Fallen Angels 04 - Rapture (44 page)

“Sorry I’m late.”

She relaxed at the sound of the familiar voice. “I was just about to give up on you.”

“I would never let you down.”

Mels frowned as the man took a step forward. Then another. “What’s that cologne you’re wearing?”

“Do you like it?”

God, no. It smelled like he needed to take a shower. “So you said you’ve got something for me?”

“Oh, yes. I really do.”

As he approached her, he somehow managed to keep his body between her and the exit, and then he was right in front of her, hands in his pockets, head down like he was looking at his feet.

That child, the one probably playing on the swing set in the park, laughed again, the sound filtering in and making her feel the isolation like a draft.

I gotta get out of here, she thought in a rush.

“Listen, Monty, I’ve got to—”

And that was when the man looked up, black eyes glittering with threat. It wasn’t Monty. She didn’t know who the hell it was—

Mels attacked first, cocking her hand back on her wrist and taking the hard heel of her palm and jamming it right up into the guy’s jaw. As his head flew back, she threw a vicious blow to the gut, which curled him forward again, bringing his face right in to range. Locking onto both sides of his head, she brought up her thigh and slammed her knee into his nose; then shoved him out of the way.

With a burst of speed, she gunned for the door—

The man was there. Right in front of her.

Ripping her head to the side, she checked to see if it wasn’t a second attacker. There was no way he could have moved that fast—

Those eyes. Those black eyes.

What would you say if I told you I believe in Hell … because I’d been there
. …

Mels staggered backward, until one heel hit a wet spot and slipped. Or maybe … the man with the obsidian stare had pushed her without touching her—

Free fall.

As she went loose into thin air, she threw her arms out and found nothing that could help her regain her balance. …

Splash!

Hitting the water was a shock. Cold and grasping, the river seemed to dig into her, sucking her in and holding her down. Opening her mouth, she was flooded with a nasty taste as she tried to claw her way back to the surface.

She got nowhere, sure as if a Hawaii-style riptide had set up shop in the Hudson.

Closing her lips so she didn’t take any more water in, she felt
the burn in her chest quickly become a screaming heat, and panic gave her a burst of energy. Thrashing against the black void, she fought with that newfound power—putting everything she had into saving her own life.

She got nowhere.

Arms and legs slowed down.

Heart rate sped up.

The fire in her lungs became volcanic.

After an eternity, the dull roar in her ears receded, and so did the cold of the Hudson, and the pain in her chest. Or maybe it was more that all that was still going on—she was just starting to lose consciousness.

How was this happening?

How the
hell
was this happening?

Dimly, she readied herself for the whole life-before-the-eyes thing, getting good and braced for a list of regrets, for the faces of the people she would miss most—of which Matthias’s would definitely be one …

Instead, she just felt more suffocation and a sense that, aw, crap, this was how it ended?

As a last thought, it was pretty uninspiring. …

Following the tracking spell he’d put on that reporter, Jim showed up at what appeared to be some kind of boat club facility down at the Hudson River’s edge. Overhead, the sky was so choked with clouds that it could have been after midnight instead of afternoon, but that wasn’t the doom-and-gloom he was worried about.

The instant he got within range, Devina’s presence was a scream that ran up the nape of his neck—

And then the reporter’s signal disappeared.

Bursting in through the open door, he stopped dead as he saw Devina standing by herself, stilettos planted on the planks of the docking platforms.

“Surprise, surprise,” she said, kicking up her chin and moving her hair over her shoulder.

For a split second, he nearly launched himself at the demon. He just wanted his hands around her throat, squeezing as she fought against him, squeezing until he snapped her head clean off her goddamn spine.

But the reporter was the reason he’d come.

Searching the place, he found … nothing. No one. Just waves clapping under the cribs, the restless water chatting all around.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“Where is who?”

In the water, he thought.

Jim jumped forward and shoved the demon out of the way, hoping she landed on her bony ass as he started looking in all the empty slips. Man, the river was murky, the lack of light making it seem opaque.

“What are you looking for,” he heard Devina say.

Stalking around, he got nothing but churning current—and wasn’t fooled. The demon had come here for a purpose … and was staying for one, too. “I want you to leave. Right now.”

“It’s a free world.”

“Only if you lose.”

Devina laughed. “Not the way I see it—”

He shot over to his enemy and got nose-to-nose with her. “Leave. Or I’ll destroy you right here and now.”

A nasty glint came into her eye. “You can’t talk to me like that—”

Before he knew it, one of his hands locked on her throat, his little fantasy coming true as he began to channel energy into the hold—

From out of nowhere, a light source entered the boathouse—no, wait, it was him. He was glowing.

Fine, whatever. He was so angry he could have gone disco-ball, for all he cared—especially as his other palm joined the party. And for a moment, Devina just laughed at him again, except then something changed. She started to struggle to breathe, her fingernails coming up to try to peel his grip from her neck at first with anger; then with something close to fear.

As that glow he was giving off spread throughout his body, it grew stronger, until it started to throw shadows—and he kept squeezing, pushing her back until she was trapped against the rowboats that had been stacked up on risers, shoving his body against hers to hold her in place. He was shaking with power from head to foot, and somehow he knew he was turning her on—which was not the case with his arousal. Yeah, he was hard, but what part of him wasn’t? Every muscle was clenched, from his jaw to his thighs, his shoulders to his ass.

He was going to fucking do it.

Right here, right now. Fuck Nigel and those English pricks who were in charge of him. Fuck the game, the war, the conflict— whatever you wanted to call it. Fuck it all—

Something exploded behind him, displaced water hitting his legs.

And then there was a great, dragging gasp for air, followed by hacking coughs.

Jim broke his concentration for a split second to see what it was—and that was all Devina needed. The demon ethered out of his hold, coalescing into a black scatter of molecules with a screech, and then firing herself at him.

The impact was like ten thousand bee stings across every inch of skin he had, and he yelled, not out of pain but frustration, as he went down in a heap.

Devina didn’t counterattack but moved on, casting herself into the sky she’d darkened, becoming one with the evil clouds above.

Gone, gone, gone … for now.

From his vantage point of cheek-on-plank, he watched her go with a curse through his gaping mouth … and then focused on the reporter saving herself.

Over at the closest slip, a pair of arms shot up out of the water, pale hands latching onto the decking, nails penetrating the wood. And then with a great heave, the woman drew her wet, cold self out of the river’s depth.

She ended up flopped next to him, the pair of them not moving as they recovered.

“We … have … to …” she coughed, “stop meeting … like this.”

Off in the distance, someone was talking. Jim’s roommate.

Matthias couldn’t focus on the sounds, however, his neuropath-ways jammed with all those profiles, Internet addresses and codes—all the way back to his first e–mail addy and the sequence of the bicycle lock he’d used in grade school … and Jim Heron’s dossier.

“Matthias—talk to me. What’s doing.” Not a question. A demand—and he wanted to follow it. He and the roommate had developed a kind of working relationship, what with those black things, and now the whole dead-body/car problem, so he felt compelled to comment.

Except he couldn’t talk.

Something gripped his ass—no, wait, that was the ground or a seat. He’d been made to sit down. Blinking his eyes, he tried to see through the video game that was playing in front of him, but he got nowhere.

“Matthias, buddy—you gotta talk to me.”

With a shaky hand, he rubbed his eyes. That helped. When he
opened up again, he could see Adrian’s piercings up close and personal.

“Hey, you back?” the guy asked.

After a while, Matthias muttered, “Why did you do that?”

“I didn’t do shit to you—”

He waved his hand around that fierce puss. “With the piercings. I mean, really. Do you think you need to look like more of a hard-ass?”

There was a heartbeat and then the big bastard laughed. “She was hot. The more I got, the more time I got to spend with her.”

“The piercer?”

“Yeah.”

“So it was a chick thing?”

Adrian shrugged. “The pain made the sex better.”

“Ah.”

At that, Matthias looked away. Strange. Before PLMD—or Poor Land Mine Decision—sex had been like eating and breathing, something he just did. Now … the loss of that part of himself seemed to take on epic proportions.

Then again, if he was honest, that was more about Mels. If he hadn’t met her, he wouldn’t have cared. Hadn’t cared, actually, over these last couple of years of halt-and-lame.

“So did you stroke out on me?” the roommate asked.

“Just things coming back.” Not a fun ride, but if he kept this up, he might actually remember why he had this need to get down to Manhattan.

“But you’re all right.”

The fact that he didn’t get grilled about the particulars—which he wouldn’t have shared anyway—was a nice touch. “Yeah. Now back to the stiff.”

When he went to stand up, his legs wouldn’t hold him, sure as if they were made of paper.

“Let me get your cane and your sunglasses,” the guy said, heading out of the garage.

Left to his own devices, Matthias was determined not to keep sitting next to the rear tire of the unmarked like something that had dropped off a mud flap. Reaching up, he planted a hand on the bumper, and with a groan, got himself vertical.

Palming his way around, he leaned in through the driver’s-side door and popped the trunk.

He was staring into the empty space when the roomate came back. Taking the cane, he put the Ray-Bans in place and shook his head. “There isn’t going to be anything on or in the car. We’re thorough like that.” He went around to stand over the body. “I say we put it all in the Hudson at nightfall.”