Summoner of Storms (22 page)

A name comes to them: John.

They have hurt John.

“Please. I need you. I need both of you. If
you do this, if you leave me, I’ll be lost. Please.” His voice
breaks on a sob. “You promised.”

This is wrong. To have made him cry.
Fragments of memories come in flashes, like the strike of their
lightning. John laughing. Angry. Kind.

Holding them in his arms.

“I trust you two,” he had said. “With my
life.”

They can feel all the mortals around them,
smell blood and ocean and the heaving masses of life in the city
beyond. It would be simple to ignore this one small human. To carry
the storm into the city, to feed and hunt and revel.

So very simple, and it would feel so good.
Savage joy and strength, a return to the days of hunting without
conscience or fear or care. Save this time will be infinitely
better, because now they can taste the blood and feel the ecstasy
of feeding.

If they do not ignore him...there will be
pain. Weakness. Fear and grief and uncertainty.

Trust.

Love.

It
hurts,
tearing free from the
clouds, the rain, the lightning. Somewhere, half-forgotten, their
body burns with pain, muscle and flesh and bone screaming as they
force energy into it. Withdrawing.

Folding their wings.

Falling.

* * *

The constant barrage of lightning slowed.
John swallowed thickly, tasting blood as he stared into the swirl
of etheric power and storm cloud. Claws, each as long as his body,
hovered beside him. Poised to kill.

He felt beyond fear. Beyond everything but
the ragged tatters of hope. Of belief, of the same naïve faith
Caleb had always laughed at.
Boy Scout.

“Come back to me,” he whispered.

An odd calm descended, the eye of the forming
hurricane suspended directly overhead. The wind died from a gale to
a stiff breeze. The rain ceased.

Had he reached them? Or did the titan before
him merely gather itself to stride across the bay and slaughter
everyone in Charleston?

The vast energy drew inward, like a
collapsing star. Wings shredded into cloud, claws became mist,
etheric energy no longer holding their shape.

The curled figure in the center of the beast
straightened. Hovering in mid air, long hair and the tattered
remnants of a leather coat streaming around it.

It swirled toward the ground like a falling
leaf, even as something so much bigger than John had ever guessed
folded itself back inside. Surrendering the chance to be a god upon
the earth, in exchange for this small bundle of human flesh.

Booted feet touched the grass—then collapsed,
long legs crumpling like a puppet with cut strings. “Caleb!” John
shouted, and broke into a run.

He fell to his knees beside Caleb. Caleb’s
face had gone white as shell, utterly bloodless. Was he even
breathing? Or had it all been too much, had they killed themselves
trying to come back to John?

Caleb groaned and opened his eyes.

John dragged Caleb into his arms, clutching
him close. “Caleb! Is Gray all right? Are you?”

“Yeah.” Caleb’s voice sounded rough, like
he’d been screaming at the top of his lungs for hours. “I’ve got
the mother of all headaches, but we’re okay.”

“Oh, Goddess, Devourer of Evil, thank you.”
Tears ran down his face, hot against chilled skin, but he didn’t
give a damn who saw his sobs. “Thank you.”

Caleb shifted slightly, and John loosened his
grip. Caleb’s fingers touched John’s face, catching a tear.

“Hey. Don’t cry.” Caleb offered a crooked,
weak grin. His gaze went past John, and he nodded at the sky.
“Look. Storm’s ending.”

John gazed up. As Caleb said, the storm fell
apart without Gray’s energy to fuel it. Holding tight to one
another, they watched as the last clouds dissipated and the stars
came out.

“Are you two ready?” John called from where
he waited near the front door of the condo.

Caleb’s voice echoed down from the upper
floor. “Christ, Starkweather, keep your pants on! These boots have
a lot of buckles, you know.”

“I know, but after sitting on my ass for
months, I’m ready to get back on the street.”

“And we will, just have some patience. I
swear, between you and Gray, I’m surprised you haven’t dragged me
outside naked.”

John grinned, both at the image and because
Gray must be even more antsy than he was. They’d spent most of the
months since the night at Fort Sumter under house arrest, with a
few trips to HQ and one to DC to liven things up. No hunting NHEs,
although given how juiced up Gray had gotten at the fort, the lack
of energy hadn’t affected him as much as the boredom.

The battle at the fort didn’t go unnoticed.
As soon as the winds died away, news helicopters filled the air.
Kaniyar had been waiting for them, immediately using the media to
set the tone before the director could hush things up. She’d laid
out everything that happened clearly and concisely, to any
journalist or blogger who asked a question. The story spread to
every corner of the internet before the sun even came up.

It didn’t earn her any friends on Capitol
Hill, but with the spotlight of the world on them, even Congress
had to play nice. They held a series of hearings, including the one
John and Caleb attended. Gray even answered some questions
directly, although privately John thought the drakul scared the
shit out the senators. Certainly they’d just asked a few easy
questions (
Do you eat humans?
No.
What about possessed
humans?
Not if it is possible to save them.) before getting him
the hell out of the room.

In the end, the old director resigned in
disgrace. His political buddies kept any actual charges from being
filed, and he quietly shuffled off to some backwater to wait until
the furor died down. Kaniyar was now the new SPECTR Director. She
currently busied herself culling the ranks, removing those who
didn’t belong and promoting those who made the right choice when it
counted.

Mostly, anyway. Tiffany had resigned, in
return for being allowed to go home to what remained of her family.
Her father still lived, but had spent weeks in the hospital, one
arm bitten off by a wendigo during the assault. Some of her cousins
had died on top of the battery during the mass sacrifice, but
fortunately the two little girls were fine. Well, in intense
therapy after everything they’d experienced and seen, but they’d be
okay in the end.

Sean....technically he was on leave. John
suspected Kaniyar didn’t quite know what to do with him. He’d
betrayed everyone, but then come back in a pinch and fought hard to
put things right. And Kaniyar wasn’t one to waste any resource she
could put to use.

John hadn’t spoken with Sean since the night
on Fort Sumter. Sean had been his friend for a long time, but John
couldn’t forgive him for what he’d done. Maybe Kaniyar wasn’t the
only one who had to figure things out when it came to Sean.

John was back on duty—finally—but without any
of those promotions Kaniyar had been handing out. He’d acted
outside of SPECTR authority, technically, and certain congressmen
had wanted him removed from the agency altogether. Leaving him as a
lowly field agent had been a compromise, and one he didn’t have a
problem with. He’d never wanted anything else, after all.

Of course, he did have a few extra
responsibilities. The low country office was taking a more active
approach to stopping NHEs, thanks to its newest field agent.

Boots rang on the iron stairs, and Caleb
appeared. He wore a brand new coat made on the design of the old
one, since the battle at the fort destroyed the original. A pair of
leather pants gave his legs extra protection, and with his tall
black boots...damn.

“You look edible,” John said.

Caleb grinned and tossed his long hair back
over his shoulders. “And you look like a government drone in that
suit,” he said, and smacked John on the butt. “But that’s just even
more incentive to get you naked once we get back.”

John pulled him close and kissed him soundly.
“Uh huh. Keep it up, funny guy.”

“For you? Always.”

“I bet.” John pulled away and opened the
door. “Come on. No fooling around on the clock, remember?”

They stepped outside into the warm air of a
summer evening, heavy with the scent of night-blooming flowers. At
the gate, they both paused. Etheric energy surged, Caleb’s hair
lifting from his shoulders. A blink, and Gray’s black eyes regarded
John.

John touched the Glock in its shoulder
holster. “Are you ready?”

Gray smiled, exposing fangs. “Yes.”

John nodded and stepped out onto the
sidewalk. “Then let’s hunt.”

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Hainted

Whyborne & Griffin series:

Widdershins

Threshold

Stormhaven

Necropolis

“Eidolon” (A Whyborne & Griffin short
story)

“Remnant” written with KJ Charles (A
Whyborne & Griffin / The Secret Casebooks of Simon Feximal
crossover)

SPECTR

Hunter of Demons

Master of Ghouls

Reaper of Souls

Eater of Lives

Destroyer of Worlds

Summoner of Storms

“Heart of the Dragon” (short story)

Jordan L. Hawk grew up in the wilds of North
Carolina, where her bootlegging granny raised her on stories of
haints and mountain magic. After using a silver knife in the light
of a full moon to summon her true love, she turned her talents to
spinning tales. She weaves together couples who need to fall in
love, then throws in some evil sorcerers and undead just to make
sure they want it bad enough. In Jordan’s world, love might conquer
all, but it just as easily could end up in the grave.

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