Captive Spirit (18 page)

Fire energy surged into him, burning his leg. Bela moved her hand to his other knee, then both hands, and earth energy flowed through him just as strong.

In his mind’s eye, he blocked John from disappearing. Forced him back front and center. “I told you, John. Can’t hide, sinner. It’s time to confess.”

John’s next emotion was anguish. It was so strong, so total, that Camille gave a little sob as Duncan choked back his own cough of emotion.

I was dropping off the wills
, John said, and the words echoed through the SUV in Camille’s mingled, sorrowful tones.
Hers and mine
.

“You son of a bitch,” Andy growled from the front seat. “You let her die to what, look after some investments? Have a shot at her millions?”

No! It wasn’t like that
. Anger was the emotion now, and the flames on Camille’s fingers were real. Holes smoked in the knee of Duncan’s jeans before Bela waved one hand in the air and put them out.
Katrina was sure we were going to die. The wills were her idea. She was freaking out about them, and she wouldn’t calm down until I promised to take care of delivering them. Katrina was … persuasive. And I was a fucking idiot
.

Camille’s breath rattled in her throat, and her voice sounded more than delicate when she prompted John with, “And the day you dropped off the wills?”

The SUV was slowing down. Turning again. The sensation made Duncan’s insides spin like he was on a carnival ride, and the glare of taillights and headlights didn’t help at all.

Walker had just come staggering home with his snotnosed girlfriend
, John said through Camille. Their voices shook.
Katrina didn’t want to leave the kids unsupervised. I had the house protected with elemental barriers I made using the dinar as a focal point to draw and arrange energy. I thought they’d hold for the half hour it would take me to
drop off the wills so Katrina could be at peace
. There was a pause. A sob. Camille’s or John’s, Duncan didn’t know.

Leaving her there seemed a lot safer than taking her with me
.

A chasm of grief opened in Duncan’s mind and heart. His head slammed against the seat, and he bit his tongue so hard the sweet copper of blood surged across his mouth. The slashes ripped and ran, itching like tiger hair was springing up to line each one. Ammonia-tainted liquid oozed through his shirt, thin, dark, and eye-wateringly awful.

John stopped talking, and Camille dropped the coin like it was red-hot. The metal burned into Duncan’s chest, and he almost shouted from the recoil in his wounds. For a long minute, he couldn’t get a breath. Like being underwater. Like drowning. His ribs felt like they were splintering from the pressure.

“John had to go.” Camille said, her soft voice slipping through Duncan’s haze of agony. “Your infection’s trying to break past the barriers the Mothers set to contain it, and he’s doing what he can to slow it down.”

“Yeah,” Duncan managed, eyes squeezed tight against the pain. Then he did groan, and kept groaning until bits of power from three separate pairs of hands chased back enough of the torture for him to catch a few gulps of air. Earth. Fire. Water. He felt the elements braid together, working into him and shoring up the walls of energy the Mothers had lodged into his flesh.

When his vision cleared, he had his head turned, and he was looking at Bela, and she was looking at him, her dark eyes wide with concern. Her fingers rested on his knuckles, and he was grateful for the contact.

“Don’t die,” she said, and the pain in her voice nearly put him under again.

He made himself breathe slower, slower, until he wasn’t sounding like a fish flopping on a beach. With what little oomph he could muster, he sat up straighter, and that was for her. Anything to keep her from looking at him like that, from sounding like that, ever again.

He shifted his hands to cover hers and hoped she understood. He was trying his best to be a cop. To live up to her belief that he was a good and honorable man. He was trying to save her from dying like him, with demon slashes eating into her skin and bones—but damnit, he wasn’t trying to die right now.

He wanted to live. He wanted to have some more time with her. A lot of time, if he could.

Please understand
, he thought, and wished some weird, mingled voice would speak the words out loud, because he just couldn’t get them out.

Bela broke their eye contact and stared at her knees, but she didn’t pull away from him.

Maybe that was something.

It would have to be enough until they could be alone again.

“One hell of an interrogation, Sharp.” Andy faced him from the front seat as Dio pulled the SUV to the curb and shut off the engine. She wasn’t teasing. She actually sounded like she admired what he’d just done.

That was embarrassing.

“Was that everything?” Andy asked.

Duncan didn’t want to, but he poked around in the pile of emotions John had left behind before he retreated into Duncan’s cells and molecules. “Yeah. I think.”

Camille put her hand on the door handle, but stopped and turned around again. Her eyes, too green to be blue and too blue to be green, showed how unsettled she must be feeling. “Do you believe what John said, Duncan?”

“I don’t know what I believe.” That was honest, even if it didn’t offer her any relief. “But I’m pretty sure he spilled everything.”

Camille accepted this and got out of the SUV. So did Andy. Bela opened her door and slipped off the seat, leaving the door open for Duncan.

Dio was still at the wheel, and her matter-of-fact tenor caught Duncan’s attention before he could scoot across the seat and make his exit. “Judging by what you were yelling at John Cole when we left that office building, about him telling you all he knows and being full of bullshit, you were pretty sure he’d spilled everything before.”

Streetlights made her blond hair glow almost silver as she studied him through the rearview mirror, without turning around. Her eyes were nearly the same shade as his, but hers had storms and wind and lightning at the center, and something else: a certain cold realism that marked her as the hard-ass in this little fighting group. Duncan met her reflected gaze with no resentment.

“Stay alert, and don’t stop watching me, Dio.” He was trusting her with this, one hard-ass to another. “Don’t make Bela be the one to kill me if John takes me over and goes psycho, or if I screw up and turn demon.”

Dio’s mouth came open, and her eyes blazed. The one hand she still had on the steering wheel went white along the knuckles. “Fuck you, Sharp.”

He leaned toward the front seat, fighting the rising ache in his wounds and the black spots starting to dance at the edges of his vision. “Tell me you’ll take me out if I don’t—or can’t—do it myself.”

Dio gaped at him. She didn’t give him any response other than a more thorough strangling of the steering wheel.

Way off in the dark evening sky, thunder rumbled against the stars.

Bela was getting antsy outside. She leaned back through the open door, and Duncan said, “It’s okay, Angel. I’m coming.”

He didn’t want to believe he’d made a mistake about Dio. Knowing a soldier’s strengths and weaknesses, how they were built and what made them tick, that had always been his special skill, in the Army and on the force, too. Sibyls couldn’t be that different, could they? Maybe his instincts were failing him now, at the worst possible time. As Duncan moved his aching body across the seat, he had the sinking feeling that he’d misread Dio, and there was no fixing it now.

“I’m a broom,” she said as he pulled himself through the door, her tone brittle and grudging, but also sincere. Then the rest of her answer followed him into the night.

“Don’t worry. Brooms always sweep up the mess.”

(19)

Bela was somewhere between pissed off and terrified, and she hated feeling that way. She’d been off balance since DUMBO, and she couldn’t seem to get her footing or find the right focus.

Duncan.

The demons.

Her quad.

There was so much competing for her mind and emotions, she felt like she had fault lines fracturing through everything that made her alive and female and a Sibyl.

“This isn’t the brownstone,” Duncan said as he got out, using the SUV’s door to hold himself up with his good arm. He didn’t seem like he was pounding on death’s door anymore, but his face was white at the eyes and mouth, and his neck was hectic red above his dark, blood-soaked T-shirt and cast. “Damn. It’s lit up like a circus on opening night.”

Dio came around the SUV, and the five of them stood in silence as Bela squinted in the blaze of the safety lights that made OCU headquarters a five-story glare-fest, complete with black, glittering metal safety fence separating it from the sidewalk. On the other side of the fence, unbearably white stairs wound upward on both sides of the entrance, leading to equally unbearably white columns and a way-too-white front door. Even the American eagle seal over the front door gleamed in the megawatt festival—which was sort of ridiculous, given that two-thirds of the people who came and went from the townhouse—and virtually any creature that might attack it—could see in the dark.

“It is bright, isn’t it?” Bela took Duncan’s hand and pulled him away from the SUV so Camille could shut the door behind him. The sidewalks were deserted for the moment, and there wasn’t much traffic. Unless they wanted to call for help, they’d need to get him through the front door under their own power. She thought they could handle it, and she knew that Duncan and her quad would rather not make a spectacle of themselves.

“Welcome to Headcase Quarters,” she said, leading him forward.

“Excuse me?” He hesitated, pulling back a little. “What—I mean, where are we, exactly?”

“We’re north on the Upper East Side, above the Reservoir.” Andy got hold of his casted arm above the elbow. “This is where the OCU and the Dark Crescent Sisterhood get it on—figuratively.”

“Literally, too.” Dio got behind Duncan and Camille, and her wind energy swept past Bela’s ears. “Way too literally, sometimes. Couple of years ago, a fire Sibyl torched the conference room getting frisky with her boyfriend.”

Camille let out a nervous laugh, but Bela didn’t. She was noticing Andy, who had gone pale enough to play the ghost of Lady Macbeth on Broadway. She was squeezing Duncan’s arm hard enough to leave marks, and worse yet, her hair and clothes were dry, and there was no sign of a drip of water.

Goody. It’s unanimous. Nobody wants to be here. Can we go home now?

“I hate this,” Andy said, and Bela knew what she meant.

Dio and Camille looked at the ground, but Bela made herself hold Andy’s increasingly sad and angry gaze even as she used both arms to steady Duncan. “You don’t have to stay long. If the Mothers don’t need you, you can go as soon as we get Duncan through the front door.”

“Duncan can get himself through the front door, thanks,” Duncan said, taking more of his own weight without wobbling so much. “Just give me a little time.”

Andy frowned, but she nodded.

Bela couldn’t help thinking that it really wasn’t fair. Bela, Camille, and Dio could avoid the places where they’d lost their loved ones. Riana, Cynda, and Merilee could stay away from the brownstone. But Andy—Andy had to come to Headcase Quarters all the time. She had to suck it up and just deal with the pain, even sit in the conference room where she had last viewed her lover’s body. It was that or stay on a distant island training new water Sibyls, or fight in some other city with some other group. Andy refused to do that. She had never said it outright, but she had let Bela know that the bond between them ran too deep for her to give it up, even if it meant having to face the damned townhouse day in and day out.

Duncan was definitely noticing the change in Andy’s demeanor, and he wasn’t moving an inch toward the fence. “Okay, what’s wrong with this place? Why do you call it Headcase Quarters?”

“It’s full of Mothers, for one thing.” Dio applied a targeted gust of wind to Duncan’s ass, and he took a few steps with Bela, Andy, and Camille steadying him. “But that isn’t typical. Oh, and a baby fire Sibyl lives here. She’ll burn your nuts off if you aren’t careful.”

Andy broke out of her trance long enough to snort in Dio’s general direction. “You leave my goddess-daughter out of this—and my goddess-son, too. Ethan Lowell is wonderful, and Neala Lowell is perfect in every way.”

“A perfect little firebug,” Dio grumbled, and Andy hit Dio’s slacks with a jet of water that made it look like Dio had peed all over herself.

Dio didn’t even blink. She just divided her wind energy between moving Duncan and drying her pants. They were inside the fence now, making progress.

“The townhouse has a dark history.” Camille kept her hands ready to push against Duncan’s back, but he was doing okay without that assistance so far. “But really, it got its nickname because with Sibyls, OCU officers, friendly demons, and who knows what else wandering around inside, there’s always something nuts going on.”

Andy, who seemed heartened by thoughts of seeing the children she loved better than life itself, added, “The OCU leases the building from the Lowell brothers. You’ve met two of them, Creed and Nick—but you were still pretty sick, and you might not remember. They’re half-demon officers, and they’ve been working with your friends Saul and Cal, the new transfers.”

“Demons. Half-demons. Baby fire Sibyls.” Duncan was walking on his own now, with just a little help from them, and he started up the steps. “I think I’m really beginning to dread this place.”

Andy explained about how the three Lowell brothers had married Riana, Cynda, and Merilee, finishing with, “They live on the upper floors of the townhouse now, with Ethan—he’s Riana’s—and Neala, who’s Cynda’s. There’s a guest floor, too, where visiting officers, Sibyls, and even transient demons can stay.”

“Like that bastard Blackmore.” Dio used her wind energy to push Duncan and Bela up the last few steps to the landing, with Camille and Andy barely escaping the blast. “Maybe he’s some kind of demon we haven’t discovered yet.”

Duncan squeezed Bela’s fingers as he pulled his casted arm free of Andy’s grip. When Camille moved past him, he gave her a nod as if to thank her for her help. “Blackjack’s an old-school special forces officer,” he told Dio as she joined them. “That’s all that’s wrong with him.”

Andy gave a sound that sounded as much like a growl as a grunt. “He’s a dickhead.”

Duncan laughed, then winced and raised his cast to press against his chest. “Dickhead’s always been part of his job description. He can’t help himself.”

Bela pushed the front door open to reveal the herringbone hardwood floor of the entryway, polished to a shine like the rest of the place. A whiff of pine cleanser, fresh paint, and lingering fire escaped into the air, and Bela tasted and felt the unmistakable weight of the elemental energy of nearby Sibyl Mothers.

A
lot
of them.

Nobody was standing on the other side of the door, though, which was a relief. The only officer in view was a uniformed man at a small desk straight across from the front door, about thirty feet away from her. The desk was located near the foot of the stairs, just in front of the thick, winding wooden banister. The officer glanced up, saw Bela, gave her a little wave, then went back to his telephone and notepad. It was time for patrol, so most Sibyls and the rest of the officers on this shift would already be on the streets. That was good. She didn’t want to deal with too many other people—and she didn’t have much patience for Duncan defending Jack Blackmore. Just the thought of that man made her wish she’d brought her sword out of the SUV.

She stepped inside and gave Duncan’s hand a gentle tug. Duncan crossed the threshold with Dio beside him and Andy and Camille bringing up the rear. They stood in the space, roughly equivalent to the whole main floor of the brownstone. Soft light came from an old-style chandelier, with bulbs that looked like candles glowing inside dozens of frosted glass holders. Headcase Quarters was a repository of oversized rooms, giant light fixtures, antiques, and expensive old rugs. There were tables, bookcases, and reading chairs everywhere, even the entryway.

Bela kept hold of Duncan’s hand, and made him look her in the face. “Before I have to deal with Jack Blackmore again, just tell me one thing. If you hadn’t agreed to his terms, would he have made good on that threat to take you to New Jersey and turn you into a lab experiment while you suffered and died?”

The pained but friendly expression on Duncan’s face lost the friendly part, and Bela saw a little darkness in his eyes when he said, “Yeah, probably.”

Dio and Camille gave matching snorts of disgust.

“Fucker just better not get in my way,” Andy grumbled as she headed out of the entryway toward the wide hall that led to the conference room, basement, and kitchen. “I’ll check to see if the Mothers are in the basement.”

She barely got the words out before Mother Yana, Mother Keara, and Mother Anemone came steaming out of the basement door on the right of the wide hall. The Mothers hurried forward, along with—oh, great.

Mother Yana had her she-wolf in tow. The creature was so old her fur was all white and silver, but she walked with the same powerful strides she had since Bela remembered seeing her when she was a kid.

Duncan eyed the approaching wolf, then glanced at Bela.

All she could do was shrug. “Headcase Quarters. You were warned.”

The officer at the desk across the room supported her statement by not even bothering to look up.

Bela realized her tone was purposely light, but inside, as her quad greeted the Mothers, she was thinking how everything was happening too fast. Wasn’t she supposed to have a little time to prepare for this? Another day, at least?

It’s not about you, asshole. Duncan needs help now, not later
.

But what if that “help” killed him?

He’s dying anyway. Everybody keeps telling me that
.

But she wasn’t believing it, or feeling any ripples in her instincts that might tell her what Duncan’s fate would be. In fact, Bela wasn’t feeling anything. Her body had gone strangely numb, like she didn’t have any emotions or sensations at all. Her mind and heart were blank as the Mothers and the she-wolf gave them the once-over.

“I see it didn’t take long for you to be gettin’ yer ass in trouble,” Mother Keara said to Duncan. Her gray hair was loose around her bony shoulders, and her green robes hung on arms like she hadn’t been eating enough.

“I had work to do.” Duncan’s comeback was more truthful than sarcastic, but it made Mother Keara laugh anyway. Sparks banked off her elbows, and smoke curled away from her neck and head.

“Vell, now ve have vork to do, too, thank you.” Mother Yana’s tone was kind, as was typical for her when she wasn’t busy being terrifying. Her thin, gnarled hand rested on the wolf’s neck, and Bela realized that both the wolf and Mother Yana had the same yellow glow to their dark eyes.

Mother Anemone pulled her blue robes against her tall frame, letting off the light scent of lilacs and sunshine. “Duncan, are you certain about doing this?”

“It’ll take hours,” Mother Keara warned before Duncan could say anything. “And it’ll hurt like you can’t imagine.”

“Ve can’t make guarantees,” Mother Yana added, still stroking her ancient companion. “You might fare better letting nature have her own vay.”

Duncan’s answer was firm. “I’m certain.”

Bela’s heart gave a tiny lurch, still muted like everything else, but she wished he hadn’t agreed. At the same time, she knew he really didn’t have a choice, and neither did she.

“Then when you’re ready, Duncan, come with us.” Mother Anemone pointed to the basement door. “We have half the living Sibyl Mothers in this townhouse basement, ready to help you.”

Mother Keara let off a new round of smoke. “Took us a bit to agree on strategy, but I got me a good feelin’ about givin’ you back some time, and a lot less pain.”

“Andrea, we’ll fill you in.” Mother Anemone’s smile was comforting, even though Bela wasn’t much in the mood to be soothed. “I don’t think your part will be overly taxing.”

The Mothers all looked from Duncan to Bela. Dio, Andy, and Camille responded to the cue by walking away to stand just inside the main hallway to the right, leaving Duncan and Bela alone in the entryway. They milled around chatting, fanning out just enough to block the view of the officer at the desk.

Bela would have found that sweet, but she really didn’t want to do this. She was feeling something now, and it wasn’t pleasant, and what she really wanted to do was run away. The only problem was, she wanted to take Duncan with her, and that wasn’t possible.

“You look nervous.” Duncan reached up with his good hand and massaged Bela’s arm. The contact gave her warm shivers, but it didn’t do anything to stop the panic rising in her belly and chest like some sort of separate life-form. She couldn’t say anything. All she could do was nod and wish he would touch her more.

Bela tried to look at Duncan’s face, but she couldn’t do that, either. How idiotic. She had been staring at him just a minute ago, before.…

Before all this became definite.

Her skin turned ultrasensitive, like she was nothing but a giant walking bruise.

“Look at me.” Duncan’s request was quiet, not demanding at all, but Bela raised her eyes to his as if he had issued a royal command.

Damn
.

The wintry gray-blue of his gaze doubled the gallop of her heart and halved her breathing. The bloody T-shirt, the sweat on his face, the holes burned into his jeans—all of those imperfections just made him more perfect.

He let go of her arm, looked away toward the Mothers and her quad, then back again. “I don’t want you to stay, Bela. I don’t want you here while this is happening.”