Bound by Light (5 page)

From the downcast looks they gave him, he was certain he had made his point. If either made him unhappy, he would visit his displeasure on the other.

August shared little with humans, but he understood their need for attachment, for love from their family, and to protect their own. If any of
his
own still survived, the true kind, the pure-blooded kind, he would move the moon and stars to ensure their comfort and safety, to win them to him and hold them close forever. As it was, he was doing everything within his considerable power to bring them back into existence.

He was close now.

Closer than he had ever been.

Somewhere in this region, the right genetic combinations existed. August sensed them when he had reached out to select candidates to reform his near-broken Legion. Now he felt them with a deep certainty. Not just one woman—but several who were decidedly
not
inferior. He would find them and introduce them to a destiny greater than they could imagine.

As the boy and the woman hung their heads and skulked into the night, August drank their despair and unrest like nectar. Feeding on that energy, his human shape became more real, more believable, more comfortable, as he imagined the misery and, ultimately, the deaths of all the filthy, useless people in New York City. All the filthy, useless people in the wider world beyond.

Soon, they’ll be gone, and I’ll keep only the best for my purposes.

Soon, I won’t be alone anymore.

(3)

"These first few days at headquarters have been interesting," Jake admitted to his new captain, though Sal Freeman wasn’t a new acquaintance. They had been communicating the entire time Jake was training, at first by e-mail, then by phone, then in person.

If I’m hiring a demon on purpose,
Freeman had told him,
I’m goddamned gonna know him first.

Jake respected Freeman’s position on that subject—and appreciated the chance the man took, arguing for Jake’s acceptance in the NYPD and giving him a position with the OCU. Freeman had a knack for weaving things together, making fits out of mismatches, improbable combinations, and unlikely candidates.

Jake glanced around the paper-clogged room, realizing the talent extended into the physical world, too. He was still amazed that Freeman had managed to cram a desk, a couple of cabinets, two chairs, and a truckload of files and folios into such a tiny space. The space was almost as messy as Merilee’s archival area in the fourth-floor library.

Jake’s mouth twitched.

Almost.

He had decided her unrepentant sloppy housekeeping was her one rebellion against being a broom. She swept up other people’s messes all day long. Screw her own—or something like that.

As for Freeman, the man didn’t have any more time than Merilee did to worry about cleaning house.

Freeman was about the same age as Jake’s older brothers, but bigger, like walking-mountain bigger. He looked like he could lift two or three cops and pitch them out a back window if he chose to.

Had Freeman had ever done that?

It wouldn’t surprise Jake at all.

Since Freeman was still quiet, Jake figured he was supposed to say something else. "The old home place is a shitload busier than when I was here . . . uh, before."

Freeman leaned back in his rolling chair, dwarfing its wooden slats. He studied Jake from behind his desk, with a gaze so intense Jake worried that his wings or fangs were showing. He shifted in his own chair—the plastic kind—and had to fight not to lift his fingers to check his mouth. He tested his teeth with his tongue instead.

No sharp points.

That’s a plus, at least.

Freeman’s face, shadowed in the room’s poor lighting, remained tense and serious, but concern sparked in his night-black eyes. "Is it too much for you, coming back here?"

For a moment, Jake didn’t respond.

The truth lay between him and his captain in the silence, the reality of the fact that Jake Lowell—or the child he once was—had been murdered in the basement of this townhouse on New York’s Upper East Side.

The transformed servants’ cupboard Freeman used for a captain’s lair was one floor up, directly over the spot where Jake died.

Directly over the spot where he awoke, reborn as a demon. An Astaroth. A monster.

Jake’s muscles tensed against the weight of the talisman around his neck and he had to swallow to keep bile from rising up his throat.

This is hell, Freeman. Thanks for asking.

Out loud, Jake said, "It’s not too much."

Freeman’s dark brows pulled together. "The other demons giving you shit?"

Jake forced himself to relax in the plastic chair, to the best of his ability. "No. A couple expressed surprise about my career choice, but most of them took it in stride."

Sal eased off on his intense scrutiny, and his expression shifted from concern to worry. "How many Astaroths do we have in residence right now, other than yourself?"

"Five, but two are leaving tomorrow." Jake quickly ran through his recent memory of memos, notes, and overhead conversations. "None due to arrive that I know of. That could change any second—but you know we’re a finite resource. Kind of . . . costly and dangerous to our makers. I’m not sure there are that many more Astaroths to find or liberate."

Freeman frowned. "We had twenty demons at the townhouse a month ago. We could
use
twenty now, damn it. Do you think you can persuade the last three to stick around for a while?"

Jake’s insides hardened at the thought of interacting with his own kind, with those mirrors of what he didn’t want to be. But this was his captain asking, a man who had taken a major risk to give him a shot at a normal human life. A man who had already become a friend to him, as close if not closer than his own brothers.

What could he say?

"I’ll try."

"Good, thanks." Freeman scrubbed a hand over his chin. "I know you don’t—that you’re, well, more like us. A real man. Like a human man, I mean. But I need you to take the lead with them, and with any other Astaroth who passes through here. They’re highly useful in fights, but they won’t listen to me about tactics or training. I don’t think I’ve ever earned their respect. Maybe you can."

Jake doubted that, but he meant what he said. He’d try. He owed Freeman that much, and a lot more.

Freeman leaned back in his chair again, and this time Jake could see fatigue shoving out all other emotion and expression. "You’ve already seen what we’re up against. Multiple hot spots across all hours, all boroughs. The Legion—and whatever other crazy shit’s starting to happen around New York City—it’s running the OCU to death. Hell, right now, I’d welcome an army of Astaroths. I pray for shit like that every night."

A knock on the door made them both look toward the sound.

Andrea Myles, the OCU’s second in command, stuck her head inside and said, "Hey." The word came out sounding like
ha-ay
. Her red curls hung damp and loose around her face, and the wet hair was a perpetual feature from what Jake could tell—as natural for her as the Southern twang.

Freeman surprised Jake by straightening in his chair, yet at the same time going soft around the edges. His expression turned nervous, halfway to goofy in Jake’s book, but Andy didn’t seem to think so. She smoothed her water-flecked jeans and blouse and smiled at Freeman, oblivious to Jake’s presence.

When she did notice Jake, her cheeks flushed and the rest of her message came out in a Southern-fried rush. "Y’all need to finish up. A couple of fire Sibyls want a word with you upstairs in Cynda’s room, Sal. Then it’ll be time for evening meeting."

Somehow, dreamy gaze and all, Freeman managed to nod before Andy left, closing the door behind her.

"She’s—" He broke off, then seemed to catch himself. He tried to regain his professional demeanor, but failed. After a second he shook his head. "Guess that was pretty obvious."

"Way past." Jake didn’t smile, but he almost broke his lips keeping them straight across his face.

Freeman didn’t smile either. He pulled at his already open collar. "Do you think it’s obvious to
her
?"

Jake shrugged and did his best to come off completely no-big-deal. "She’d have to be pretty thick to miss it, and I don’t think she’s thick."

Freeman pulled at his collar again. "She
works
for me, for shit’s sake. I can’t—she’s one of my officers. And now she’s a Sibyl, too. The world’s only living water Sibyl."

Jake kept his mouth shut as Freeman stared at the spot where Andy had been.

Freeman’s voice turned almost reverent. "She could drown me if I piss her off."

"You might need to give that a little thought before you make her mad, then." Jake stood, waiting to be dismissed.

"Fuck you, Lowell," Freeman said, still looking lost and sort of miserable, too.

Dismissed. Yep. That was it.

Leaving Freeman to moon over his girlfriend-to-be-any-minute-now, Jake made his way out of the servants’ cupboard, bypassed the entrance to the basement without looking directly at the door, and kept walking. Fast. He knew he had half an hour or so to burn before evening meeting, and he didn’t want to spend it hanging around idle and getting stared at by curious OCU officers or Sibyls.

So, he poked around all over the townhouse and tried to find the Astaroths he was supposed to win over and control and all of that bullshit.

He wasn’t sure, but he’d bet most of the money in Manhattan that the bastards were
hiding
from him. Probably invisible. Probably staring at him and laughing each time he passed too close.

Maybe they wanted him to use his demon senses on purpose, extend himself into his demon mind-set. Maybe they wanted to see him change, just to prove that he could do it.

Not going to happen,
he thought as he stalked back down the stairs toward the conference room.

The transient lodgers were as invisible to him as to everyone else. As far as they were concerned, Jake probably
was
everyone else. He didn’t look exactly like them, and he sure as hell didn’t act like them, winking out of existence and flitting around everywhere, claws and fangs hanging out.

Not going to happen—but for Sal Freeman, Jake knew he had to make it happen. Somehow.

Fuck.

Jaw clenched, fists clenched tighter, Jake reached the bottom step and strode down the freshly painted hallway toward the conference room on the townhouse’s first level. He had to get to evening meeting. After a week with the OCU, he was more aware of how badly things were going in New York City. There was no time to waste—and the island had been going even crazier over the last few days. The OCU needed to hit the streets and stop whatever chaos the Legion had planned for tonight.

Focus. Concentrate.

Almost there.

Don’t think of this as where you grew up. It’s OCU Headquarters now—Head Case Quarters.

But no matter how Jake lied to Freeman earlier when his friend asked, the townhouse did indeed feel more like the steamy pits of hell than anything else.

Heavy bookcases, tables, and chairs seemed to press toward him. He remembered every piece of furniture, every book on every shelf. The dark wood and volumes of occult lore crowded the delicate Oriental rug where he walked, stealing all the space and air despite the gleaming, bright walls.

Yellow. My mother never would have tolerated such light colors.

She wouldn’t have tolerated so many intruders, either.

Jake focused his attention on a small elderly woman scurrying past him in the hall, trying not to meet his eyes. Instantly, he recognized Delilah Moses.

Shock rattled through him, and he whirled and caught the diminutive woman by her elbow.

She jumped and let out a yelp. Terror etched itself across her wrinkled face as she tried to pull away from him, and Jake let go of her immediately. "I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted—you—you might not remember me specifically—there were so many of us. But two years ago, you saved my life."

Delilah held the elbow he had touched and blinked at him, clearly not grasping his meaning.

Jake wanted to drop to one knee to be eye to eye with her, put her on equal footing and perhaps help her relax, but instinct told him that would be over the top. "You put an end to the crazy bi—uh, ex-nun who had stolen my talisman. You freed me."

Now realization glimmered in Delilah’s eyes and she nodded. "You were among the demons that nun had captured. The ones she was torturin’."

Jake faced his savior, feeling almost reverent. "Yes, and you killed her. I take it you’ve stayed friends with the Sibyls since then?"

"Yeah, I have." Delilah seemed to be growing more wary with each word. "But . . . you’re a cop, aren’t you?"