Bound by Flame (24 page)

Wood splintered inward, and the officer used his elbow to break out the rest of a four-by-six-foot opening.

Air flowed steadily out of the opening. Fetid, rich, gravelike.

The officer shined his flashlight into the space, then leaned into the gap and looked down. “Goes into the floor, sir.”

“It’s probably a tunnel,” Creed said, staring into the closet, sniffing the air.

Nick knew his twin could detect the same odors as he could, thanks to their
other
-enhanced perceptions. “Yeah,” he agreed. “With another opening, judging by the breeze.”

He was already remembering Jake’s visit to the townhouse basement. Jake’s clothes had been covered with dirt. All that dust, especially on his hands and nails. Downy had them digging an escape route even then, and he hadn’t said a word. Not a hint of caution or warning.

Whose side are you on? How will I figure that out before I have to put a bullet between your eyes?

“Are we going in?” Creed asked.

Nick’s muscles tightened. That’s exactly what he wanted to do, with everything he was made of, but there was no way he would let SWAT and the Sibyls take that kind of risk, especially after City Island.

Common sense said they should secure the house and the tunnel opening, and send for a tactical surveillance robot. The tunnel could be wired with explosives, stuffed with Astaroths, collapsed in the middle—endless possibilities. The robot would tell them what they needed to know. The chances Delilah or Jake were in that tunnel now were next to nothing anyway. Downy and her demons were long gone.

Nick growled low in his throat, but he said, “We’re pulling back until we get a tactical bot down that hole to scope things out.”

Creed gave a frustrated grunt, but Nick could tell his twin agreed. A few Sibyls, Cynda included, grumbled, but he heard weapons scraping against leather sheaths.

Merilee said, “Well, this has been one big fat waste of time, hasn’t it?”

Once more, Nick’s attention pulled to the tunnel opening.

Definitely knew we were coming, didn’t you, Jake?

For the first time, Nick understood that he wasn’t just fighting J. C. Downy and a bunch of mindless minions. He was matching wits with his own brother—who apparently thought and planned much like Nick and his twin.

And what would he, Nick, do in Jake’s shoes?

If I had a bunch of invisible demons at my disposal, I’d line that townhouse with spies, top to bottom, back to front.

Fuck!

Nick narrowed his eyes.
All the Astaroths would have to do is avoid Creed or me, and anyone with goggles—which no one wears
inside
the townhouse
.

“We need to get to HCQ.” Nick jerked his thumb southward, toward Manhattan. “I think our problem starts at home.” To the SWAT members, he said, “Secure the house. Gold team, stay with the closet until we get you some relief.”

Creed kept his gaze on Nick, but gave orders to get the officers on the move. Sibyls stood aside to let them exit first.

Nick glanced at Cynda on his way by, to be sure she was with her triad. She was handing her wood fragment to Riana, and he heard her say, “This needs to be analyzed. I’m sure it’s bog oak. See if we can pin it down to a specific origin point.”

Riana tucked the fragment into her jumpsuit pocket as Merilee muttered, “What would a piece of rare Irish wood be doing here? That just seals it. Everyone in Ireland must be as weird as you, Cynda.”

He would have loved to hear the crackle of fire in response, but none came. His throat caught as he swallowed. A lot of work to be done in a hurry, because this thing with Cynda and her fire couldn’t go on. He didn’t know what it meant, but he was damned sure it wasn’t healthy for her.

Nick was all the way out of the house with Creed beside him when Gideon started grumbling in his mind. Poking. Digging. The beast let out a loud, angry wail.

Muscles tense in response to the inner nudge, Nick checked over his shoulder to make sure Cynda and her triad stayed close.

Merilee and Riana were deep in conversation a few paces behind, passing the piece of wood back and forth.

Nick stopped and turned. His senses rushed to full, screaming alert. Gideon blasted forward, beating against his skull.

Cynda wasn’t with her triad.

Cynda wasn’t anywhere in sight.

15

Cynda walked behind Riana and Merilee as they headed out of the fieldstone house, leaving the gold team in possession. Her shoulders sagged from the huge sense of letdown at not finding Delilah Moses, and her ribs and chest ached from the frustration of not being able to call her fire when she wanted it.

She felt like she was losing her mind.

As she reached the front door, something clamped its hand over her mouth.

At the same time, it snapped off her sword belt. The blade slapped to the floor, noise muted by its leather sheath.

She tried to scream. The thing kept her mouth covered too tight. No sound at all.

Before she could claw at its hand, it yanked her off her feet, straight up in the air, almost to the top of the raised ceiling. Fear tore through her in a dizzying rush. She reached deep inside, tried to yank out her fire—but it wouldn’t come.

It still wouldn’t come!

Powerful arms restrained hers, and a leg locked her knees into position so she couldn’t kick.

Her mind spun with more fear.
Astaroth
. It had to be one of the invisible winged demons.

With all her strength, she tried to kick, tried to throw an elbow. She even tried to bite the hand covering her mouth, but it managed to keep her lips pinned closed.

Shit, shit, shit!

She was completely trapped in its hold.

Cynda tried again to summon her inner heat, letting her terror fuel her, picturing her body blazing with fire and absolutely frying the creature who had her captive.

Nothing happened.

Tears bit at her eyes. No way her fire had failed her again. No way! But not even a trace of smoke rose from her skin.

A strong, unusual scent washed over her.

She went still.

Spicy. Exotic.

Caribbean.

If she hadn’t recognized the creature, if she hadn’t been about ten feet off the floor, at eye level with the high ceiling’s yellow painted trim, and if she hadn’t been having so much trouble igniting her inner fire, she would have kept trying to roast her captor like a big demon marshmallow.

Instead, she hung there, moving slowly up and down as the thing flapped its wings. She was pissed enough to be warm for the first time since her talk with Nick in the basement.

Cynda tried to look down at the officers who should have been below her, but the way the Astaroth held her, she couldn’t even dip her head.

Why wasn’t the gold team responding?

Couldn’t they see her dangling in midair?

Her heart beat in her throat. Slowly, a degree at a time, her insides began to heat in response to the threat.

A little late, thank you.

“You found the bog oak I left,” said a low, quiet voice in her ear. “Do you know me?”

Cynda nodded and thought again about trying to bite the fingers covering her mouth.

This was the Astaroth from the alley. The same one she’d thought tried to help her and Nick by dumping paint on their attacker during that first fight with the invisible demons. She remembered the creature’s smell more than anything else. And now, he even felt oddly familiar, because she had spent time in his brother’s arms.

Jake.

He turned her slowly toward the center room and the entrance to the tunnel. Cynda’s eyes widened.

The gold team wasn’t responding because the four officers lay sprawled on the floor near the closet, looking like broken aliens in their bomb removal space-suit gear.

That did it.

Fury rocked her, harsh and total.

Cynda broke out in flames.

Hot, welcome fire rushed across every inch of her skin. Her goggles snapped, cracked in half, and fell on the floor. Her leather suit began to smolder and burn in patches. As wonderful, welcome flames charged up and down her legs and arms, she shifted her face just enough to bite down on one of Jake’s fingers.

She sank her teeth into him as hard as she could.

Nothing happened.

Jake didn’t move his fingers, let her go, or respond in any fashion. Coppery warm blood trickled through her mouth, so she knew she had wounded him, but the demon didn’t twitch.

Cynda didn’t smell anything burning, not even her own clothes. She took her mouth off Jake’s fingers and spit the mouthful of blood against his hand. It trickled to the floor far below.

Her flames waned.

The Astaroth had absorbed her elemental blast completely, with seemingly no effort at all.

I’m dead.

“Please don’t do that again,” Jake said with no change in his tone. “Speaking is…difficult right now. I must conserve my energy.” A sigh hissed past her ear, sending unpleasant chills up and down her spine. “If my strength fails, I’ll carry out my orders whether I wish to or not.”

Cynda regulated her breathing and went very, very still. Whatever he was talking about, she did
not
like the sound of that.

Jake flew slowly toward the closet and her heart thundered. As he passed over the prone forms of the gold team, he murmured, “They aren’t dead. I had no command to kill them.”

Leaving, of course, the obvious question.

Who
had
he been commanded to kill?

Cynda was pretty sure she knew the answer. Smoke rose from her hands, wrists, and fingers.

Now the friggin’ fire comes back, when I can’t use it!

She pitched the force of her inner energy into controlling the heat, so none of it escaped onto her skin to burn Jake. Not that it hurt him. Like Nick, he must have absorbed her heat.

From somewhere behind her, Cynda heard Nick shouting her name. Her heart jumped against her ribs, making her breath catch. He had realized she was missing!

In her mind, she saw him thundering toward the house, Glock drawn.

Thank the Goddess. He’ll save me.

But she didn’t want to see Nick’s face as he pulled the gun’s trigger and killed Jake—which he would do, she had absolutely no doubt.

Just the thought of it opened a gash in her heart.

Not happening.
She wouldn’t let him face the pain, the agony of killing another family member.

If Cynda didn’t kill Jake herself, he wasn’t dying today, end of story.

“Um, hurry,” she tried to say against the gag of his fingers, but Jake didn’t change his pace.

He carried Cynda into the closet, flying so smoothly they might have been propelled by well-oiled cables instead of wings. For a second, the Astaroth held them above the opening to the dark tunnel below.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said in that flat, expressionless voice.

Cynda almost bit him again.

Yeah, right.

Jake tightened his grip on her mouth, arms, and legs.

Wind blasted past her face as she heard the sound of wings snapping together.

The two of them plummeted straight down into pitch-black cold, faster than a wind-assisted arrow fired from Merilee’s bow.

Cynda’s belly dropped to her toes as they whipped in a giant spiral. She screamed her lungs out against Jake’s palm, any sound lost in the rush of their free fall.

Bile roiled in her throat, and she almost puked. She shook violently from the rush of chilled air, striking so deep inside it made her joints hurt even through her protective leathers. Her face mask yanked at the snaps that secured it to her neck. Smells spun by. Grass. Wet sand. The sick-sweet reek of sewage. The rotten-egg stench of chemically treated natural gas.

Jake’s wings unfurled with a rippling
whump
. Cynda felt the sting of weblike lace against her arms and cheeks as they touched her, then spread wide.

Immediately, their descent slowed. Slowed more. Jake let go of Cynda’s mouth. She coughed and caught her breath as he touched down, settling her on hard, packed earth without so much as a jolt or rattle.

He urged her forward in the absolute darkness, five steps, then six, holding her by her shoulders so she didn’t fall.

He turned her loose. Cynda went to her knees on hard earth and hacked. She gasped for a real breath, sucking in the rich aroma of damp dirt. She spit more of the coppery taste of his blood, mingled with the acidic bite in her mouth from almost throwing up.

What were they, a quarter mile down? More? She half expected to hear the bleat of a subway horn and see the blaze of the headlamp just before she got crushed by tons of onrushing steel. But they were probably lower, even, than most subway tunnels.

“Be still,” the Astaroth instructed from behind her.

Like that would be a problem.

To see, she’d need to turn her palms into torches. With that natural gas smell hovering somewhere above them, Cynda couldn’t conceive of risking so much as a spark.

Where is he taking me? And why? If Downy has his talisman and he’s been ordered to kill me, why am I not dead already?

A wave of earthy energy buffeted Cynda.

“Hold your breath,” Jake commanded.

Cynda didn’t hesitate.

Just as she filled her lungs and clamped her mouth shut, the earth behind her gave a violent shake. She heard the rumble-slam of falling dirt, and knew the demon had caused a partial cave-in.

She was trapped.

Totally.

She was Jake’s prisoner for as long as it took Nick and her triad to find a way down the tunnel shaft and dig through however many feet of dirt Jake had just piled between them.

Wonderful.

More fear slammed into anger and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from igniting.

A blaze of light made her shut her eyes. She reopened them gingerly, spots dancing in her vision until she adjusted to the glow coming from behind her. Jake. She turned and faced him, realizing his skin was emitting enough light for them to see by.