Summoner of Storms (8 page)

Gray rolls to his feet even as the last bones
snap back into place. One of the mortals in the vehicle lets out a
horrified cry: “Oh shit, it’s the drakul!”

“Kill it; kill it!”

They have heard of him. Good.

“
Yeah, you’re a fucking celebrity. Christ,
just take them out!”

The gun turret atop the Humvee swings around,
trying to target him. Gray braces, waiting for the impact of
bullets in flesh yet again.

Instead, guns speak from either side of the
driveway, John and Tiffany setting up a crossfire. The gunner
jerks, collapsing against the turret.

The driver tries to turn the vehicle, but the
limits of human reflexes doom the attempt. Gray crosses the space
between them in a few strides and seizes the handle on the driver’s
side. With a squeal of tortured metal, the entire door rips
free.

From there, it is easy. A hook of claws into
the driver’s armor and flesh, the seatbelt snapping as Gray rips
her loose. He tosses her behind him, into the driveway, as the
vehicle rolls to a stop.

The other occupants of the vehicle try to
shoot him, but succeed mostly in injuring one another. He pulls
them out the opening one at a time, hurling them far enough to snap
bone and hopefully discourage any more violence on their part.

“Freeze!” John shouts, leveling his weapon at
the mortals trying to stand or crawl away. “Don’t move!”

Howls echo from the woods. The hunting cry of
lycanthropes. A moment later, more howls answer from the opposite
direction.

“I believe we are surrounded,” Gray informs
Tiffany, who is nearest to him.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“My name is Gray.”

Werewolves burst from the surrounding woods,
still mostly human in appearance, but armed with claws and razor
teeth, their eyes bloodshot gold. Their scent, of mange-clotted fur
and old blood, causes his stomach to cramp with hunger.
May we
eat these?

“
Yes, damn it!”

The demons come from all directions, a
tightening circle. Gray grins in anticipation, dropping into a
half-crouch, ready for the first assault.

A werewolf careens into him, snarling like a
mad thing—but he can smell its terror, beneath the delicious scent
of demon. Its claws slide off the leather of his coat, and it tries
to bite, but its strength is nothing compared to his. He seizes its
head, wrenching it to one side so hard ligaments pop, and sinks his
fangs into its throat.

The grooves on the back of his teeth channel
blood straight into his mouth, an intense rush of ecstasy, which
makes him moan. Energy floods into him, invigorating every nerve,
adding to his strength even as the demon weakens.

The flow of blood and etheric energy
slackens, and he lets the lycanthrope’s body fall. Rot already
slicks its skin, setting in as if the host died the day the demon
moved in. He turns, searching for more prey.

The werewolves race in from every direction,
no doubt hoping to overwhelm with force. Tiffany holds her gun in
one hand, fire blooming around the other, charring away her suit
sleeve and writhing around her skin. John has dropped to one knee,
both hands braced on his weapon.

A werewolf comes from an angle, dodging even
as John shoots the one directly beside it. It surges forward, jaws
open, pitting its reflexes against his.

It is faster, clawed hands impacting with
John’s shoulders, bearing him down. His gun spins away.

“No!” Gray roars, and lightning flashes into
being around him, but he is too late, too slow, and can do nothing
to stop it.

* * *

John’s back slammed into the driveway, dirt
and gravel shredding his t-shirt and skin. The werewolf’s weight
landed on him, one knee in his gut. Its mouth gaped, inhumanly
large, revealing sharp teeth and hot breath stinking of rancid
flesh.

Beyond all physical sensations, he sensed the
throb and pulse of its etheric energy, more clearly than ever
before in his life, even in a banishing circle. Dark and heavy, it
intertwined with the human it possessed, like a kudzu vine slowly
smothering a tree.

He’d lost his gun when his wrist hit the
ground, and his athame was in some SPECTR evidence vault. Only his
bare hands remained for a weapon, and although the lycanthrope
didn’t have the strength it would once possession became complete,
it had more than enough to kill him.

He fought anyway, grabbing it around the
throat in an attempt to hold back the slavering jaws. Etheric
energy pulsed beneath his fingers. Why did he feel it so
clearly?

To hell with that. The real question was
could he use it?

Claws punctured his shirt, digging into the
skin over his ribs. The thing would rip him to pieces and eat his
heart out right there. Nothing to lose.

John let go of its throat and slammed the
heel of his hand into its forehead. At the same moment, he
envisioned a barbed rope shooting out of his palm, hooking and
ensnaring the NHE.

It worked. He
saw
his own energy,
tinged with purple, grasping the angry red infection of the
lycanthrope’s energy. It screamed and thrashed, but its body seemed
glued to his, unable to tear itself away.

With a shout of effort, he
pulled,
not
just with his hand but with his entire being. Incredibly, the NHE
began to emerge, although its twisted, misshapen form would be
invisible to anyone unable to sense etheric energy.

Another crackle of energy, this one familiar
and much, much larger than the werewolf held in his snare. Gray’s
angry roar vibrated in John’s chest. John tried to find the breath
to shout at Gray not to hurt the formerly possessed soldier on top
of him.

He needn’t have bothered. Gray swooped in,
all black leather and thrashing hair, the lightning a storm in his
eyes. Ignoring the soldier, he grasped the tangle of etheric
energy, which was the lycanthrope, yanked it to his mouth—

And, as far as John could tell, simply ate
it.

The now exorcised soldier scrambled back, his
mouth stretched wide in a purely human scream. “God! Oh God! That
thing—I didn’t even realize—oh my God!”

He rolled to the side, staggered to his feet,
and ran for the woods. One of his former brethren broke off after
him, but a shot from Tiffany dropped it. The soldier vanished into
the woods. What would happen to him? Would he go AWOL and try to
disappear, or return to base and have another demon shoved in
him?

Or would SPECTR just kill him for knowing too
much?

“Another vehicle is coming,” Gray warned.

Of course. Because they didn’t have enough
problems.

John scooped up his Glock. Another werewolf
rushed at him, but this time he was ready. He exorcised it before
it reached him, Gray snapping up the NHE like a shark after a bit
of tossed chum. The soldier reacted much as the first, stumbling
away in horror as she realized just how much the lycanthrope had
altered her thinking.

A big truck with a rugged grille guard roared
up the drive, its shocks taking the potholes easily. A werewolf
darted out in front of it, only to be smashed aside and crushed
beneath an oversized tire.

“Dad!” Tiffany exclaimed. “Don’t shoot. It’s
my father!”

The truck came to a halt, its big engine
vibrating the air. An older African American man flung open the
passenger side door and leaned out. “Tiffany! Get in!”

Tiffany tossed her keys to John. “Take the
sedan and follow us. Hurry!”

The engine revved to life as Gray piled into
the passenger seat beside him. The truck roared back down the
drive, and John followed, not even bothering to fasten his seatbelt
first. The sedan jolted as it clipped yet another werewolf with a
fender. Then the circling pack and the double wide disappeared
behind them in a cloud of gravel and dust.

“So, Starkweather,” Tiffany said, “what the
hell
is going on with you?”

It was a good question. If only he had a good
answer. Or
any
answer.

They’d stopped for the evening at yet another
off-brand hotel not far from the interstate, and checked into
adjoining rooms. John assumed Tiffany used the time alone in the
truck to fill in her father on everything.

Goddess give them both peace, they’d suffered
a lot of loss in the last few hours. Devon didn’t quite have the
steely outer shell routine down as well as Tiffany. His eyes were
red from crying and when he sank down on the edge of the bed, he
moved slowly, as if expecting pain.

Instead of answering Tiffany, John held out
his hand to her father. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”

Devon took it; his handshake was dry and
firm. “Thank you. Renée...well, she would have said the work is
more important than any man’s grief. But we didn’t always agree,
not even when I was a wet-behind-the-ears operative, let alone
after we were married.”

“Don’t avoid my question, John,” Tiffany
said. She’d secured the room’s only chair, leaving Caleb near the
door, and John standing awkwardly near the second bed. “You
exorcised two lycanthropes without a circle. I might not be able to
sense etheric energy, but they went from slavering possessed to
ordinary people in two seconds flat. You did something.”

“I’m not denying it.” John spread his hands
to either side. “I just don’t know
how
. I never could
before—hell, I’ve never even heard of anyone just ripping out an
NHE with his bare...well, not hands, exactly, but you know what I
mean. I’ve got no idea why I’d be able to now.”

And frankly, it scared him. His talent had
been a constant in his life since his teenaged years. No matter
what else changed, his ability to sense and manipulate etheric
energy never altered once he finished puberty. Why the hell would
it suddenly go crazy now?

“I, um, have an idea.” Caleb shuffled his
feet uncomfortably. “You know how my TK was barely strong enough to
move a paper coffee cup, right? Then Gray moved in, and now I can
do a lot more.”

John nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he
tried to get a bead on Devon’s reaction, to see what the man might
think of his daughter’s decision to turn Gray loose on the world.
But the older man’s expression didn’t give anything away.

“Right,” John said. “It’s one of the more
common reasons the paranormally-abled strike deals with NHEs, to
enhance their existing power.”

“Like Senator Olney’s kid and the incubus.
Yeah, I remember.” Caleb bit his lip. “Do you think something
similar is happening here?”

John blinked. “Are you...wait a minute. Are
you accusing me of being possessed?”

“Of course not! No, I mean, I think Gray’s
giving you a boost, too.”

“The drakul?” Devon asked.

Tiffany nodded. “It’s what he goes by.”

“And you’re certain it’s the same one as
Papillon spoke to in the crypt?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t matter right now.”
Tiffany waved her hand vaguely. “Etheric energy doesn’t work by
fucking osmosis. I’ve been stuck in the same damn car with Gray for
two days and my pyrokinesis didn’t get a boost.”

“Um, yeah.” Was Caleb actually
blushing?
“The last couple of nights, Gray manifested when
John and I...you know.”

“Ew.” Tiffany’s lip curled. “You’re fucking
freak, Starkweather.”

“Don’t judge,” Devon said.

“He’s banging an NHE. I’m judging.”

John shot her the middle finger, but his mind
was only half on her words. “Would it even be possible?”

Caleb looked like he wanted to sink through
the floor. “There’s definitely an energy loss to go along with
the...other loss. I figured it just, you know, dissipated or
something. But your talent is to manipulate etheric energy, right?
What if you absorbed it instead?”

“Etheric spunk.” Tiffany crossed her arms
over his chest. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

“You’re the one who asked,” Caleb shot
back.

“That was before I realized the answer would
involve so many horrifying mental images. Every time Starkweather
does his new trick from now on, I’m going to have to scrub my brain
all over again.”

“Drop it, Tiffany,” John said. “It’s more of
my sex life than I really wanted on display, but I think Caleb’s
right. And if I can tear out NHEs in the middle of a fight...it’s a
hell of an advantage.”

“Only if one doesn’t bite your face off while
you’re trying to work your mojo on it.” But she sounded
thoughtful.

“I just have to be careful. And the problem
of disposal is taken care of, because apparently Gray can eat the
captured NHE.”

Tiffany looked at him speculatively. “I
thought he needed to drink the blood of the host.”

“The blood is just a container,” Caleb said.
“The plate the burger is served on. In this case, the container was
John’s ability to manipulate and hold the energy long enough to eat
it. It wasn’t quite as, well, satisfying. More like gobbling off a
paper plate than fine china. But a lot less fatal to the poor
bastard hosting it.”

“Yeah. Which is important. Especially if
we’re right about why Forsyth has started kidnapping people.” John
hated to bring it up, but he didn’t think Tiffany would want him
dithering, either.

Her hands clenched slightly, but she nodded.
“Yeah. Good point.”

“I just wish I’d gotten there sooner,” Devon
said. “I didn’t get Tiffany’s message until this morning. I thought
she might go to Marcus’s place and tried to get there as quick as I
could.”

“If you’d arrived in the middle of
everything, SPECTR might have you, too.” Tiffany patted his arm.
“Don’t beat yourself up.”

“What next?” Caleb asked, with a glance at
Tiffany. “We still don’t know what your mom wanted to tell
you.”

“Not quite.” Devon leaned back. The
bedsprings creaked under him. “Renée and I talked, you know. Before
she got Tiffany’s call about RD, Renée was following up a lead.
Seems Forsyth has been shipping his bottled demons someplace.”