A slow, familiar zing snaked through me as I entered the crowded plaza where Mercy Street, Helios Alley, and Solomon Street converged, and made for the wide concrete steps that would take us Topside. Like the first jolt of a drug-induced high, the Charbydon genes inside of me responded to the forty-mile swath of darkness that hovered above Atlanta and its outskirts.
I hated that I was getting used to it … that, little by little, I was coming to terms with the inevitable. The Charbydon and Elysian DNA that had been given to me as I lay dying ten months ago was altering me from the inside out, changing me into something new, or something old if I believed Aaron’s “divine being” theory.
But it wasn’t the darkness that made me stop in the middle of the plaza.
It was Alessandra’s comments about Hank that had quietly tunneled beneath my confidence, making fine cracks in my trust.
Just like she’d intended.
People passed by, conversations came and went along with the sounds of traffic from the city above. And I just stood there, knowing I should keep walking, that I should have some measure of belief.
I bit down hard, grinding my teeth together with indecision. But when you’ve been burned before …
I cursed under my breath and turned away from Topside, heading toward my new path: Helios Alley. Damn her.
“Uh, Charlie?” Rex said from behind me. “We told Bryn we’d pick Em up at ten.”
Was Hank really in bed recuperating? And, worse, how totally pathetic was I for having to check? “I know. This won’t take long. I just want to check on Hank.” I cleared my throat. Since when did saying his name become so uncomfortable?
“Oh, really?”
I didn’t need to look at Rex to know he was smirking. I sidestepped a baby stroller. “Yes, really. Someone should go check on him.”
“No one needs to check on him. You were there when the chief told us the deal. He’s in a self-induced coma. Doesn’t need to eat, drink, or take a piss … When he wakes, he wakes. What are you going to do, stand there and moon over him?”
My stride increased. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“What the hell are you getting so defensive about?”
“I’m not getting defensive.”
“You sound defensive.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes you—”
“Rex!” I stopped, letting him see just how tired I was of being provoked. “Knock it off.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Just trying to figure out which way the wind blows these days.”
I growled and kept walking. Rex could think whatever the hell he wanted. Hank was my partner and I had every right to check on him.
I knew Hank had his secrets. He was close-lipped about his Elysian history and why he’d come here. He evaded personal questions as easily as picking lint from his sleeve. Sure, he was entitled to his privacy, his secrets, like everyone else. But at the same time, we’d been partners for three years. I’d welcomed him into my world, shared my home, my life, my trust. We’d become friends. And recently, something more than that. Hadn’t I earned some small degree of sharing in return, some trust from him as well?
Sounded reasonable.
I chewed softly on the inside of my cheek, not liking the questions the oracle put into my mind. But how much could I lay the blame on Alessandra? My trust and faith in people—or, more correctly, men—had been shaken considerably since Will.
I wasn’t ready for a serious relationship, I knew that. But it didn’t stop my feet from carrying me deep into Helios Alley until I was staring at the polished brass numbers attached to the black door leading to Hank’s apartment above Skin Scripts and Off-world Exotic Pets.
Heat formed in my belly and made the journey into my limbs and my face. Last time I was up there, the windows got blown out, and I’d almost killed my partner with the twig of a Charbydon Throne Tree. Among other things.
I rolled my shoulder, thinking of the mark Hank had given to me during our fight. It was healed now, but not even my new healing abilities could erase the light indigo scar. Odd that it wasn’t giving off the strange, feel-good sensation that signified when we were close. But maybe the brick walls and the fact that he was a story above me d out cold had something to do with it.
What the hell did I know about marks?
“We going in or what?”
I ignored Rex and let my gaze fall to the big front window of Skin Scripts. All I had to do was open the door. The artists there could tell me everything I needed to know about the mark permanently pressed into my skin. It would be even better if they could tell me how to get around the truth issue.
In the heat of our fight, Hank had given me a truth mark, which meant I couldn’t lie to him if he asked me a direct question. I could evade it, choose to not answer, but if I lied outright, the ink embedded in my skin would release a toxin into my bloodstream. It wouldn’t kill me, but it would have serious consequences. There was a time when a broken mark could cause death, but legislation and regulations had long since prohibited actual death marks.
I headed over to Skin Scripts’s entrance, but before I opened the door I turned to Rex with a stern warning. “Not a word. Not a single word. Got it?”
An exasperated look crossed his face, but he nodded in agreement, and we stepped inside to the tiny jingle of the bell above the door.
Behind the counter, the darkling fae artist looked up from a sketch. His long fingers were splayed over a piece of heavy paper, holding it down while he drew with a charcoal pencil.
Like the sidhé fae, the darkling fae possessed a fascinating, otherworldly skin tone—a sheen, a luminescent quality that put one in mind of pearls. And it was easy to tell them apart. The darkling fae’s skin tones were indicative of Charbydon—shades of gray, some with hints of blue and violets—while the sidhé possessed lighter skin tones that reminded me of a very pale human, except for the soft, pearly glow.
Darklings were thin, too, with long, graceful limbs and large, slanted eyes with irises that ranged from the lightest sea green to the darkest shades of violet. This one gazed up at us with pale blue eyes painted with heavy black eyeliner. His black hair was short and spiky, and he had a wealth of tattoos and markings on both arms and around his neck.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
I cleared my throat. “I was wondering if you could tell me about ceremonial markings? The ones having to do with truth between two people, a vow not to lie … that sort of thing.”
The guy didn’t blink an eye, but then, why would he? The things people came here asking him to do were a hell of a lot crazier than what I’d just asked.
He turned in his swivel chair to the shelf of books lining the wall and pulled one out. He set it on the counter in front of us, flipping it open and skimming. It was an encyclopedia, a collection of ceremonial markings complete with sketches, incantations, and definitions. “Any of these interest you?” He turned the book so I could read right side up.
Rex leaned over my shoulder as I scanned the six sketches, finding one that was very similar to the mark on my shoulder—a curved, incomplete arrow-shaped symbol with two slashes and a dot, though it lacked the correct combination of slashes and dots.
“We can do them in traditional tattoo inor we can do them in Throne Tree ink. Tats will run you about eighty, and the tree ink will cost you a couple hundred to a couple thousand, depending on what you want.”
Rex pointed. “Ooh, I like this one.”
“I’m not buying,” I said to the artist. “I already have one. I just want to know what the hell it means because it’s not on this page.”
That caught his and Rex’s undivided attention. “Let me see,” they said at the same time.
I drew in a deep breath, turned, and tugged my shirt down over my shoulder, exposing the mark on my shoulder blade. Since we shared a home together, Rex would see the mark eventually. The bigger deal I made about it, the more hell he’d give me.
The artist came around the counter and studied the mark, letting out a low whistle. “You got this and you don’t know what it means?”
Rex’s laugh and the smart-ass comment that was about to come out of his mouth died a premature death thanks to the murderous glare I gave him.
“No,” I answered the artist, truthfully. “I know it’s a truth mark, but that’s about it.”
“Well, it’s an old version of a truth mark, one that signifies truth between lovers or a mated couple. These are illegal for humans, you know that, right?”
“The only illegal ones are the death marks,” Rex said, working it out for himself.
I didn’t respond. I hadn’t known. And I seriously doubted Hank had known that either when he marked me. As angry as we both were at the time, he’d never intentionally give me a death mark. Although, since I was no longer one hundred percent human, I was pretty sure the ink wouldn’t work in the same way on me as it would on your average person.
“That’s hard-core, man.” Impressed, the darkling went back behind his counter. “Your work’s not bad,” he told Rex, mistakenly attributing the mark to him.
Oh boy.
A blinding grin split Rex’s face. “Why, thank you. It keeps my old lady”—his hand dropped possessively onto my shoulder—“in line.”
I gave the artist a tight smile and ground the heel of my boot into the top of Rex’s foot. He hissed, but I kept my attention firmly on the artist. “Is it normal for the mark to get warm when I’m near the person with the corresponding mark?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
“How close do we have to be to feel it? Could I feel it if the guy was upstairs or in the building next door?”
“You should, yeah.”
My gut tightened into a wary ball. “What if he was that close and it didn’t respond at all?”
“Then he isn’t where you think he is … or he’s dead.”
Shit. “Thanks,” I said and then hurried out without another word.
Rex caught up with me at Hank’s door. “So. He’s not up there or he’s dead. Not a whole hell of a lot you can do about either one, I’m thinking.”
“Rex?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop thinking.” I faced him, finally at my Rex limit for the day. “In fact, stop talking. Stop egging me on.”
“Fine,” he said without a hint of remorse. “Just admit you’re crushing on the siren and I will.”
Count. Just count until you don’t want to wring his neck.
I ignored Rex yet again and instead pressed Hank’s buzzer before stepping back, biting on the inside of my cheek and staring up at the dark windows. Come on, Hank. A light. A light coming on is all I want to see.
Nothing.
Growing more concerned by the second, I pulled out the spare key Hank had given to me for emergency purposes only, unlocked the door, and ran up the stairs.
I hesitated at the landing, my heart pounding. The tat artist’s “dead” comment had my hand shaking as I shoved the key quietly into the lock. Hank couldn’t be … gone. I would know, would have felt it somehow. My mouth went dry.
“Don’t say a word,” I whispered to Rex as I drew my weapon and then entered the spacious loft, concentrating on my senses, trying to feel any auras I didn’t recognize.
I eased forward, noticing the place had been cleaned somewhat since our fight. The Throne Tree was upright and back in the corner of the dining room. The floor had been swept, though not totally free of debris, telling me that Hank had attempted the cleanup himself.
I kept my weapon trained as I made my way slowly over the hardwood floor. I cleared every room and then went into the bedroom, all the while knowing he wasn’t there.
I used the nozzle of the gun to push open the unlatched bedroom door and entered. The blinds were drawn, the room dark. I flicked the light switch on the wall near the door.
Empty room. Empty bed. Sheets pulled back. A depression in the white pillow where Hank’s head had been. The initial wave of relief washed through me with such intensity that I slumped against the wall. I lowered my weapon and let it rest lamely against my thigh.
His scent clung to the room: the subtle aroma of dryer sheets, the faint mix of fresh citrusy herbs used at the Bath House, the barest hint of cologne—the good kind, the kind that probably cost me a week’s worth of wages—and lurking below all of them was a very basic, very potent, very masculine note.
“There. See? Happy now? He’s obviously awake and has gone out.” I didn’t move. Rex let out a loud sigh. “No signs of forced entry or a struggle. He woke up and he went out. Elementary, my dear Watson.”
As I holstered my gun, Rex let out a soft “Oh.” And then, “Oh shit. He didn’t call and tell you he was awake.”
“So? Hank doesn’t have to tell me every move he mkes, Rex.”
If Hank was feeling better and had gone out … more power to him. He didn’t have to call me, didn’t have to tell me he was up and okay. I wasn’t his mother, his wife, or his girlfriend. We were friends and partners, and beyond that I wasn’t quite sure what we were.
But I couldn’t lie—it would’ve been nice to hear from him.
Alessandra was no doubt laughing her head off. I holstered my weapon and left the bedroom.
“Come on, let’s go get Em. We can stop for ice cream on the way home.” Rex reached over my head to hold open the door.
“You think this is an ice cream moment?”
He paused, careful, as though treading on very shaky ground. “Umm … yes?” I didn’t respond. “No?” He searched his mind. “This is a Charlie needs to kick someone’s ass moment?”
The hint of a smile tugged my lips. “No. You were right the first time. This is definitely an ice cream moment.”
Because, damn it, I was crushing on the siren.
He was awake, whereabouts unknown, and he hadn’t bothered to let me know.
My cell rang at a quarter to midnight. Em was asleep. Rex was downstairs watching TV, and I was sitting on my bed in a tank top and underwear, reaching for the bedside lamp. My first thought was of Hank.
I picked up the cell from the bedside table. As soon as I saw that it was the chief’s name flashed on the screen, I got up and went for my discarded clothes. “Hey, Chief.” I began tugging my jeans on, the phone trapped between my ear and shoulder.
He wasn’t the chief of the Integration Task Force anymore. He was boss only to me and Hank and our small division on the fifth floor of Station One. But his old moniker wasn’t in any danger of dying out. He’d always be the chief to us.
“Charlie.” His tone was deep and quiet. Not good. I sat on the bed to get my other foot into my jeans. “We have a situation.”
“Go ahead.”
“Two jumpers. At the bottom of the Healey Building, Forsyth Street side.”
I frowned. “Since that’s normally the ITF’s problem, I’ll take it there’s something special about the jumpers?”
“They were ash victims. Casey Lewis and Mike Everton.”
I froze, jeans halfway up my thighs, hands still, and staring at nothing. It took me a second to process his words. “Anyone see them?”
“Only the entire metropolitan area. It’s all over the news, online …” The chief’s heavy sigh crackled the speakers. “No one was up there with them, Charlie. They just held hands and … jumped. I don’t think I have to tell you what we might be up against.”
I settled in because whenever the chief said that, it meant he was going to do the opposite.
Fact is we got ten people hooked on ash. Ten people who are perfect hosts for possession because of that damn drug and the Sons of Dawn. After last week on Helios Tower, the cult’s been exposed; they know we’re coming after them. If Casey and Mike were possessed by the spirits of deceased Sons of Dawn members, the cult could’ve ordered the suicides, Charlie. It means they’re scared, scared one of them will talk. They don’t want us knowing the names of their high-ranking members. Anyone who might be possessed is now a liability.”
I struggled to keep the shake from my voice. “We need to contact everyone, the other ten ash vics.” Not twelve anymore.
“Already done. They know. We’ve got a man on the inside for those who agreed to it and guys on the outside for those who didn’t, whether they like it or not. If any of our ash vics go climbing rooftops or standing on bridges, our guys will stop them.”
I continued getting dressed. “That won’t stop them from opening a vein over their bathroom sink or swallowing a handful of pills if they’re told to.”
“I know. And as much as I hate to admit, there’s not a goddamned thing we can do about it. I can’t force a man into their homes.”
“We have to find a damn exorcist and fast. Call outside the city, fly one here, whatever it takes.”
“Sian’s here right now,” he said. “She’s been on the phone for the last hour. The exorcists’ union has issued a warning to all registered members not to come to Atlanta. They know that several exorcists have already fled the area and some have gone missing. It’d take a miracle to get one to come here right now.”
Or a whole lot of cash. “Tell her to keep trying. Offer them whatever they want. I’m heading to the scene now.”
“Look.” His voice dropped. “I know you’re worried about Bryn, but she’s fine. She’s been called, and the League knows what’s going on. There’s a guard in her room. You just get to the Healey and find out what you can.”
After I agreed and hung up the phone, I sat back on the bed and pulled on my boots, debating on whether or not to call Bryn anyway. I knew she was sleeping. With a whispered curse, I picked up the cell and hit her speed dial number.
She picked up on the sixth ring. “Charlie.” Her voice was groggy.
I went to my mirror, dragged my fingers through my chin-length hair, tucked one side behind my ear, and then left the room. “Hey. You okay?”
“Yeah.” She yawned. “I’m fine. Are you?”
No. I feel like putting my fist through a wall or, better yet, murdering Grigori Tennin. “I’m okay. Just checking in. Someone there with you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. I don’t want you doing anything alone, even going to the bathroom. I mean it. Leave the door open. Just don’t be alone. Please. Promise me.” I left my room and walked down the hallway.
“I promise21;
A relieved breath escaped me. “Okay, thanks. I’ll come by first thing tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“Now let me talk to your guard.” As expected, she sighed into the phone. But I wasn’t taking any chances. If I couldn’t be there myself, I had to know she was being protected, even if it was from herself.
After talking to her guard, saying my piece, and being assured Bryn would not make a move without his knowing, I hung up, clipped my cell on my hip, and inched open Emma’s bedroom door. Our adopted hellhound lifted his gray head.
“Just me, Brim,” I whispered under my breath.
His eyes caught the light from the hallway and flashed red. He blinked in that quiet way of his and then resumed his position on the rug by my daughter’s bed. Those two shared an incredible bond. Brim and I would never so close that we could communicate without words, but ever since he’d given his life to protect me on Helios Tower and I brought him back from the brink of death … well, I loved that ugly beast and I got the feeling he might just love me too.
I crept to Emma’s bed, brushed the hair from her temple, and kissed her softly, not worried about waking her; the kid slept like the dead.
After closing her door, I went downstairs and headed toward the living room, where the blue glow of the TV told me Rex was either still watching or had fallen asleep.
I went for the hall closet, pulled out my shoulder harness, and then walked into the living room. Rex was stretched out on the sofa, hands folded over his chest and out cold. I nudged his leg. Nothing. “Rex.”
“Hmm?” His eyes didn’t open.
“I have to go to work.” I picked up the remote and turned off the TV. “Not sure when I’ll be back.”
“Hmm. Fine. I’ll take Em to school …”
“Rex. There is no school. It’s Christmas break. Rex.”
“Huh. Yeah. Break. Sure. Hey, turn off the TV, will ya.”
I rolled my eyes, grabbed the afghan off the back of the sofa, and spread it over him.
Me leaving in the middle of the night for a case was nothing new to Emma and was no surprise to Rex. I knew they had shopping plans tomorrow and Rex would look after her. That was our deal—he had a place to stay, and in return he helped with the house and played stand-in parent to Em. As much as Rex bitched and complained, it was clear that the Revenant inside my ex’s body was trustworthy and he liked living here, being a part of our family.
I went into the kitchen and left my daughter a note, pretty sure she’d be up in the morning before Rex, and then I left the house.
It was only after I pulled out of the driveway and headed downtown that I allowed myself a moment to freak out about the suicides and what this all meant.
Murder. I was sure of it.
No one needed to be on the roof with thm, not if they weren’t in control of their minds and bodies. The Sons of Dawn could’ve given the suicide order to the spirits controlling Casey and Mike. Death would set their spirits free, and would keep law enforcement from containing them and using an exorcist to find out what they knew. Like the names of the high-ranking cult members.
My fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. Shit, shit, shit.
This was not like Grigori Tennin. He’d never get rid of a useable commodity. So, what the hell was going on?
Could it be that he wasn’t the big man in charge after all? A faint tremor ran up my spine. Not a comforting thought.
The Healey was one of my favorite old downtown buildings. Sixteen stories. Took up an entire city block, and had a grand Gothic presence I loved. Will and I used come here with Emma to see the massive Christmas tree they’d place in the rotunda for the holidays, eat at one of the restaurants, and do a little shopping in the ground-floor stores. Much of the building, however, was luxury condos. It was right near Five Points and Woodruff Park, and convenient to Station One.
An ambulance and a few police cars blocked Forsyth Street. A cop directed traffic at the intersection. I drove up and flashed my badge. He waved me through. A TV crew was hurrying down the sidewalk. Pedestrian onlookers had gathered on both sides of the street beyond the tape.
I parked behind a cruiser, ducked under the tape, and approached the uniformed officer already walking toward me. “ID?”
I flashed my ITF badge. Federal Division, Detective Madigan, it said. What it didn’t say was: covert division, license to use deadly force, no disclosure necessary, deal with it. Hank and I did what the ITF did not and could not. We cleaned up messes. We hunted down monsters. We killed that which fought to the death, that which could not be integrated into the prison system or stand trial, that which was a danger to society on a level far beyond the average criminal.
But the only thing I cared about now was that my badge opened doors. The officer stepped aside as I clipped the badge back onto my belt and proceeded to the sidewalk, just a few feet down from the grand entrance of the Healey.
I glanced up, the windows above me ablaze with light, with onlookers from above. Finding the broken one wasn’t hard. Twelve stories up. Guess they hadn’t bothered to go for the roof. No doubt the falling glass had alerted someone to start recording. Don’t call police. Don’t try to talk them down. Just turn on your camera and start filming. I’d never understand that mentality. Everything was reality porn these days—even a tragedy like this.
A thirty-something guy stood in the street talking to investigators. Eyewitness, maybe. Or could be the person who caught the footage. Might even be the owner of the car where one of the victims had landed. I’d find out later.
I turned my attention to the second “crash site” on the sidewalk, bracing myself and taking a hard analytical line to process the scene of blood, fluids, and brain matter with a detached approach. The body had already been bagged and was being hoisted onto a gurney.
“Great way to end the year, eh?” Liz came up beside me. “Looks like your average double suicide,” she said. m"> how was your Christmas?”
“Fine. Rex and I took Emma to Jekyll Island. We spent most of our trip on the beach in the sun. Nice getting away from the darkness for a while.”
“Tell me about it. I need to drive out for lunch on my next day off. Could use some real sunlight instead of this fake crap from a bulb …”
“What’d you do for Christmas?”
“Slept. All damn night. No one woke me until dinner. Best Christmas ever.”
“I thought you loved the night shift.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, about as much as paying full price for Beausoleils.”
“Never heard of them, but I’m guessing those are eyeglasses.”
She turned to look at me, giving a model-like wave at her face. “Yeah. You like?”
I studied the glasses she wore. The fifties-style secretary look she had going was cute on her small frame and Asian features. “I do. They’re very nice.”
“I know, right? So, two fatalities,” she said, switching gears. “Broke the window up there, twelfth story. Female landed on the Ford Fusion. The other on the sidewalk. Computer geek over there”—she indicated the guy I’d put on my radar earlier—“saw the glass fall and recorded it with his phone. Guys are up in the condo now, but so far no signs of a struggle, nothing to suggest this was anything but a suicide.”
“Who owned the condo?”
“The female. Lewis.” She scribbled on a piece of paper and then tore off the edge. “Here’s the male vic’s address. Heard Ashton talking about it. Said he was heading over to notify next of kin and see if the guy left any kind of warning. You know he won’t be too happy to see you.”
“Ashton’s never happy to see me. Didn’t you hear? I’m not only a Tri-racial Bitch, now he thinks I’m the Antichrist.”
Liz glanced up, her eyes narrowing. “Well, you can get scary.” I opened my mouth to argue that summation, but she cut me off. “But I find it cute, endearing, more like a rabid puppy than the Antichrist.” Her lips twitched.
“Ha ha.” I rolled my eyes.
“I would say one of these days Ashton will get over it, but I think we both know it’s a lost cause.”
Couldn’t argue with that one. Ashton Perry was one of ITF’s lead detectives. He’d never had a problem with me in all the years we worked together in the department, until I stopped being “one of them,” as he called it … until it was known that I had the genes of all three worlds in me, that I was the one who’d brought darkness to the city of Atlanta to save my kid from Mynogan, the now deceased Charbydon noble and Sons of Dawn cult member.
But more than anything else, Ashton hated that I’d taken a federal job, one where I didn’t answer to the department or the reigning chief. Ashton and everyone else in the ITF were on a need-to-know basis when it cae to my job. And Ashton hated that. He hated even more the fact that I now had the freedom to work on the really big cases, and that my new division had the power to take cases away from him, if necessary. Such was the power of Washington.
And Liz was right. He’d never let it go. He took every opportunity to insult me, call me out, push me to the edge, which usually involved insulting my daughter somehow. Asshole. “Well, he won’t see me at all,” I said. “I’d rather not deal with him making my life miserable. All he’ll know is that I was here nosing around.”
Liz chuckled. “You’ll be wanting autopsy details, yes?”
“As soon as you have them.”
“Will do. How’s Bryn holding up?”
Boy, that was a loaded question. “She’s been okay. Under watch at the League. But now …” I dragged my hand down my face, gazing up at the building. “We need to get every ash victim under lock and key. This can’t happen again. Not until we know more.”
“Hey!” Liz shouted suddenly. “Hands off my body!” She mumbled a quick good-bye and then marched over to the detective who’d been about to lift Casey Lewis’s hand from the hood of the car with the tip of a pen or pencil.
Damn, I’d meant to ask her if she’d heard of any new sidhé fae in the city.
I walked away from the scene, shoving my hands in my pockets. It could wait.