Viper Moon (29 page)

I clawed through onto a lovely patch of scraggly yellow grass and wonderful semidry earth. I rolled onto my back and stared up into clouds of smoke. If the fog came before dawn, the docks and the Barrows would reek of a great burning.

Oxygen deprivation has a terrible effect on the human body, even one sustained by the Mother’s strength and will. Arms and legs that burned moments earlier now felt numb and hard as ice cubes.

Much as I wanted to lie and rest, I knew we had to get out of there. If someone saw us, we’d probably both spend the night in jail, or at the minimum an interrogation room. I probably wouldn’t have to fake anything to get them to take me to the emergency room, though.

I had to try twice, but I finally sat up. I felt for my gun, miraculously still wedged in the holster, and my knife, in the arm sheath. Feeling slowly returned, bringing the sensation of . . . Oh, damn. Something moved inside my muck-coated pants. I popped the button, tore open the zipper, and shoved them down. Several unidentifiable crawling things dropped out.

Dacardi laughed, a slow, frayed sound.

I laughed, too. We were alive, not something I’d have bet on fifteen minutes earlier. I pulled my pants back up, used my knife to cut the laces on my boots, and shucked them off. Dacardi had crawled to one of the buildings and used it as a climbing wall to get to his feet. I did the same, whimpering the whole way. Then I had to bend over and pick up my boots. Tempting as it was to leave them or even throw them in the river as retaliation for almost killing me, I wanted to leave nothing behind.

Clinging to the wall, we carefully limped our way toward the street.

My strength returned faster than Dacardi’s, and I could walk using the building for balance, not as a lifeline. I couldn’t tell how far we’d come, but the fire’s light had given way to the flash and shadow of emergency lights down the street. We stayed in the shadows, not wanting to be spotted by wharf security, if they weren’t all at the fire.

“Wait,” Dacardi said. He fished around in his pocket and drew out a cell phone.

“Will that work?” I rubbed my hand across my pocket, where my own was surely beyond resuscitation.

“Damn sure better. Supposed to be waterproof.”

The phone did work, and Dacardi’s guys came for us, though they had to walk a quarter mile because of roadblocks. That meant we had to trudge back that quarter mile, with only wet socks between the pavement and us. No way was I putting my feet back in my boots until I’d dried and fumigated them. Finally, we climbed into the backseat of the Mercedes, completely ignoring the filth we were carrying into a car worth more than I’d made in the last five years. We rolled away from the disaster at the docks.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“Home,” Dacardi said. “You call the suits?”

The driver nodded. “Soon as I heard the big boom. Briefcases packed and on their way.”

“And you?” Dacardi turned to me.

“Abby’s,” I said. “Could I use your phone?”

He handed it to me and I called Abby. When she answered, my first words were “I’m okay.”

She didn’t speak for a moment; then she said, “I know that. I’m a psychic, remember? Someone else needs to be reassured.”

Flynn spoke. “Tell me you’re not at the docks.” His voice came across the line, taut and cold.

“I’m not at the docks.” The truth, since we’d left them behind and were heading north.

“Shit!”

Guess he didn’t believe me. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” I hung up, then immediately called the Archangel. Michael wasn’t in, so I left a message that I’d survived yet another catastrophe.

“So,” Dacardi said. “Every time something blows up, I should look for you?”

“I guess. You check all your other warehouses?”

He glanced at the driver and the driver nodded his head.

Dacardi’s face was a picture of weariness and worry. “This is bigger than Richard and Flynn’s kid sister.”

“Yeah. A lot bigger. Tomorrow night, you going to be ready?”

He nodded. “Said I would, didn’t I? But there’s something I—I ain’t no explosives expert, but I think there was something else in that warehouse.”

“Yeah. Think so.” I’d seen plastics in the warehouse where Flynn and I had crawled out of the sewer, and I’d bet that’s what caused the spectacular blast on Exeter Street that so injured me. “I got connections in munitions manufacturing. I’ll see what I can find. Maybe something to bargain with the Feds. They’re gonna be all over this.”

“Good luck.”

Dacardi did make the driver stop by a store and sent him in to buy me another cell phone. Not a megabucks waterproof model, but it worked. It was my carrier, too, and they gave me the same phone number.

Dacardi had received a telephone report on the situation at the docks while we waited. He sighed. “Buildings on either side of mine went up. Men killed. Lot of trouble.”

I agreed.

The Mercedes stopped at the curb in front of Abby’s house. “Thanks for dragging me out of fire and water, Dacardi. If you hadn’t found me that last time I went under, I wouldn’t be here.”

Dacardi studied me. “What else could I do, bitch? You was shining like a full moon.”

Shining? Like last night when I died and the Mother jerked me back to life? What was happening to me? I needed to talk to Abby, but how much help could Abby be on this?

“Well, anyway, that was good shooting on the dock,” I said. “Looking up into that gun barrel wasn’t as much fun as nearly drowning.”

Dacardi slowly shook his head. “I saw. It wasn’t me.”

“Oh, shit.”

“You got it, bitch.”

Someone had saved my life. Wish I knew who to thank. Or maybe I didn’t.

I closed the door and headed up the driveway to Abby’s back door, wet, exhausted, covered with river mud.

Flynn sat on the back doorsteps with Horus at his side. Abby must have adjusted the cat’s attitude and placed him on probation. Nefertiti hung from the porch railing, her head swaying in a hypnotic rhythm. The only light came through the back door and the kitchen windows.

Flynn seemed colder, harder, and older. Like Dacardi, he’d come to realized things were bigger than two kidnapped children. He stretched his legs out and leaned back against the porch railing. T-shirt, shoulder holster, jeans, and, as usual, he needed a shave. My weary body stirred at his lean, rugged look.

He studied me for a few seconds, then said, “You look like shit.”

“Thank you for your honesty. You look sexy as hell.” He smiled.

I sat beside him. Damp clothes clung to me and my skin itched, probably from pollution or creepy crawlies in the river mud. His nose wrinkled. Yeah, I probably smelled awful, too.

From the set of his mouth to the suspicious look in his eye, I could tell Flynn was on the edge. Before he could ask, I told him the entire story. He deserved the truth. I spoke of everything that happened after I’d left that afternoon, including my encounter with Snag. He accepted it all without question, then called someone named Betty Jean to get information on Malison Dividend.

Flynn stared into the darkness of Abby’s garden, maybe searching for some answer to this new world. “Who
are
you? Who is Abby?”

I frowned, then rubbed my thumb between my eyes to smooth it away. “I told you. Are you ready to believe now? I’m the Earth Mother’s Huntress. Abby’s her High Priestess, her witch if you want to call it that. I know that’s not what you’re looking for, but it’s the best I can do.”

“It’s going to take more than words. What is Michael to you?”

“Great Mother, Flynn.” Now where did that come from?

“Answer my question.”

I sat there, staring at the ground. Flynn, still on the edge, was reassessing everything—my world, our relationship. Again, honesty was best.

“I’m not in love with Michael, if that’s what you’re asking. I trust Michael with nothing at this point. You . . . I trust you. I trust you with my life. I trust you with my heart.” Using the porch railing, I dragged myself to my feet. Like last night, I’d again reached my physical limit.

I laid a hand on Flynn’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m doing the best I can. I’ll understand if that’s not good enough.” No way in hell I would, but I had given him a way out if he wanted it.

His hand grasped mine. “I’m dealing with it, Cass. What do you want me to do?”

“Help me inside so I can get a shower. Crawl into my bed, and hold me while I sleep.”

He grinned. “That’s all?”

“No. But I can’t promise I’ll stay awake through anything else.”

Flynn helped me downstairs, not even commenting on the secret pantry entrance we had to use. He undressed me, showered with me, dried me off, and put me between the sheets. I fell asleep watching him clean river gunk from my gun.

I woke sometime later with him snuggled against my back. A bit of wonder filled me. The man was a bit of a saint for dealing with odors and gunk two nights running.

I rolled to face him and kissed his mouth until he responded. Then I kissed him “down there,” to quote Righteous Robert. He groaned and locked his hands in my hair. Good, solid Flynn was solid everywhere my mouth touched. I savored the taste of him, teased him, tortured him, and when I felt he’d had enough, I started back up his body.

“You’d better not fall asleep on me.” His voice sounded like a growl. His hand slid between my legs, and he rubbed hard because he knew I liked that, especially if I was good and wet. Glorious sensations spread from that point through my body.

I kissed his face, his eyes, and laid my mouth on his. Everywhere our skin touched tingled as if each nerve was supercharged with electricity.

Flynn shuddered, then released me and drew me on top of him. I stretched my body, raised my arms, and rode him for a while, letting him slide inside me while his fingers roamed across me and caressed my breasts.

Our auras matched, Abby had said. This man had walked into my life and captured me, body and soul. What I feared from Michael—captivity—I would freely give to Flynn.

When I couldn’t take anymore, I climbed off him, dragged him on top of me, and wrapped my legs around him. So greedy, I wanted to hold him inside of me as long as I could.

Then, like a coiled spring suddenly released, the orgasm hit me and seared me to the bone. I gasped as spasms racked my body. I forgot everything for those few moments.

I shut my thoughts down at that point. I would deal with tomorrow, with the dark moon, with Flynn, Michael, Dacardi, the children as best I could.

Flynn lay beside me now, breathing deeply. I felt him fall asleep and I drifted off not long after.

 

I’d slept through the night. At least I hadn’t dreamed. I reached for Flynn and found an empty place beside me. When I made it upstairs, he was at Abby’s kitchen table, drinking coffee. Much too early. Barely daylight. I am not, nor will I ever be, that irritating creature called a morning person
.

Horus, probably still on probation, crouched on the floor, with Nirah across his back. Nefertiti curled up in the kitchen window. I could hear Abby in the front, cleaning her public rooms. She had customers every day. She tried to help them, show them their troubles were mostly of their own making, but I doubt she had much luck.

I went for the coffeepot. “How’d things go with your reports yesterday?”

Flynn shrugged. “Too many questions. Captain’s pissed. Everybody’s pissed. They’re not stupid and they know I’m holding something back. Feds not letting anybody in on the Exeter Street investigation. At least I was at the station when the warehouse blew last night.”

I poured a cup of coffee and sat at the table across from him. “You find out anything on the guns?”

“No. The bomb squad says there was something in that warehouse last night. A lot bigger than guns and ammo.”

Abby hurried into the room. “Cass, the television news says Avondale Manor is on fire.”

Flynn and I raced out of the house. He called his own precinct, but couldn’t get any information.

My POS made good time, but three blocks from the fire, we hit a roadblock of cars. Probably ambulance chasers and other thrill junkies with time on their hands and no life. The police would run them off eventually, but until then . . .

“Shit!” Flynn muttered. “We’ll have to walk.” He laid his hand on the door handle.

“No, I can do better.” I made a quick U-turn before cars stacked up behind me. I headed back and turned right across to the next block. “How close do you want? Simmer, bake, or barbecue?”

“What?” He glanced at me, then back at the street. Apprehension spread over his face.

Oh, was I driving too fast? I laughed. Adrenaline raced along my nerves like electricity. I cut through an alley and made a three-block wrong-way dash down a one-way street. That had us past the roadblock and the fire department barricades. Duivel streets aren’t as predictable as the Barrows, but I think the same person designed them. Another alley and we arrived.

Flynn sat pale and rigid, fists clenched in his lap. I think it was because we’d met an eighteen-wheeler on the one-way street. Good thing there was a sidewalk.

“You . . .” Flynn swallowed and breathed deeply and exhaled.

“You’re a cop!” I punched him in the arm. “Don’t you do high-speed chases?”

“Not if I can help it.” His breathing slowed. “And I have lights and a siren. People are supposed to pull over and let me by.”

“Well. They pulled over for me. Sort of.”

“Only because you—Never mind.” He opened the car door and climbed out.

A monumental column of roiling black smoke towered over us when we reached the four-lane boulevard running in front of the manor. The stink of horrific burning rose to mix with another day of three-digit temperatures. Yellowish haze already swirled around the downtown towers.