Hell's Belle (35 page)

“It wasn’t long,” Jacq said softly, “but I missed having you with me.”

I met her gaze and nodded, enjoying the feeling of my hand in hers. Her presence in my head was so new, but I’d missed it as well. Something had been missing before we’d met. Her presence, both physically and mentally, made me feel whole again. I’d be alone again soon, and I’d welcome knowing she was with me, at least in my thoughts.

I took a deep breath then asked, “Can you promise me something?” I wished for both our sakes that I didn’t have to make this request of her.

“Anything,” Jacq said.

“Be the last to the fight.” Jacq began to pull her hand from mine and I grasped it tightly. “You saw the map. There are houses, apartments, all manner of people in the area where the fight will be. Serena, Grey, Fera and their people won’t be worried about keeping the battle from spilling into occupied areas. I’m asking you to bring up the rear, Detective. Keep the battle from the humans. Honor your oath as an officer to protect the innocent.”

“And what of you, cher,” Jacq asked, worry in her eyes, “who will protect you?”

I stood, tugging her up and behind me toward the door. “It’s past time I learned to protect myself.” Deep inside me, something dark and hungry echoed the sentiment.

Well past time.

Chapter Twenty

“Temptation: The craving to do something you know you shouldn’t. Kind of like opening a gate to hell. It’s a real temptation to see what sort of worms will come out of that can. But you don’t. That’s what makes us the good guys. That, and we generally smell better.”

—Evie Delacy

“Hi-O Silverado, away.” AC/DC’s
Back in Black
was playing loudly over the radio, fighting the engine’s roar for dominance, when I jammed the gas pedal and aimed my grandpa’s old Chevy toward the charred gates that protected the Cleverly Drive-In from prying eyes. I checked my rearview mirror. No big black SUVs.
No back up.
That was the way I’d wanted it. But it was still disconcerting to realize that I was alone…at least for now.

I crashed through the gates. Wood splintered, hitting the windshield which cracked but thankfully held. I bounced up and down on old shocks, rocketing over the pitted asphalt toward the movie screen’s dim outline which was, amazingly, still half-standing. I’d come here with my entire family to see
Gone With the Wind
on the big screen
.
Ironic really, considering the theater had recently burned, much like the movie’s rendition of Civil War Atlanta.

I turned on my headlights. For a moment, nothing happened. Then one bulb flickered to life before heating into a bright torch. In the light’s glare, I saw a raptor move to intercept, but something smaller rushed out of the darkness. They hit and fell back into the shadows. It was too soon for the Weres to be here, but I didn’t question my luck.

I could just make out two small herds of raptors running on either side of the truck, escorting me in. I held the wheel steady, ignoring the urge to sideswipe the lot. Not only were they big enough en masse to squash me, but I was banking on the fact that Nicodemus wanted to grab a guardian alive. Hopefully, the nesreterka and any other minions lurking in the shadows had orders not to hurt me. But orders only went so far.

The raptors veered left and right, circling a dark mass ahead. In my rearview, another group moved to block the smashed gate.
No going back.

I looked ahead just in time to jerk the wheel right as the dark mass coalesced into an unexpectedly large wooden structure. The Chevy, made before the days of power steering, turned too slow for comfort, narrowly swerving to the structure’s side. I pumped the old brakes, hearing the tires screech as I finally stopped mere feet from where the structure, a stage, had been erected at the crumbling screen’s base.

The sawdust and scrap lumber visible in the headlight’s glare explained why there were no scorch marks on the stage. I was right. Nicodemus had picked this location long ago, and someone had been here putting things together. No way had the owners constructed this. I smiled as I listened to the old engine tick in the night air. If someone had decided to reopen the Cleverly, they would’ve built something more important first.
Like a better gate to keep riff raff such as myself out.
But a stage? No, that theatric was all Nicodemus.

Still, I didn’t think Nicodemus’s mama-drama was the only reason they’d chosen the Cleverly. Neither was its status as a recently ruined landmark, its destruction a good source of residual magic. No, there were other benefits. The high wooden fence covered in dense overgrown kudzu offered a space where he could gate in an entire army, and no one would know until the mess spilled past the fence. Of course, this could also work in our favor. I knew the sort of people that lived in this neighborhood. They weren’t the type to run, even when something as gruesome as a hungry reptilian Otherworld creature was on the prowl. Nope, if the people in this area thought they were under attack, we’d have grandmothers in curlers and house shoes, with pistols, and every Elmer Fudd wannabe in a wife-beater with a shotgun on the lawn before you could say, “The communists’re comin’.”

Two shadowy figures approached. I rolled the old hand-crank window down and stuck my head out, laying my left arm across the door, hiding the hand that rested on the holstered stun gun under my armpit. I forced my hand to loosen as they neared. Part of me wanted to pull the gun and fire, no questions asked. It was the same part that had wanted to ram the raptors.

Every red-blooded American loves to blow up, smash, or set fire to something. Fortunately, most get their violence-is-entertainment fix vicariously. But this urge I was feeling was well beyond normal. It was the same dark hunger I’d faced down at Lady D’s. It wanted to unleash fire until the Cleverly was blazing again or, at the barest minimum, shoot, hack at, and knife any and everything between myself and my friends. The first was not an option. The second? That was yet to be determined.

I’d decided not to use my fire unless things became dire. Unleashing a big bomb of hellfire this near the city (and on the grounds of a landmark, no less) would be like sticking a pair of dirty panties under the top Prime’s nose. It would elicit some scrunched noses, a few raised eyebrows, and a swift smack-down upon a Delacy head, presumably my own tender noggin. And as that was on my list of things not to do this evening, I tucked that dark demon part of me into a corner, chained the door shut, and turned my attention to where it belonged: On the two men, now nearly upon me.

“Sorry about the door, boys. Be sure and send me the bill.” My joke was met by silence.

The night sounds of crickets and frogs, followed by the two’s footfalls, seemed unusually loud as I waited for an attack. I counted to ten then eased my hand off the gun. Their continued silence spoke volumes. These two weren’t sorcerers. Their feet were too loud and their mouths too quiet. I’d yet to meet a bad guy that didn’t take the opportunity to gloat, and having a guardian deliver herself to your doorstep seemed reason enough for boasting. They stepped into the cab’s light, confirming my suspicions.

Dilated pupils. Pale skin. But no telltale smell of decay. They were alive…but just barely. Their young faces were empty, but the bluish lips and cold sweat on their foreheads said plenty. Here were two of the vessels. I corrected myself. Here were two of the missing boys. If I thought of them as real people—real, indisposable people—maybe we’d get them out alive. But it needed to be soon. I recognized the signs. Their hearts were giving out. The human body wasn’t made to hold the sort of power they were carrying around.

And it was a lot of power. I felt it
buzz
against my skin in a way similar to a guardian’s magic or the gate’s
lira
…but not quite. The magic had been twisted somehow, which might explain why they were hiding it in people. If it was anything like my own powers, which were tied to my life and blood, the magic would go when my life did. It didn’t make sense. This sort of power wasn’t necessary to open and hold a gate. I had the sudden, unwelcome feeling that I was missing something.

“The Master says you come with us,” the smaller of the two said stiffly.

A quick scan of the area didn’t show anyone else, not even a stray raptor. But with the limited light, a beastie hoard could be waiting a few yards away in the darkest corners and I wouldn’t know until they jumped out, waved their leathery tails hello, and did an Otherworld rendition of Barney’s “I Love You” song. I shuddered at the thought.

“Well, I guess the Master would be right. Ain’t that always the case?” Again, silence. Apparently sarcasm was as lost to these two as humor.

I sighed, opening the heavy truck door. The hinges I’d been meaning to oil protested. I turned, sliding off the old vinyl seats. Nicodemus had picked well who to send after me. I wouldn’t hurt these guys. They looked strong, but it wouldn’t take much to overload their hearts, leading to a quick death. I really hoped the cameras Mynx had rigged to the cab’s hood hadn’t suffered the same fate as my windshield. With any luck, our team was nearby, using the cameras to search for the rest of our missing people.

“Lay on, Macduff.” I swept my arm toward the stage, arching a brow as they moved to either side of me but didn’t remove my weapons. Not that I was complaining. As my grandpa would have said, “Looking a gift horse in the mouth is a damn fine way to git bit.”

They led me to where a set of stairs, hidden just outside the light’s reach, led up to the wide stage. The boys stopped at the stairs, waiting.
So much for my gallant escorts.

Shrugging, I adjusted my guns and stepped onto the first stair, listening. Under the sound of cicadas and other natural life, wood creaked and groaned as heavy bodies moved across the stage’s decking. Now would’ve been a good time to develop a sense of self-preservation.

Too bad my timing had always sucked.

I took one deep breath and headed up, keeping an eye on the two boys below. There was no rail so I stayed close to the wall which held the old white screen’s remains. The stage was only chin-high, but falling off would leave me helpless for a few critical seconds. Reaching the top, I took two steps then stopped, leaving the headlight’s brightness, allowing my eyes to adjust.

“Lights!” shouted a deep voice I recognized from last Sunday’s run as Nicodemus’s. The theater’s bright security lighting flashed on.

Nearly blinded, I blinked, using a hand to shield my eyes. Two men sat on a dais at the opposite end. Recognizing Wellsy, I turned my gaze to the second man. Domini Roskov, the third “survivor” of the Virginia coal mine cave-in. Or rather, I should say, Nicodemus. I didn’t need to see his face to know Nicky-boy inhabited Roskov, but seeing erased my last shred of uncertainty. I’d been expecting the Russian vampire once known as Wall Street’s miracle man. First Peter, then Wellsy, now Roskov. It was enough to make a girl wonder what had really happened to the illusionist reported missing, now presumed dead, in that same cave-in.

But that was a quandary for another night when I didn’t have two evil-possessed sorcerers decked out in tuxedos and top hats before me. I quickly took in the scene. A silvery looking cage held an unconscious, half-Wered-out Becca. Her clothes and fur were covered with large ugly burns. I sniffed discreetly, not detecting any silver. Maybe the cage was just another ugly prop. Brit’s neck and face were bruised, her shirt and jeans ripped in an almost scandalous manner. A collar and chain bound her to the floor at Roskov’s feet. Her eyes were bright with defiance, but thankfully she remained silent.

Isabella was there, dressed in a frilly white nightgown that stopped three inches above her knees. Combined with the heels and makeup, it would never be considered old-fashioned. I wasn’t sure if she was supposed to look like a Havana cigarette girl or fulfill the virgin sacrifice section of Nicodemus’s little drama. The gown went well with the silver cuffs that matched Becca’s cage, which Isabella was attached to, and if that wasn’t enough, several raptors stood guard around them. Sitting with knees tucked under her, Isabella had pushed her free arm through the bars, touching the motionless Becca.

Inside, my dark side was screaming through the walls of its own cage. And for once I was in complete agreement, but I forced my eyes away, fearing I’d do something stupid—like start a war with only my army of one. I flexed my fingers, forcing open the hands I’d unconsciously fisted.

In true Southern tradition, they’d converted what might’ve once been La-Z Boy recliners into three thrones. But I was willing to bet the red jewels glittering in the lights weren’t rhinestones and the gold wasn’t glitter paint. It was stunts like this that gave the South a bad name. At least I could argue that these two and their Graceland-reject décor were transplants, assuming Wellsy’s and Roskov’s bodies didn’t house the ghosts of hillbillies past.

The thrones were garish, tacky, probably expensive, and comfortable—judging from the way Nicodemus was seated in the largest middle chair with chin in hand and one leg thrown over an overstuffed gilded leather arm. I wondered if this was magic wrought…or bought by the Kin’s stolen funds. I shook my head. It didn’t really matter. Either way, those things were ugly. They could be stuffed with hundred dollar bills, and they’d still be ugly. An expensive ugly, mind you, but ugly nonetheless.

Hiding my concern, I addressed the sorcerers. “I didn’t realize the circus was in town.” My voice echoed across the expanse of empty parking spaces now visible under the bright lighting. “I’ve been thinking about a career change.” I gestured to the stage. “If you’d told me you were here, I might’ve joined up.”

The lounging Nicodemus stood. His eager, happy expression creeped me out more than the herd of raptors and tuxedo-clad vampires surrounding the stage. With so many here, I couldn’t help but wonder who was guarding the dark section behind and at the far corners of the screen.

“No, Miss Delacy. We are no circus but merely humble players upon this stage.” At my arched brow, Nicodemus tsked before continuing cajolingly, “Don’t judge us so harshly, dear Cate. Oh, yes I know your name. As I’m sure you know mine, so we’ll skip the intros.”