. Still loud, still strong in her lungs and nose, but not overpowering.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Boots, judging by the heavy tread, but she couldn't see their owner yet—the stairwell split directions at a landing halfway up. Whoever it was would exit the stairwell almost directly in front of her—but she'd have half a flight to see who was coming.

Their room was at the end of the long balcony that ran along the front of the motel. An ice dispenser and vending machines hummed behind a door to her left. No one would be sneaking up behind her…and she'd have time to hide the pistol if someone came out of the rooms.

She held it in the pouch, her heart hammering as he walked into view.

Ethan. His dark brown hair and amber eyes were exactly what she wanted,
needed
to see.

But even as the relieved laugh passed her lips, she pulled the gun and took aim down the stairs. Her hands were steady, though none of the rest of her was.

He stopped. His gaze ran over her face before it settled on the weapon, and he nodded. “All right then.”

“How do I know?”

He placed his foot on the first step, but not to climb. His arm rested on the banister as if he intended to wait awhile. “I reckon there might be something we've said in private—”

“Behind the spell,” Charlie interrupted. “So no one could have overheard.”

His smile rayed from the corners of his eyes. “I just visited a heavenly little city whose name starts with a ‘C,' not a ‘K.'”

She barely restrained herself from jumping into his arms. “And a backup,” she whispered. “Because Sammael knows I do that, too.”

He hooked his left thumb in his suspender, his coat falling behind his hip. “Well, Miss Charlie, if you insist on something personal—even though it makes me blush so powerfully to say it—I'll admit I still ain't wearing skivvies.”

She closed her eyes against the surge of emotion that rose beneath her laughter, pushing it up though it didn't come out with it.
Love.
And it felt bright and clean and so wonderfully deep—though it was on the surface, too, as if it clung to her skin.

Then Ethan was taking the gun from her, sliding it into her pocket to lay heavy against her belly before cupping her face in his hands, driving her back to the wall. His body came up hard against hers.

His gaze skipped from her mouth to her hair to her eyes. “You all right?”

She nodded, too overwhelmed by the feel of him to speak. The thirst roared through her. Her nipples hardened; she fought the urge to rub herself against him, loosen the constricting need that coiled in her womb, on her tongue, her fangs.

His thumbs drew half circles beneath her eyes. “Bad dreams?”

Swallowing, she forced herself not to remember, to focus on the weight against her, the intensity of his stare. “Yes.”

“Hungry?” His voice deepened.

He didn't let her turn her face away. “Yes,” she said breathlessly.

His gaze dropped to her lips again. “Open your mouth.”

“Ethan—”

“I aim to kiss you, Miss Charlie, but I'm not practiced at kissing vampires. I don't want your fangs cutting you, or me, and getting the bloodlust out of control before we can do something about it. So just open up a little, and then keep real still.”

Still? She was trembling, on the verge of sliding to the balcony floor—or climbing up the length of him and sinking her fangs into his neck.

Her lips parted, and he guided her teeth farther open with gentle pressure of his thumb against her chin. Then he braced his hands on the wall, either side of her head. He stepped slightly away and angled down until his eyes were level with hers.

No part of him would touch her, she realized, but his mouth.

“I ought not to be taking this risk at all,” he said. “But seeing you here has made me lose my sense.”

She'd been wrong; his breath was touching her—heated, moist. “Me, too,” she rasped.

“That's just fine,” he murmured against her lips.

Carefully, slowly, he eased in, sliding his tongue between her fangs to curl lazily around hers. Longing shivered through her, tightening, tugging, shaking little bits of her free. Her nails dug into her palms, and she closed her teeth on him—oh, so softly—before letting him go.

He drew back an inch, his breathing harsh. “Yes. I reckon this was a damn fool idea.”

A door opened farther down the balcony; Charlie's eyes widened with surprise and laughter. Ethan held her gaze as the other guests approached them, paused, and retreated in the opposite direction, leaving a psychic trail of discomfort in their wake.

When they got to the stairs, a slow smile curved Ethan's mouth. “We'd best get inside, Miss Charlie. You used your blood to put the spell up in there?”

She nodded, sliding out under his arm. Her knees were still weak. “I set it up last night. I should go in first, anyway, because Jane might be undressed.”

The door didn't open. Charlie frowned, tried her keycard again. The handle turned, but she couldn't push it. She glanced over her shoulder. “Is it not unlocking?”

Ethan shook his head. “Let me feel it out.”

A light percussion wave rolled through her; Charlie placed her hand against the door to steady herself. Though the keycard was in her hand, the indicator switched to green. “What was that?”

“My Gift. I pushed pretty hard, and you'll feel it more now that you're sensitive.” It struck again, and he lifted his gaze to hers. “The lock is releasing, Charlie. The spell is what's keeping the door closed.”

“But—” That meant that Jane had keyed it with her blood. “Why would she…?”

Ethan's face was grim. “Did she leave during the day, and needed to be able to get back in?”

“I don't know. I was…Oh, Lord.” Charlie yanked the phone out of her pouch, flipped it open. Looked at the recently dialed numbers. Her stomach cramped. “She called Sammael.”

And talked to the demon without Ethan or Charlie there to counteract his arguments, to provide a balance. Could Charlie fix whatever damage he'd done? How long had Jane spoken with him?

Charlie pushed another button, and the pain in her stomach moved up through her chest, her throat. Almost two hours.

The door swung open. With only a towel wrapped around her, Jane took a quick step back, her hand flying to the tuck of the terrycloth between her breasts. She glanced up at Ethan with a startled expression. She said something, but Charlie couldn't hear it.

Jane's eyes and nose were red. Had she been crying all day, or just recently? She spoke again. Charlie spread her hands, lifted her shoulders—and Jane finally got it, wiped the blood from the symbols.

“—realized I hadn't told you that I changed the…” Jane's gaze fell to Charlie's phone.

“You called him?” Disbelief squeezed Charlie's question into a hoarse whisper.

Ethan laid his hand against her lower back. “Go on inside,” he said softly. “You want me to come in with you?”

Yes.
But that wouldn't be fair to Jane. “Do you mind waiting a minute?”

“I'd wait much longer than that for you, Miss Charlie.” He turned, leaned back against the wall.

She closed the door, but didn't activate the spell. Whatever Sammael had told Jane, Ethan would know better than Charlie if it was a lie.

Jane sank down on the bed. The paleness of her skin made her nose and eyes all the brighter. “I called him. I hadn't intended to, but I was reading, and it was so quiet, and I realized…” Her mouth set; Charlie felt a chime of fear, faint as a memory. “I couldn't hear you breathing. And when I checked, not only had your respiration stopped, but your heart rate was at ten beats per minute, Charlie. It wasn't like that last night.”

No. Jane had taken her pulse when Charlie had been describing everything that had happened to her, and had said Charlie's rate was on the low side of average—just as it had been when she'd been human.

“And then there was your face. You weren't moving, appeared dead—and you looked
petrified
, Charlie. Like you were scared, and in pain and skinny as hell…and so I freaked out. I didn't know if it was supposed to be like that—and I didn't know if, because you'd gone to bed hungry, you were starving or dying in your sleep.”

“So you called him.” Though she understood Jane's fear, Charlie couldn't seem to get her brain around that fact.

“Yes. Who else could I have called? Mom? ‘Hey, Charlie's a vampire, what should I do?'” Jane shook her head. “Anyway, he said it was normal, told me not to worry, that you'd be fine by sunset.”

Charlie walked to the table. Putting the gun away was a relief; she hadn't known how to use it, hadn't really felt any safer with it. “And that's all?”

“No.” Jane half-turned on the bed, facing her. “I'm returning to Seattle. Now that I know what I'm working on, Dylan said that—”

“His name isn't Dylan,” Charlie said tightly. “It's Sammael, and he's a demon.”

“And what does that mean, Charlie? What does that mean,
exactly
? That he's evil? Yet, unlike the guy you're with, he's never killed anyone.” Jane's brows arched. “At least your standards are getting higher—on the bad boy scale, a druggie musician has absolutely nothing on a murderer.”

Charlie sucked in a breath. “Low fucking blow, Jane. Did Sammael coach you on that?” she asked, and a flicker of Jane's eyelashes and a note of guilt told Charlie that had gotten through, at least. But, God, she wished she'd put up the spell so that Ethan wouldn't have heard her sister say that. He deserved a lot better. “Whatever Drifter did, it was over a hundred years ago. Last night, he was trying to save me, and Sammael was laughing while a vampire sucked my blood out. Guess who I'm going to trust?”

Jane closed her eyes. “All right. I'm sorry. But that still doesn't mean—”

Charlie wasn't done. “And the only goddamn reason Sammael hasn't killed anyone is because the Rules say he can't.”

At that, Jane straightened up and shook her head. “He wouldn't. He said there are different factions of demons, and some are looking for ways to be forgiven. He's one of them.”

Charlie leapt onto the bed and bared her fangs a foot from her sister's face. “Turning people into vampires against their will seems like a really shitty way to get on Heaven's good side, doesn't it?”