Demon Night (6 page)

“I'd put it in your head,” she said, but the sharpening of her gaze told him her thoughts were returning to the demon before she added, “So Samuels is in a relationship with the sister—and any demon is arrogant enough to think the control he has there is sufficient. Why transform Charlie if he's got the sister in hand? It'd be a blow to his ego to resort to that.”

“But he did,” Jake said.

“Yes. Which gives us several possibilities: another demon wanted to strike that blow, maybe someone higher up at Legion, and he directed the vampires to go after Charlie; or, if Samuels is directing the vampires, something happened at Legion that changed his priorities—so that a blow to his ego was the lesser of two evils; or, Jane is starting to suspect something's wrong, and he wanted another level of control over her. But there's always the fourth possibility, which is the unknown factor that usually fucks everything up.” She glanced up at Ethan. “Did they know you were in Seattle?”

Remembering the surprise in the vampires' psychic scents, Ethan shook his head. “No. But the vampires do now. At least one demon does, too.”

“And your cover with Charlie is blown. Does she still trust—”

“She doesn't know it was me that saved her.” And Ethan preferred to keep it that way.

Jake turned in his seat. “You shape-shifted? Are you sure she was convinced by it? You're the worst—”

“She didn't see me clearly.” Only heard him. If he ever had to use the one false shape he could successfully hold, he'd be certain not to talk much. He looked at Lilith. “The way I figure, there's about seven vampires being held at Legion, and about seven scientists working there under coercion.”

She nodded and picked up the small pile of files, tossed them at Ethan. He vanished them into his cache the moment they left her fingers. “You've been going to Caelum each day, getting your assignments from Michael. I want you in Seattle full-time. I'll clear it with him. Whatever Legion is doing, finding out what it is needs to take precedence over everything else. Everything but keeping Charlie Newcomb out of the vamps' hands.”

“Yes.” It needn't be said. A Guardian's first duty was always protecting human life.

“I'll be sending Jake up in a day or two as your backup.”

Surprise lightened Jake's psychic scent, and he said softly, “Sweet, sweet freedom. You are a goddess, Lilith.”

Ethan frowned, his brows drawing together as he looked at the novice. A Guardian's heightened senses left him vulnerable to sensory overload in the first years of his active service. Cloistering the novices at SI had helped with some of the young Guardians' adjustments, but the Enthrallment still hit them, especially when they left the warehouse.

“You still Enthralled? You won't be much good to me outside if you're spinning.”

Jake shrugged. “I've gone out several times without being overwhelmed.”

“It doesn't matter,” Lilith said. “Once he's there, he's going to stay in one place. I just want him to act as your base of operations and SI's contact, if it all goes to shit. Particularly as they know you're there now.”

Ethan nodded. “I'm agreeable to the help, but the apartment I've got isn't equipped for that. Does SI have a location?”

Lilith leaned forward and punched in a number on her phone. “No, but Ramsdell Pharmaceuticals picked up a property when Colin and Savi visited the vampire community a few months back. Knowing Savi, everything Jake could possibly use—and a couple of things he'd never think to use—should be ready to go.” A smile widened her lips when the vampire answered. “Ah, Colin, you gorgeous freak. You aren't in your daysleep.”

“Not today, my dear Agent Milton, but I've little doubt I'll soon wish I was. What do you want?”

“Your house in Seattle.”

“Dare I ask why?”

“Drifter needs it.”

Ethan stepped nearer the desk, uncertain how well the speaker would pick up his voice. “I'm going in after Legion.”

“McCabe,” Colin said. “Lilith told you about Milliken?”

“Yes. How is the doctor?”

“Once she's stable, I'll find her a position at Ramsdell. Savi thinks she'll recuperate faster if she's busy.” Colin paused. “Don't bring me any more turned against their will. Savi's not resting easy.”

No, Ethan imagined she wasn't. Seeing a man cut down might have given anyone nightmares, and he supposed that was one of the benefits of not having to sleep. “I don't aim to.”

There was a long sigh, and a sound that Ethan thought might have been a swipe of fingers through hair. “Very well, McCabe. But I'll not be pleased if you bring in a bloody herd of cows and let them chew on the furnishings.”

Lilith raised her gaze to Ethan's. “Come now, Colin,” she murmured. “Drifter's taste in women isn't
that
bad.”

“I daresay his taste is nonexistent. Don't use your Gift, McCabe. I'm sending the access codes to Lilith. Savi prepared a few surprises for unauthorized entrants, and the system looks for discrepancies.”

“He warned you, so he must like you,” Lilith mused a moment after the vampire had disconnected. “Did you call him beautiful?”

A wry smile pulled at Ethan's mouth. “I believe I said something of that nature when I met him.” Encountering the vampire for the first time had been a bit like being Enthralled; struck by the impossible perfection of Colin's features, Ethan hadn't managed his tongue well.

The effect had eventually faded, and it was easy to find it amusing now—at the time, his involuntary response had infuriated him.

“That's nothing.” Jake stood up, retrieved his CD from the player. “I tried to kiss him.”

Lilith pursed her lips, her eyes alight with interest. “I don't suppose you'd reenact it with Drifter?”

They left her office on her sigh of disappointment, but Ethan's good humor fled when he felt the hesitation in Jake's psychic scent, then the younger Guardian's quick blocks.

Ethan stopped in the middle of the hallway, turned. “Spit it out.”

Jake's jaw clenched briefly and regret darkened his face. “I found the data you requested.”

Ethan's gaze fell to the paper that appeared in his hand. He swallowed past the sudden chokehold on his throat and read the header as he unfolded it. “Arizona State Library?”

“In their microfiche. There wasn't much. Just this short mention, from a Wilmont newsletter dated August 1886.”

The month after he and Caleb had ridden into Eden. Ethan frowned, shook his head. “Wilmont? That's east of Tucson. I told him to head west.”

“That's why it took me so long to find it. I was looking in the wrong direction.”

Jake was correct; there wasn't much. Just a single line:
Caleb McCabe, murder and thievery. Hanged.

Ethan vanished the paper before it crumpled in his fist. The goddamned fool. He should have gone west.

“So, you remind me about lunch, but it's
you
who forgets—Jesus, Charlie!” Jane abandoned her superior tone when she finally opened the door wide enough to see her. “Get in here. Did you put ice on it down at the gym? Did you forget to duck or forget to weave?”

“Neither.” Charlie self-consciously lifted her hand to her face. A dark bruise flared from cheekbone to jaw. “I ran into a wall.”

Jane rolled her eyes, grabbed Charlie's hand, and pulled her down the hall toward the kitchen. Charlie dragged her feet on the hardwood floors, smiling for the first time since she'd woken—late—and found the feather gone. She'd looked for almost forty-five minutes before giving up, missing her regular workout routine—though her frantic search through her blankets and throughout the apartment had left her almost as sweaty, and halfway to tears.

She hadn't predicted Jane would assume the bruise came from kickboxing, but it saved Charlie from making up a story she'd believe.

With the feather missing, Charlie wasn't quite certain
she
believed the story anymore.

“Ice isn't going to work,” she said when Jane pushed her onto a chair at the dining room table and headed for the freezer. “This is from yesterday.”

“Oh.” Jane tossed a handful of ice into the sink and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Then why were you late? And I called you about five times this morning.”

“Really? I didn't—” Charlie pulled out her cell and frowned down at the display. Five voice messages. She'd checked before leaving her place. There hadn't been any calls then, and she hadn't felt it vibrate on the bus ride from Capitol Hill to Queen Anne, or on the short hike up Jane's street. “Okay, weird. The radio station was out, too, because my alarm didn't work. I woke up to static around eleven thirty.” She glanced back up at Jane. “Did you cut your hair? Without me?”

Jane's hair had been on the verge of shaggy last weekend. Rich chestnut highlights streaked through the brown strands now, and they perfectly framed her small, pointed chin and large green eyes.

“Yes.” A light blush stained Jane's cheeks. “Sorry. I'd planned to wait for our usual salon day, but Dylan purchased a couple of hours at a spa and arranged the time off from work as a gift—”

“No, it's okay. I didn't mean—” Charlie shook her head, immediately feeling like a bitch. “I was just surprised.”

“You like it?”

“You look like an elf. But it's cute.”

“Cute? I was hoping for ravishing.”

Charlie dragged her fingers through the thick, messy tumble of her hair. “That's me. You can have cute.”

“Thanks a lot. Your roots are starting to show.”

“I'm trying to convince everyone that I have hidden depths.”

“You'll have to grow it out at least another inch to even
begin
to persuade anyone.”

There was only one response to that: a
fuck you
combined with the flip of her middle finger, and then wondering how a minute in Jane's presence turned them into giggling thirteen-and fifteen-year-old girls.

Those had been the best years. Before their parents' divorce—before they'd been separated by a continent and too wrapped up in their own obsessions to find each other again. Before their father had brought them together again to announce that he was dying; before Charlie had destroyed her own life, and brought another year of separation on them.

And if not for Jane slapping her awake when she most needed it, Charlie knew they'd be separated now.

Jane pulled two diet sodas from the fridge, set one in front of Charlie. “We're in trouble today.”

With her drink halfway to her lips, Charlie stopped and stared up at her sister. “What does that mean?”

“Dylan's gone. He had a meeting.”

“Oh, no. Did he leave something for us to eat? Or are we going out? And maybe a movie?” Charlie asked hopefully.

Jane grimaced. “He left instructions. And shopped for ingredients while I was sleeping this morning. If we didn't at least make the attempt…” She trailed off, and her expression seemed caught between pleading and stricken.

“You'd feel bad.” Charlie would, too, but not as bad as—“Food poisoning would be worse. We can make sandwiches. Something we don't have to cook.”

Jane pointed to the grid of yellow stickies on the refrigerator. “I thought of that. But one of those was supposed to remind me to buy bread.”

“Oh, God,” Charlie groaned. “Okay, you're smart, and I can mix drinks. I suppose we can try.”

After a fortifying chug of her soda, she joined her sister in the kitchen—and then stared in disbelief at one of the drawers Jane pulled open. Each spatula and serving spoon was perfectly aligned. A glance in the icebox revealed the same: everything neatly stacked and labeled.

With such organization, they might actually be able to cook whatever he'd planned for them.

“You know, Jane,” Charlie said. “I've thought for a while that you spliced and diced DNA to create Dylan, because he's too good to be true. Now I'm convinced of it.”

“You should see his closet.” Jane threw a wry glance over her shoulder, then stood on her toes to retrieve a pan from the rack above the island.

A roasting pan. Charlie frowned, some of her apprehension returning. “What are we making, anyway?”

“I can't pronounce it.” A wave of her hand directed Charlie to the recipe lying on the counter. “Something with duck, I think.”

“Canard rôti au thym et miel, sauce airelles et pommes de terre rôties,”
Charlie read aloud, and managed not to wince as her voice butchered the fricatives. “Roasted duck with thyme and honey, a cranberry sauce and roasted potatoes? Is he crazy? I was thinking macaroni and cheese or spaghetti. I can do those.”

“I don't think Dylan's ever had mac and cheese.”

She scanned the directions. “This is going to take a couple of hours. I won't be home until—” Almost dark. Closing her eyes, she fought the wave of panic that rolled through her.

“Oh. Are you going to be late for work?” Jane sounded almost hopeful—glad of the excuse.

Charlie shook her head, determined. She
could
be out in the night; no one was watching her, no one was waiting. At least not here. “No. My shift doesn't start until eight.”

“Maybe we can turn the oven up to a higher temperature. I'm too hungry to wait that long.” Jane slapped a paper-wrapped duck on the island. “How's work, anyway? Old Matthew?”

“Both good. Except for the assholes that make a mess with the peanuts. And Legion?”

As they did each time she spoke of her research, Jane's eyes lit up, and her smile creased two dimples in her cheeks. “Good. Actually, fantastic. I've never seen anything like the blood samples we've been getting, Charlie, and the implications for medicine are astounding—spontaneous cell regeneration and repair. And not just trauma usage, which is intuitive, but reversing any degenerative disease. But though we've successfully replicated the blood composition, we can't force it to
behave
in the same way as the original.” Jane continued, peppering the rest with jargon; the duck lay naked in the pan and they had unloaded most of the contents of the fridge when Jane halted mid-sentence and glanced at Charlie. “Okay, I got a little carried away.”

“You lost me at ‘platelet storage lesion.'” Grinning, Charlie waved away the apology. “You're talking about changing-the-world stuff. You have a reason to be carried away.”

“I could save it for Dylan, because he has to love everything I say. Or for everyone at Legion—but most of them have been so tense lately they're just as likely to snap my head off. At least you don't mind when I…Do we really need all of this butter? Our arteries are going to clog overnight.” Jane arched a brow. “And I said ‘clog' just for you.”

“Bitch. I'd look that up, but I don't know if it starts with a C or a K.” She waited until Jane stopped laughing before she added, “I don't see why we can't use half the amount.”

“You decide how much. I trust your math skills more than mine. The very thought of your accounting course makes me break out in hives.”

“I like it.” Which had surprised Charlie two years previous, when she'd begun taking the online classes offered by the University of Washington, mostly to fill the afternoon hours. And, she had to admit, so that Jane wouldn't think she was as directionless as she'd felt. She'd been a late registrant, and a business class had been the only one open—but she'd taken to it. Not easily, but she enjoyed the challenge. “That laptop you gave me is making a big difference, too. I think I might have killed myself if I went through another term with the dial-up on my old piece of crap.”

“Well, don't get too attached to it. In six months I'll replace my new one, and if I don't give it to you, I'll just throw it away.”

Charlie shook her head; the computer Jane had just bought was worth about five months' rent. “That's stupid.”

“I know.” Jane shrugged. “But Legion's confidentiality clause says it has to stay within my household. So I just consider you part of my household.”

“Aw,” Charlie said, though if her hands hadn't been covered in butter, she might have given in to the emotion that swelled up in her and hugged Jane embarrassingly tight. “I don't really need it, though, and I'd have to redo my settings.”

“Oh, the horror,” Jane said, rolling her eyes.

“Fuck you. It took me forever just to set up online banking this week. I don't want to go through that again.” She paused, took a long breath; it always made Jane uncomfortable when she brought this up. “And if you send me your account info, I can transfer my payment to you each month instead of writing the check out.”

Two bright spots of color appeared high on Jane's cheeks. A half-inch-thick potato peel unwound beneath her knife. “You don't have to do that, you know.”

Charlie waited until Jane looked up, and steadily held her gaze. “Yes, I do.”

 

Charlie's resolve to walk the four blocks to Cole's—boldly and unafraid—faded with the setting sun.

At seven thirty, she swallowed her pride. She might be crazy worrying about vampires, she decided, but she wasn't an idiot: the twisted gate at Cole's wasn't a figment of her imagination. And there was no sense in going alone when she could just ask Ethan to take her.

It didn't occur to her until she was on the balcony, calling Ethan's name over the wall, that a normal person would have knocked on his front door—and that if he wasn't outside, he couldn't hear her voice. But he either had very good timing or hearing, because a moment later his door slid open.

She pressed her hands against the wall and rose up on her tiptoes as if the extra three inches might let her see over, and only succeeded in looking at a spot on the next piece of vinyl siding. “Ethan?”

“Charlie.”

That voice, so warm and smooth, and with a hint of amusement. Her fingers curled, her nails rasping faux wood grain. “Remember I told you last night I had an incident?”

The amusement vanished. “Yes.”

“I'm still a little jumpy.” She drew in a deep breath. “Okay, I'm freaking out. So I wanted to ask a favor.”

“You want your cigarettes back?”

“No.” Yes. Yes yes
yes
. Her eyes squeezed shut. “Though I guess we won't be Pyramus and Thisbe anymore. I was hoping you'd drive me to work.”

“I would, Charlie, but my automobile is in storage.”

Startled, she blinked her eyes open. “Really? I thought I was the only one who didn't drive much.” And she'd never heard “automobile” drawn out so long, like a word that sat foreign on his tongue. Had he exaggerated it, knowing that his drawl made her laugh and hoping to ease her anxiety a bit?

It worked. She sank back down to her heels, waited for his reply.

“I've got no need for one here. But I'll be happy to walk with you.”

The anxiety returned full-force, but underscored by giddy excitement instead of fear. “Okay. All right. I have to be there at eight, and I'm almost ready. Go and get dressed, Ethan, and I'll be at your door in five minutes.”

“Get dressed—?” His chuckle roughened the night air. “Am I to wear something special?”

Her skin heated, but she wasn't going to admit that she'd been babbling like a schoolgirl with a crush. “No, I just assume when people are alone in their apartments, they walk around naked. I know I do.”

He was silent for a long second. “Well now, Miss Charlie, I wish you'd told me that two months ago. I might have come on over for a cup of sugar.”

She grinned, but only said, “Five minutes,” as she backed into her apartment, her pulse racing. A check in the mirror. Jesus, the bruise made her look like a hooker who'd been slapped by her pimp. But slathering foundation on it would just make it worse, not to mention hurt like hell, so she left it alone. Her brows and lashes were naturally dark, but she touched up both. Her hair was good…great, actually, even with brown at the roots. She'd leave her hat off as long as possible.