Bound by Light (34 page)

Jake’s second target was a business, and once more, he didn’t see any sign of disruption in the floor. He also didn’t think the Stone Man would choose an inhabited space, so he moved on quickly.

The third building—now this one had promise.

Twilight gripped the city as Jake stood outside what looked to be a four-story tenement, boarded tight, with renovation permits hammered to the wooden front doors.

Which were locked when he rattled them.

He glanced over his shoulder, back toward the clamor around the Carter headquarters a little over a block away. The street around him was mostly deserted, no onlookers paying attention to him, so he lowered his right shoulder and slammed it against the tenement doors.

The doors rattled, but didn’t give.

Jake rubbed his shoulder. The pain from his failed strike helped him focus. He checked the street behind him again, made sure no one was watching, and hit the doors again. And again. Hurting worse each time. Grimacing by the fourth blow, wondering if his shoulder might be pulverized.

On his fifth assault, one of the doors groaned and cracked. It opened enough for him to force his hands between them and break into the dusty foyer, where he stood for a long moment, realizing he at least had his demon senses intact. He could still see in the dark fairly well and make out the fresh dirt strewn on the floor of the room adjacent to the foyer. And the mound where the tunnel entrance had been. And the dark splotches of poisonous red sulfur clinging to the mound.

Jake sniffed in the darkness, and caught a definite trace of rotten eggs, just like he had noticed in the basement of the Carter headquarters. His pulse picked up and he let his awareness spread outward into the room.

Nothing else alive in the space, not that he could sense.

Like that meant anything.

Some freaky-ass monster could explode from that dirt mound any second now. His recent experience with the trapped Vodoun Loa had been more than enough to teach him
that
lesson.

Jake’s hand automatically moved to his holster, but his Glock was back at the townhouse, on the conference room table with his badge.

Shit
.

He tried to keep his arms and body loose, ready for anything, as he slowly edged into the murky room, heading toward the dirt and sulfur traces. The air was cool and still, but thick with dust and the faint, rotted leavings of strong sulfur.

Training and instinct drove him to study the floor in all directions, and in a few seconds, he picked up a trail of footsteps, laced with that same strong but slowly degrading red sulfur trace. Jake moved to the glowing footsteps, crouched to study them, and immediately saw the size differential. One pair of large men’s shoes made the main trail. The other trail, marked only lightly with sulfur, had been made by very small feet. Sneaker-clad. Probably female, or universe forbid, a child.

His fists tightened.

The desire to get hold of this Stone Man, to choke the life right out of him, nearly overwhelmed Jake. Deep inside him, somewhere in the center of his gut, he felt the first stirrings of his true Astaroth energy, and fed it with his rage as he followed the prints through the darkened building.

Here and there, the woman or child wearing the sneakers had been dragged.

Son of a bitch.

Who do you have captive now?

What’s your endgame?

The angrier Jake got, the more clearly he imagined confronting the Stone Man in person, the more his gut churned and those demon instincts stirred.

Here, he caught a trace of energy.

Definitely female. Older. So not a child, then. An elderly woman.
What kind of sick bastard drags a grandmother to a sadistic sexual murder?

The old woman’s energy felt . . . overshadowed, somehow. As if she were being eclipsed by a much stronger source. Maybe forced to comply with its wishes.

Jake narrowed his eyes, tracking the prints through a small kitchen, to a back door. He put his hand on the frame—and a blast of energy surged through his fingers, his arm.

He staggered backward.

Ancient energy.

He
touched that place, that exact place on the doorframe.

Jake’s skin was on fire. His bones were melting!

The ancient energy hammered through him. Dozens of images flew through Jake’s consciousness as he clutched his arm and fought not to puke or fall down.

Con men, ministers, prophets, priests, and finally gods showed themselves in Jake’s mind, each older than the one before. Back through time, to seemingly
before
time. Blood rituals. So much blood. So much death to keep him—it—alive.

How could something so monstrous, so evil, be permitted to breathe air on this Earth?

Primal fury racked Jake as his demon essence recognized an archetypal enemy too old to be true, too powerful to be real. His lips pulled back to make room for fangs trying to emerge. His claws pricked at the ends of his fingers, and his back tingled where his wings wanted to burst out.

More images flowed through his brain, this time of women. Charlotte Heart. Several females Jake didn’t recognize. Phila Gruyere. Three women dressed in Sibyl battle leathers.

And last, strongest, a flaming out as the contact with the ancient energy finally passed out of his body like a rotten puff of grave-stench, one more picture, clear as the sun in a cloudless sky.

Merilee.

Jake roared and threw himself toward the back entrance. As fast as he could, he forced his muscles to cooperate enough to remove his jacket. He used the thin material to cover his hand, give him a little shield from that energy, and yanked the door open.

The trail of prints led down the back steps, to the sidewalk—and then dissipated to nothing a yard or so later.

Jake put his jacket back on and stood in the back door rubbing his numb but otherwise undamaged arm. He glared at the spot where the prints vanished.

They were headed south, maybe a little southwest.

Central Park? The Financial District? Farther?

He wants Merilee. He wants her more than all the rest. He’ll try to take her soon. Maybe right now.

Out in the foyer, the doors rattled.

Jake wheeled before he thought about moving. He charged back through the kitchen and into the dark room with the sealed tunnel exit. His wings, fangs, and claws were halfway out now, almost free, almost there.

Yeah, motherfucker.
He stormed toward the foyer, fists primed for punching the Stone Man, legs flexed and ready to spring. He’d claw off the asshole’s face, then bite straight through his neck.
Come right on inside.

As the tips of Jake’s claws poked into his palms, his brother Creed strode into the main room, followed closely by Nick. Both were dressed in black NYPD jackets and jeans, and both looked worried.

"Don’t," Nick said as he grabbed Jake’s shoulders and broke his charge. "Calm it down. Don’t let the change proceed."

"Are you fucking nuts?" Jake heard the Astaroth-resonance in his voice. "I’ve been trying to do this since—"

Creed joined Nick as Nick shoved Jake back a step, his frown just as deep. "If you change, you might never be able to take human form again, Jake. We’ve been tracking you since you left the townhouse, trying to catch you to warn you. The Mothers sent us."

Jake felt like some essential part of his brain was shorting out, unable to connect truth and sensation and what his brother just told him.

"Human," he mumbled.

"Yeah. It sucks." Nick took hold of Jake’s arm and gave him a firm squeeze, as if to hold him in his partially changed state.

Creed grabbed Jake’s other arm and squeezed harder. "Knock it off, piss-brain, or you’ll be winged and pale for the rest of your existence."

For a few seconds, Jake stood suspended between his twin brothers, feet on the floor, but barely. Wings almost completely out. Tips of fangs bumping his lips. Another few moments, and he’d be an Astaroth. Strong again, faster, ready for anything, Glock or no Glock.

The pull was unimaginable, almost irresistible. He had to change. He wanted to change. This was what he had decided, to be a demon again.

But forever?

Merilee’s image filled his awareness.

As an Astaroth, he wouldn’t be able to give her any type of real relationship, man to woman. Yet he could keep her safe, make certain no harm ever came to her.

But I’d never touch her again. Never hold her or kiss her or make love to her.

Nick shook Jake’s arm. "I’ll take off my talisman and kick your ass until you aren’t conscious anymore."

Creed was already glowing golden, showing the larger, more powerful outline of his Curson demon form. "I don’t need to take off a talisman to shift," he snarled, his voice echoing with demon force. "You need to make a careful decision before you throw away the life you’ve chosen."

Nick let go of Jake’s arm. "Being a cop. Working with us—your family."

"Merilee," Creed said, more demon than human now. His fingers crushed into Jake’s arm, and the pain almost jerked Jake’s focus away from his own shifting process. "Don’t forget Merilee."

Jake managed to yank his arm free from Creed’s powerful grip. "Like I
ever
forget her. I have to keep her safe. The Stone Man. You don’t know what’s—"

While Jake was looking at Creed, Nick’s fist caught Jake off-guard.

Knuckles smashed into his jaw.

Sparks exploded in Jake’s mind.

He toppled backward and lost all grip on his Astaroth form as he crashed to the floor, sending up a brown cloud of dust and dirt.

"Sorry, bro," he heard Nick say as his consciousness ebbed.

Jake thought Nick didn’t sound sorry, not one fucking bit.

He wasn’t able to think anything else.

(27)

Merilee tried to focus as she dabbed blood off an earth Sibyl’s forehead in the townhouse entrance hall.

This was insane.

The city was crazy. It felt like the world—her world—was falling apart and she couldn’t do one friggin’ thing to stop it.

She pressed her cloth against the Sibyl’s wound and tried to speed the healing, but her mind kept wandering to Jake. Then to the talisman hanging around her neck, concealed beneath her leathers.

Where is he?

She absolutely could not use the necklace and ring to summon him, to force him to return to the townhouse. But, Athena’s teeth, did she want to. The stupid talisman was torturing her, almost whispering to her that she had the power, if only she’d use it. Fucking nightmare of a thing.

I won’t do it. I will
not.

But . . . is he still human?

Or a demon forever?

Her chest clutched. If she didn’t stop dwelling on Jake, she’d cry or get pissed, and she couldn’t afford either reaction at the moment. Her healing energies, which were stronger than most, were in high demand. That was the only reason she wasn’t out hunting Jake herself.

When his brothers tracked down his stupid stubborn demon ass, she and Jake would search for the missing Sibyls and help the NYPD and the OCU handle riots and street brawls.

For right now, though, the greater good was served by her presence at the townhouse–turned–field hospital.

Damn it.

The streets of Manhattan were turning into a battleground of frightened people, angry religious nuts demanding that the media admit the paranormal headlines were all lies, and story-thirsty local, national, and international newshounds competing for leads. Helicopters thumped back and forth overhead, and the wail of fire and police sirens rose and fell over and over again.

"It is the Old Vone," Mother Yana said from behind Merilee as Delilah Moses brought her a batch of fresh clean towels. "The creature’s chaos energy must be stirring this unrest—though thank the Goddess it does not affect Sibyls. If people vould go home, get off the streets, it vould die avay. Or he might choose to stop the mayhem after a point, depending on his goals."

Merilee glanced back at Delilah Moses and the Mothers, who were tending three OCU officers and two Sibyls. "If my dreams are accurate, he—it—may not be planning to calm things down at all. I think he wants the city destroyed."

Delilah, who looked exceptionally pale tonight, slipped to the back of the entrance hall and headed toward the kitchen and laundry area carrying soiled towels. Merilee lifted her hand, almost touched Jake’s talisman—and thought she saw something following Delilah.

No, wait.

Merilee squinted at the air behind the old woman.

More like . . . hovering along behind her.

A ghostly shape—vaguely woman-formed.

Am I imagining this?