Demons and Lovers (13 page)

Loud snaps came from the wood cracking in the doorframe. I directed my air elemental magic at the frame. I used my element to rip a sword-length shard of wood. At my command, my elemental magic propelled the shaft straight at Carl.

His gun clattered to the floor as he flung his hands over his face.

The jagged point of the staff pierced his hands and buried itself in his head.

Becky screamed again, horror on her face.

I ignored Carl’s body as he collapsed onto the linoleum, and I ignored Becky’s continued screams. I released my control of the elements. The ground beneath the building settled and everything went still.

Keeping Becky within sight, I moved toward Rodán. I dropped to my knees beside his body.

My heart felt like it had cracked like a wooden plank and had burned to cinders. If Dark Elves could cry, my face would have been flooded with tears. My eyes ached and with everything I had I wished I could cry. I grasped Rodán’s shoulder and moved him just enough that I could see his face—with his sightless eyes. My hand shook as I reached for him and started to close his eyelids.

I went still. The smell of alyssum was so strong I almost gagged. The moldy odor of wet, ruined hay rushed over me, a smell given off by a dead Metamorph. This wasn’t Rodán. This was a Metamorph who had taken on Rodán’s appearance.

Confusion then relief made my head spin. My thoughts raced. If this wasn’t Rodán, where was he? Had they killed him?

Please let Rodán be okay.

“Nyx!” Olivia’s voice came from the doorway and I jerked my head up to see my partner in the doorway. More relief filled me as I saw her. She looked fine, and this dead male beside me wasn’t Rodán.

“Come on.” She cocked her head in the direction she had come from. “We need to hurry. Something big is going down at the Paranorm Center.”

I registered four things at once in a rapid flash.

Olivia was human and didn’t know about the Paranorm Center.

Olivia didn’t talk that way. She would normally have told me I looked like hell and to stop screwing around and get my ass down where I was needed.

Olivia was wearing a plain T-shirt. Just a plain black T-shirt. She never wore plain shirts. Ever. The shirts always had sayings like the one she’d had on this morning.

And this female smelled like alyssum.

No way in all of the Underworlds was this Olivia.

I dove for the pile of silverware that had scattered across the floor. I grabbed a steak knife and rolled onto my back.

I flung the knife across the room. It flipped end over end and then buried itself in the fake Olivia’s heart.

Chapter 4

Becky’s screaming was like hearing a shrill alarm clock in the background. I was so tempted to shut her off, but she was nothing more than an ignorant pawn. A pawn that hadn’t tried to kill me, which meant I had to return the favor and she would have to be locked up instead. Still, I kept her in my peripheral vision just in case.

I started toward the archway where the not-Olivia had crumpled to the floor. I automatically reached for one of my dragon-clawed daggers when I realized I was still in human clothing and wasn’t wearing my weapons belt. I ground my teeth. It wasn’t likely they’d had the courtesy to bring my handbag along with me, much less my leather fighting suit and weapons.

Rodán and the other Trackers needed to know what was going down and I needed backup.

“Give me your handbag.” I held my hand out in Becky’s direction. The flour-coated simpleton stopped screaming as she grabbed her purse from off the floor and clutched it to her. Idiot. Facing her possible demise and she was protecting her designer purse from me. She only had one of her matching heels on, the other near Carl’s body.

With my hand still extended, I scowled at her. The floor started to rock again and Becky screamed and threw her handbag at me.

I caught it and she yelped as I jerked the purse open in a not-so-delicate manner. I dug through it, found her cell phone, then dropped the purse on the floor. Becky started to scramble toward it but stopped when she got a good look at my expression.

That’s right, lady. Don’t mess with a pissed-off blue-haired amethyst female Tracker.

A sense of urgency made my skin feel like ants were crawling over me. I flipped the phone open and called Rodán.

To my incredible relief, he answered.

It didn’t take me long to explain everything to him. He pinpointed my location by the cell phone signal and would send the Paranorm Task Force to clean up the mess and take care of Becky.

I would have called Olivia but of course she was human and couldn’t enter—or even know about—the Paranorm Center. Chills prickled my arms. I had no idea whether or not Olivia was alive. Had the Metamorphs gotten to my partner?

I pocketed the cell phone, scooped Carl’s gun up from the floor, and then grabbed the elemental magic-treated wrist and ankle cuffs. My eyes narrowed and my jaw set as I approached Becky.

“No!” Her high-pitched voice was a squeak. “Don’t hurt me!”

“Shut up.” I knelt in front of her, grabbed one of her wrists, and cuffed her to the handle on the door of the pantry. For good measure I cuffed her ankles, too. The PTF would be here in no time and take care of her.

I stepped over the dead double of Olivia’s body before rushing through the archway. Pictures had fallen off the walls, lamps had toppled from end tables, glass from broken picture frames had shattered on the carpet from my mini-earthquake.

From the looks of the place, the Metamorphs had taken over some human’s apartment. The front door of the small place was steps away. I tucked the handgun in my waistband and I was out that door within seconds.

I jogged down a set of stairs and pushed my way through a set of double doors. Cool winter air filled my lungs as I ran around the building until I reached a fairly busy street. Amsterdam, close to West 42nd Street. Now I had to get to the Paranorm Center, which was below the Alice in Wonderland unbirthday party sculptures on Central Park’s Upper East Side.

I pulled a glamour, making myself invisible to humans—who might freak at an amethyst woman with blue hair—and ran. As my bare feet met slush and snow, I wished desperately for my leather boots. Dark Elves generally don’t have a problem with cold, but having bare feet in polluted slush from melted snow was on the chilly side.

My air element helped push me faster than my already enhanced speed. I would have been a blur to humans if they could even see me.

When I finally reached the unbirthday party sculptures, another Night Tracker, Angel, was already there. She was walking the circumference of the sculpture counter-clockwise, reciting the engraved nonsensical poem to open the door. “‘’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe.’” I had no idea what the poem was supposed to mean but it would open the door beneath the toadstool.

Angel was a beautiful Doppelganger with corkscrew blonde curls and was a squirrel in her animal form. She normally looked like a bubbly cheerleader but had graduated from Harvard and had been an intern with NASA. Right now her expression was serious and concerned.

“Have any other Trackers made it here?” I asked when I came to a full stop.

“None that I know of.” Angel was now at the back of the sculpture and the door beneath the toadstool began to open. “I was tracking my territory so I was nearby when Rodán called.” She scanned me with her brilliant blue eyes. “You look amazingly healthy considering your clothing is bloody rags. Kind of like you’ve been engaged in some one-on-one with a leopard and he got in a few good swipes.”

“We have to hurry.” I didn’t have time to go into anything but what we were here for. “If the information I was given is correct, they’ve already replaced the council members and that leaves us with two tasks.”

“Find the real council members,” Angel said.

“And stop the charade going on now.” I glanced into the darkened park. “We’ll take care of this. Other Trackers will have to save the real council members.”

We started down the winding set of stone stairs. “How did the Metamorphs find out the council meeting is really being held here and not at another location?” Angel asked.

“Long story.” Inside I groaned. The Metamorphs had tricked me by making me believe that they’d held Rodán captive. I’d spilled it out of fear for him—but I’d also been pretty sure I would have the opportunity to escape come sundown. And I
would
stop the Metamorphs.

The Paranorm Center was a throwback to the Otherworld most of us originated from. For some it had been as long as centuries, if not thousands of years ago. Everything reminded me of home in the belowground realm of the Dark Elves…so Medieval.

Torches flared to life to light the way into the darkness as the door slid shut behind us. Dark Elves have excellent night vision and I didn’t have to watch my steps as I took the twisting turns of the rock staircase that went on and on, almost as deep into the earth as the Realm of the Drow was in Otherworld.

When we reached the bottom we were in the enormous main foyer that had five separate archways. We paused and then each took a side of the archway that would lead us to the main area of the Paranorm Center. The massive hallway was empty. Quiet. The council chamber doors were closed.

“Some sentries they are,” Angel said beneath her breath as we looked at the Dryads sleeping in their towering wooden columns. “Their sense of smell sucks or they would have to have identified the Metamorphs.”

I scowled. “I’d bet my cat that the guards usually inside the council chambers are Metamorph replacements, too.”

Angel rolled her eyes. “That’s no stretch. I’m not even sure you like that Persian.”

Very possible. Kali had shredded so many of my Victoria’s Secret panties and bras that I’d probably take a turtle in trade for the snotty cat.

The Council doors were thick and heavy enough to completely mute any sound or voice from within. “I think they might consider back-up security after this.”

I was wishing for one of my dragon-clawed daggers when Angel said, “You could use this.” When I looked at her, she tossed a wicked-looking eighteen-inch long dagger to me so that I caught it hilt-first.

With a quick nod of thanks, I slipped around the archway, wielding Angel’s dagger in my right hand.

“Halt.” A deep but musical bass of a female voice sounded like thunder in the great hall and I came to a stop. “You are not allowed to wield any form of weapon here,” an ancient Dryad said from one of the thick columns. “You know this, Trackers.”

We didn’t have time to argue. “Who passed this way most recently?” I asked.

The Dryad narrowed her brows. “I do not answer to you, Tracker.”

“My apologies.” I wanted to scream with frustration but tried for a calm, steady tone. “All we can tell you is that Metamorphs have probably taken council members hostage and their doubles are inside the council chamber in their places.”

Dryad whispers echoed up and down the hallway at my words. The Dryads had no way of confirming this because the Paranorm Council was paranoid about any of their discussions being overheard.

Who knew—the mystery of the chamber could be that it was actually a spa where council members all got foot massages and pedicures. No one could really say what went on behind those doors and council members kept their meetings secret. All we heard out of them was an occasional ruling, a new paranorm law, or a modification to an existing law.

The Dryad nodded, the creak of wood going along with her movements. Angel and I hurried to the enormous council chamber doors.

“Open,” bellowed the vibrating voice of the Dryad we had been speaking with.

The council chamber doors swung open.

Six council members turned their heads to look at us.

I sucked in my breath. Now would have been a really good time to have employed a little stealth. Of course that was no thanks to the Dryad who had opened the doors to the chambers without giving us a chance to assess the situation. Dryads have no tact and no sense of battle strategy.

From the corner of my eye I saw that Angel wasn’t there any longer. It was no surprise to see a blond squirrel’s bushy tail disappearing beneath the council’s draped semi-circular table.

The strong odor of alyssum emanated from the room, which could only mean Metamorphs. How could the Dryads have missed it, even though they weren’t known for their keen scent of smell? Chief Counsel Leticia—the real Chief, not a Metamorph—must have the worst sense of smell in all the Otherworlds. Or maybe she had sinus trouble. Who knew?

Light flickered from wall sconces throughout the room. The torchlight cast shadows across the dim room, giving an almost eerie feel to the place. It smelled faintly of smoke and crushed rose petals along with the newly mown hay smell.

I gripped Angel’s dagger, and with a quick scan I saw two guards at the back of the room, and I also noted that the Metamorphs had done well in replacing five of the six council members. If I hadn’t known they were replacements, and couldn’t smell them, I wouldn’t have known the difference.

Chief Counsel Leticia looked both perplexed and upset at first glance, as if something wasn’t going right.

Leticia, a Doppelganger, perched on a throne at the center of the crescent-shaped table and she also represented all others of her race; the Drow and Light Elves had one delegate who served on the council for both of our races; a Siren had been voted in by the Fae to represent all fifteen-plus races of Fae; a Shifter was in attendance for all Shifters; a Werewolf was the envoy for all Weres; and a Vampire represented his kind.

In the mere moment it took me to process all of this, I saw that at the side of the council table, in a chair near a witness stand, was a black-haired Witch dressed in a white sparkling beaded dress. The sophisticated-looking Witch had a pensive, almost confused expression. No doubt she was the real deal and had been appointed to represent all Witches in their appeal to be on the council…and this council meeting was not going according to normal standards.