Eve of Destruction (17 page)

“No way.”

“What the hell are you here for, then?”

Her shoulders went back. “I led the way in here. It’s someone else’s turn now.”

“Don’t be a baby, Hollis,” Richens said.

“Screw you,” she retorted. “Be a man.”

“We’re scared,” he whined, reminding her that he was barely past his teens.

“So am I. If you wanted a fearless leader, you should have tagged along with Ken and his brass knuckles.” She was glad they hadn’t. It was doubtful that anyone else would have teamed up with her, and the thought of searching through the creepy fake town alone made her nauseous.

Edwards stilled. “
You’re
scared?”

Eve growled. “Of course I’m scared! Why wouldn’t I be? Four weeks ago the most stressful thing I faced was fitting a client’s wish list into her budget. Now I’m lucky to survive the day, between the Infernals that Cain pissed off in the past and the ones I’m annoying right now.”

Sighing, Edwards’s features softened. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’ll take the lead.”

“Someone do it,” Richens snapped. “Before one of the others bags our faery.”

“It’s not a race,” Eve reminded, wondering how a petulant narcissist had come to be selected as a Mark.

“The hell it isn’t. We’re talking about our
souls
here, Hollis. I’m playing to win. Besides, if this was a group effort, wouldn’t we all be together instead of wandering around separately?”

Edwards shrugged. “He has a point. Okay. So we’ll search this building, then move on if we don’t find anything.”

Starting out tentatively, they began with the bottom floor and worked their way up. As they opened the stairwell door to the uppermost landing, the scent of Infernal drifted into their nostrils. Edwards held up one hand, slowing them to a halt. He made eye contact with both of them and placed a finger to his lips in a gesture for silence.

Richens rolled his eyes and mouthed,
We’re not bloody idiots.
Then, he pushed Edwards over the threshold and into the hallway.

Edwards made a strangled noise and brandished his revolver with terror-goaded carelessness.

Eve marveled at their dynamic, whatever it was. Richens was a kid. Edwards was middle-aged. Why he deferred to the younger man was a point that inspired much speculation.

Richens peered around the jamb, his head swiveling to get a 180-degree view. Eve put her foot to his ass and kicked him into the hallway.

What’s good for the goose . . .

“Mind out!” he shouted, stumbling into Edwards, whose weapon discharged into an overhead fluorescent light fixture with a thunderous boom. Plastic and glass rained down on the two. They cursed in unison, lifting their arms to shield their heads. The report echoed through the once-quiet floor, killing any hope of a stealthy entry.

“Oops.” Eve vacated the stairwell behind them, unable to watch Edwards’s obvious fear and not join him. “Sorry about that.”

“Are you
insane
?” Richens barked, pointing his gun at her.

“No, but I’m beginning to think you are.” He didn’t appear to be frightened at all. More like curious, watchful. Like a spider.

“What is going on out here?”

They all turned their heads to find the source of the clipped female voice. They found her down the hall, standing in the doorway of an office. She looked to be in her midfifties, her silver hair restrained in a chignon and her mouth a grim line. She wore a business suit in gray—a knee-length skirt and matching jacket. She reeked of rotting soul.

Her gaze dropped to the three guns pointed in her direction. “I am ringing the authorities.” She pivoted on her heel and slammed the door.

“Maybe we should shoot her,” Richens suggested.

“She’s not the one,” Edwards said. “My armband isn’t hurting.”

“Yeah, but she might call the faery and warn her we’re coming.”

“True.”

Eve waited for her armband to signal a proximity warning. After a long moment, she shrugged off the possibility, opened the stairwell door, and left. Hurried footsteps followed . . .
and
approached.

“Where are you going, Hollis?” Edwards called out, tripping down the stairs after her.

She slowed on the second-floor landing and raised her hand in a gesture for silence.

Edwards drew abreast of her, his gun hand trembling.

Richens paused two steps above them. “We left a witness behind.”

Eve glared at him. “We’re not vigilantes. She’s not the target and that means we don’t take her out.”

Clutching the handrail with white-knuckled force, she shot a quick glance down the center of the spiraling staircase. A flash of platinum caught her eye. She straightened quickly.

Izzie.

“Everyone heard the gun go off,” she said. “They’ll all come running to this one location.”

Richens smiled, catching on. “The faery will see that we’re all distracted.”

“It would be the perfect time to move,” Edwards finished.

“Right.” Eve turned back. “Let’s go.”

In unison, they raced up the stairs. They burst onto the rooftop and ran to the edge, their booted feet crunching atop the gravel. Without discussion, they spread out, taking in the view of the city beneath
them. As they’d anticipated, Marks rushed toward the building from all directions. Izzie was already on the premises. Claire was still a few blocks away. Romeo and Laurel appeared a few moments later, both looking suspiciously disheveled.

“Freaks,” Edwards grumbled, voicing Eve’s thoughts. She couldn’t imagine that there would be any clean, nonspooky places in Anytown to indulge in some nooky.

“Where’s Callaghan?” Richens asked.

“Maybe he’s already in the building,” Eve suggested, keeping a few feet between the lip of the roof and the toe of her boots. None of them raised their voices despite the distance between them. With their mark hearing, volume wasn’t necessary. “I would expect him to be first.”

“He certainly wouldn’t be last. That’s Molenaar’s place.”

“I see him.” Edwards’s voice was low, filled with curiosity. “But he’s not coming this way.”

Eve and Richens joined him. They watched the blond Mark slip furtively along a shadowed wall a couple of streets down, then turn a corner and disappear from sight.

“He’s tracking,” Eve murmured.

“We have to follow him without alerting the others,” Richens said.

Her brows rose. The rest of the class was crawling all over the building now. “And just exactly how are we supposed to do that?”

He gestured over his shoulder. “There’s a fire escape over there.”

Eve froze. “Very funny. How old is that thing? How many years has it gone without maintenance?”

“How many hours do you want to spend in this shit heap?” he countered. “We could be celebrating by noon, if we bag the faery now.”

“No way.” She retreated even farther from the edge.

“Why are you so—?” He gaped as comprehension dawned. “You’re afraid of heights? Crap. Is there anything you’re
not
afraid of?”

“You. I can take you. Don’t push me.”

Edwards laughed.

Richens scowled. “Come on, Hollis. Get over it.”

“It’s not a contest. Let’s get the others and do this right.” Foreboding weighed heavily in her gut, a sort of sixth sense she’d had her whole life. Right now it was ringing the alarm loud and clear.

“No way. They’re idiots. We were the ones smart enough to have a workable plan.”

She backed up. “I’m not risking my life for your ego.”

“Risk it for your soul, then.”

Eve snorted. Frankly, she wasn’t hanging off a rusty fire escape for that.

When she didn’t budge, Richens made an impatient gesture and set off toward the fire escape. Edwards hesitated a moment, then followed. Eve didn’t waver. She left the roof and took the stairs. Gripping the railing, she hurtled down the three flights, passing Claire with a brief wave. Izzie was nowhere to be seen.

Eve hit the sidewalk at a run, but despite her speed,
Richens and Edwards were at least a block ahead of her. Just as her brain kicked its way past her competitive drive and asked,
Why are you so into this?,
the mark kicked in, too, pumping the heat of the chase through her veins and urging her into a swifter gait. There was no labored breathing, no throbbing pulse. The lack of physical stress allowed feelings of euphoria and omnipotence to take precedence, inspiring false courage and confidence.

“I’m just watching out for them,” she muttered to herself, skidding around a corner in time to see a glass door swinging from recent use. “Good Samaritan and all that.”

The building was long and squat, its exterior a shiny silver metallic reminiscent of a 1950s Airstream trailer. Above the entrance, a crooked and faded sign read Flo’s Five and Diner.

Eve went in with gun drawn, hissing as her armband burned her skin. Cracked and torn red vinyl booths lined the wall beneath the many grimy windows. Plastic food on plates decorated tabletops and the counter. Two mannequins in pink and white uniform dresses stood at the coffeemaker and the register, respectively. Lifting to her tiptoes, Eve peered through the opening to the kitchen but saw nothing at all.

Had they run out the back?

She continued cautiously, one step at a time. Her next step hit the ground wrong and she lost her footing, skidding atop something on the ground. Grabbing for the back of a barstool, she nearly fell as it swiveled under her grip. She glanced down, saw that she’d
slipped on an armband, and guessed that Richens had lost his short temper over the annoyance.

A shout followed by a crash rent the air.

A dark shape flew past the food service window. Eve dropped to a crouch. A hand touched her biceps and she caught it, yanking hard. Claire tumbled into her lap. The Frenchwoman shrieked at the same moment pots banged wildly against each other. Clamping a hand over Claire’s mouth, Eve strained to hear.

“Let him go, lovey,” Richens cooed.

“Make me, darlin’,” purred a sweet feminine voice.

Claire tensed.

With a narrowed look of warning, Eve pushed Claire up to a kneeling position.
Go around back,
she mouthed. The Frenchwoman nodded and crab-walked awkwardly to the front door. Eve waited until she was gone, breathing in the smell of mold and dust, her emotions fluctuating from excitement to dismay.

Part of her was enjoying the hunt.

You’re losing your mind,
she told herself, crawling the length of the counter to its end. Peeking around the corner, she saw the aluminum swinging door to the kitchen. The quilted surface and round glass window were covered in grime. Through the two-inch gap at the bottom, Eve searched for shadows that would betray movement on the other side, but all she saw was darkness. She moved closer.

We could be celebrating by noon,
Richens had said.

Who was the faery holding hostage? Ken? Edwards?

There should be three Marks in there. Where was the third man?

“Come any closer,” the faery said, “and he gets it.”

“He ‘gets it’?” Richens laughed. “What rubbish.”

“Shut your mouth, Richens!” Ken gasped. “This knife is jaggy.”

Eve paused a moment, surprised to learn that it was Ken who was captive. She was further astonished when she pushed the swinging door open a couple of inches and took in the enfolding situation courtesy of her nictitating lenses.

Richens stood with his back to her. Two yards in front of him, Ken was kneeling. Behind Ken, a portly and kindly faced woman with gray hair hovered gracefully, supported by impossibly tiny wings.

It was one of Sleeping Beauty’s faery godmothers; cherry red cheeks, pastel dress, and pointed hat included.

Unsure of whether to laugh or freak out, Eve surveyed the rest of the kitchen. It was staged as if the owners had walked outside for a short break. Pots and pans sat on the stove, knives and cutting boards littered the island. She looked for Edwards and found him prone on the floor, unconscious. Her feelings of unease increased. The sight of an unmoving body on the filthy ground was just too realistic for her tastes.

How far would this simulation go? What was the best way to bring it to an end?

Ken’s eyes were wide, his neck arched away from the blade pressed against his skin. “What do you want?” he bit out.

“You’re coming with me, toots.” The faery smiled and the result was so sweet-looking and innocuous, Eve had a hard time reconciling it with the reality of the knife in her chubby little hand. “We are going to slip out the back and make our getaway.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” Richens’s voice held a chilling amusement. “I’ll shoot him before I let you walk out of here.”

A dark cloud moved over the faery’s features, briefly revealing the horror of her demonic soul. An Infernal could never be tamed or trusted. But they could be understood. They were similar to infants—self-centered, impatient, ravenous for attention and stimuli.