Phoenix Fallen (24 page)

It was as if the years had rolled back and he was that skinny, terrified nine-year old all over again. Watching the monsters form out of the night…

Her wild hair bounced lightly in the breeze, but Fannie herself was motionless. Standing so still. Refusing to give Cross the satisfaction of a struggle. Her back straight, her chin tilted up as Jules squinted, trying to find her eyes against the light.

It will be alright, Jules. Just not in the way you think.
Her voice burst into his head, sunshine and warmth and life, and he could have sworn she turned her head to smile at him. That gentle, wry smile that he knew so well. The one that told him he was being foolish again.

As clearly as if she stood right in front of him, Jules felt her palms against his jaw, the soft brush of her lips against his cheek.
Take care of them all, you hear me?

Then it happened. So fast, and yet so very slowly. Cross wrenched Fannie’s head back. His fangs flashed white against her smooth dark throat. The vampire's preternatural speed blurring with the short, vicious movement as he struck again and again, nearly ripping her head from her body.

Blood spurted into the air as the vampire lifted his mouth at last, his laughing face slick with red.

Fannie's head lolled like a doll’s as Daimen held her up like a trophy. Her blood flowed down, pooling on the glass, dripping down the sides, streaking the glittering panels black against the white light. With one hard shove, Cross pushed her off the roof.

Jules knew he was screaming, because his throat was raw with pain, but he couldn’t hear anything except the wind in his ears and the monster's laughter.

Fannie fell and Cross vanished. Jules watched her tumble for one impossible second; a slow, almost elegant dive, her skirt catching the air, unfurling like a copper flag as she fell. He didn't wait for her body to hit the ground.
Even as his gut rolled at the thought of leaving her alone, Jules forced himself to turn and run.

There was nothing he could do for Fannie now, but he knew where the only roof access ladder came down and he was going to be there when that fucker got to the bottom.

Jules ran faster than he'd ever ran in both his lives. His body numb with shock, but his mind still screaming.

Fannie was gone, and Toby was gone and Sim and Mama and all the others were gone.
But this time that bastard was going to pay.

When he rounded the corner, the first thing Jules saw was Cross fifteen feet above him on the wrought iron ladder, coming down fast. But not fast enough. Jules roared and leapt forward. With a growl and a sneer, Cross jumped free of the ladder, over Jules' head and out into the dew-sprinkled lawn, landing like a cat, on his toes, his long fingers brushing the grass. And like cat's eyes, Cross's glowed green in the night. The fog retreated to dance eagerly around the tree line, as if watching the two men circling each other.

Cross straightened slowly as he moved left, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. "Your friend tasted real sweet…for a fucking nigger. Just like your mama. Do tell her husband I said so."

Jules took a breath of mist-laden air and dived without warning, knocking Cross off his feet. The crack of them slamming together split the air like a gunshot.

The smaller man tumbled several yards over the slick grounds before sliding to a stop. Approaching with rocking, pendulum-like steps, moving lightly despite his size, Jules was on Cross in seconds. Delivering a front-kick that caught the vampire under the chin as he rose, flipping him clear over and back to the ground with a smacking wet thump.

This time Cross was on his feet before Jules could close. He spit out a tooth and laughed. "You got some moves, boy. I'll give you that. But you haven't learned to fight like a shade yet."

Faster than Jules' eyes could track, Cross darted around, landing two excruciating blows to Jules' kidneys that buckled his legs. There was a hot flare down the back of his shoulder and into his neck as Cross used his fangs to tear out a huge chunk of muscle and skin.

Jules went to his knees, but used the motion to twist his torso around, slamming his fist into the vampire's solar plexus and up. He heard ribs crack and snap like Rice Krispies on steroids. In a human that would have been a killing blow, but Cross only staggered back, a grimace on his face.

Vampires might
like
to breathe, but they didn't need to, so the damage to his diaphragm was inconsequential for the older vampire. And the ribs would be starting to knit already. Jules got to his feet and threw a tight haymaker before they could finish the job. Cross didn't have the power to block the move and Jules felt the bones shatter and fly apart as his knuckles sank into skin.

Cross spun away, favoring his side now, his glowing eyes narrowed, fangs gleaming as he growled at Jules.

But the older vampire didn't try to close the distance between them this time.

I’m stronger than him,
Jules thought. And from the slightly wild look in his eyes, Cross knew it too. Jules moved closer, on the balls of his feet, forcing the vampire back step by step.

"Come on, asshole. Want to play
now?"
Rage and pain ripped through his muscles. He took another step toward Cross, then another.

Seeing Fannie fall in his mind's eye, the screams of his mother and Sim, who hadn't even had a chance to scream. And Toby,
had Toby been able to cry out as he fell?
Would Scott hear his son dying for years, just as Jules had heard his family die every night since he was nine years old? Or just a terrible empty silence where a child's laughter should have been.

"It's time to end you, monster."

Cross cocked his head, one lip curved up as he straightened, cradling his shattered ribs with one arm. "Oh, I think not, boy—"

"Don't fucking call me that!"

"I'll call you whatever I please, nigger. Surely you don't think we're done just
yet."

Agony shot through Jules, even though Cross hadn’t moved. Twisting into his temples, icy and dark. The pain like a nest of snakes made of jagged ice and churning glass, it brought him to his knees while the vampire laughed softly in satisfaction. Both in Jules' head and out.

"I think you forgot who you're dealing with, boy." Cross moved closer, grabbing Jules' chin and wrenching his head back. "I thought it was curious before that I couldn't control you, but that lick of empath protection doesn't hold up well when you're focused wholly on something else, does it? Something like killing me, maybe?" His fingers dug into Jules' skin while the slick and hungry snakes of his control slithered deeper into Jules' head. "A pretty dream for you, no doubt, but it's time to wake up and smell your destiny,
boy.
You should have died in that swamp years ago. You know it and
I
know it. But better late than never."

The sick power inside him pulsed once and Jules felt it grind him down, squeezing until his sense of self was nothing more than a tiny grain locked inside a mind he no longer knew.

Jules wanted to vomit, to lash out, to scream, to pull away. But he couldn't do any of that. Only sit there, on his knees, looking up into the eyes of the monster.

This is what Rissa had been talking about, what she'd tried to describe to him.

But there was no describing this hell. This was a horror that defied words. The violation of having this man inside him was a devastation of both mind and soul.

Bile coated Jules' tongue as he choked and tried to twist his head out of Cross's grip. Nothing happened. It was like the nerves between his brain and his body had been cut. There was no response in his limbs…until that rich, creamy voice spoke in his mind.

Let's get up now.
Cross's laughter rang in his head as his muscles obeyed the command instantly. Jules leapt jerkily to his feet.

Cross was chuckling again, a grin splitting his lips.

"You know if you stop fighting, it really won't hurt at all. I bet Rissa didn't tell you
that
bit, did she? If you give in, it actually feels quite amazing. Almost like sex. Or so I'm told, having never had the …," Cross looked away, startled as a burst of headlights shown through down at the turnoff at last.

For an instant his control of Jules slipped and Jules shot his hand round the man's throat, starting to squeeze, intending to rip the vampire's head right off his damn shoulders, just like Cross's lackey had done all those years ago to Sim. Tears welled in Jules' eyes as his fingers tightened. And tightened.

Then like a rubber band snapping, Cross was launched back into his brain; oily, freezing, coating everything inside him in filth.

Now. Now, none of that, boy. Release me.

Jules did so at once, even as something deep inside his soul cried out.

Cross smiled again, straightened his blood-soaked clothes casually. Fannie's blood. Jules wanted to rage in fury and frustration, but he couldn't make a sound. "Now, boy. I do wish I had time to do something properly entertaining with you, but it appears it's time to bow out. For now.

"Maybe next time we can do this right." He leaned up, his breath cold on Jules' skin, his full lips a hair's breadth away from brushing Jules' ear. "Do tell me we haven't run out yet.
There's still more people you love that I can kill, right?
The little girl, the tree freak, maybe? That woman with the pretty blue eyes? And our sweet Rissa, of course. Though you may find she met a little blast from the past herself tonight."

With a laugh at the confusion and fear he must've felt in Jules' mind, Daimen moved away. "Never you mind that for now. I want you to enjoy the sight of me walking away, while you just stand there and
watch."

After a few feet, something slipped free inside his head Jules was able to open his mouth.

"What I see is you running away, Cross.
Again.
Just like in the woods, when you ran from Scott. Get used to it, bloodsucker…
but one day we'll find you
. You can count on that."

For a second Cross froze, that pale blonde hair whipping in the breeze that was steadily rising, tearing the remnants of the fog to shreds.

Lights flashed again and Cross started for the trees at a run. Jules thought he would ignore him, but at just before the forest swallowed him, Cross turned. "Be sure and let me know how the freak takes the news of his wife's death! Tell him I'm
so
glad that he didn't have to choose in the end. I got them both. So
ignez vous-autres!"

The monster's laughter lingered long after he was gone. And Jules stood there. The wind stinging his skin, his eyes dry. Far past the time when he felt Cross's slimy power leave him entirely. He was still standing there when he heard Miles' voice, and Kelsey's and Rissa's.

Jules didn't respond to any of them, until Rissa put a hand on his arm. Her touch finally undid him and he turned and buried his face in her hair, breathing in that sweet honeysuckle scent that couldn't quite push the despair away. Not this time.

Two weeks later, Jules exited the elevator at the 10th floor of Children's Memorial Hospital. He paused halfway down the gleaming hall, staring down at the huge floppy stuffed dog he had gotten for Toby. Not that the boy would notice. Not yet.

Miles had been right after all. Toby wasn't dead. Only almost. Even now no one knew for sure that he would ever walk again. The doctors were being 'cautiously optimistic' in their typical double-speak, but there was hope.

Hope for Toby, if not much for anyone else. Cross had disappeared again. There were rumors this time, though. Lots of them. Rumors that indicated Daimen Cross had taken the position that he had turned down before. Head of the organization that now had a name, the Iron Hand Society.

There had been no way to keep Fannie's death out of the papers, of course. Or its association with Phoenix and Jules himself. The rumors there were rampant as well and even more painful.

Never mind that Fannie had been his friend, or that
Cross
had been the one to kill her. Jules was the vampire on scene, and Fannie was a human that had been killed by a vampire. Most of the papers didn't even mention Fannie was a para. The only exception to the negative press was O'Leary's Tribune. The Irishman put out the only balanced article of the bunch, calling for reason. Under his tagline had been a picture the reporter could've only obtained from Scott.

It showed Fannie and Jules laughing together, arm in arm. A summer day five years ago when everything had been so damn different. Jules leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. He was never going to get used to the fact Fannie was actually gone, that he’d
never
hear that laugh again.

Cullum's piece had not only deliberately mentioned that Fannie had been a para whose husband worked with Phoenix Inc., it had outlined Jules and Fannie's long-standing and close friendship.

But his article was buried in the overwhelming vitriol of all the rest. Most news organizations only cared that she'd been a beautiful wife and the mother of two children, one of whom was fighting for his own life, and that she had her throat ripped out on the grounds of a company now headed by two shades. Then it was released that she had been pregnant when she was killed and the real frenzy began.

The police had eventually let him go. Really, they had no choice. Phoenix’s security system clearly showed who was responsible for Fannie’s murder. Nevertheless, Jules suspected without Miles' team of lawyers he would still be in holding.

And despite his release and the Chicago PD's statement they would not be pursuing charges against him, the public was crucifying Jules. And Phoenix Inc. as well.

Those issues were only part of what had Jules reeling. Rissa was gone. A week after Fannie's death, she had left town to take a new gig in St. Louis.

His momentary breakdown in her arms when Cross had left him that night had been only that…
momentary
.

Kelsey was furious with him about Rissa, Jules could tell even if she hadn't said anything. But his best friend's frustration couldn't hold a candle to his own.

What Jules had felt in those dark weeks after Paris was nothing compared to the hell he was in now. He actually missed Rissa more than he missed life itself.

She'd come to his house to say goodbye before she left. That little scene had gutted him, but in the end he'd let her go.

Jules shoved away from the wall, squeezing the stuffed dog so hard a nurse gave him an odd look as she hurried past.

He hadn't
wanted
Rissa to go, not the least of which was because he was concerned for her safety, but he had no power to make her stay. Not he would allow himself to use anyway.

Instead, he’d gone to Miles, insisting protection be put on Rissa no matter where she went. The Frenchman had only nodded wearily, telling him it was already taken care of. Miles hadn't given Jules the slightest hint of accusation, but Jules had felt it anyway.

He wanted to be the one keeping Rissa safe, but he told himself that considering how well that had worked with everyone else in his life, she was better off without him. She had round the clock guards in Missouri and she wasn’t his concern. She couldn’t
ever
be his concern again, he'd seen to that. But nothing helped take her off his mind. A mind he was losing all over again.

He was alone with the choices he'd made. Choices he was questioning more and more with every night that passed.

Miles and Kelsey would be gone soon. They were only staying to attend Fannie's delayed funeral tomorrow and then they'd be headed back to France. Almost everyone he cared about would soon be far away, or beyond his reach entirely.

Jules looked down at the sad-eyed animal in his grip and wanted to throw it. Instead, he walked down the hall and entered the depressingly familiar hospital room.

Scott was there. Scott was
always
there. Jules knew the man must leave sometimes, knew that he'd been back to the house at least a few times, and over to Fannie's parents to see Tish. He knew this because both Tish and Fannie's mom had told him so. But you never would've known it looking at Scott. He looked like he hadn’t moved since the night they’d brought Toby in here.

The man could've doubled as a wraith, he was pale as death. A paleness only highlighted by the dark stubble that had grown in day after day, leaving him with a ragged beard that underscored his death camp eyes. Eyes haunted with a pain so deep just looking at him tore Jules' guts out all over again. Green eyes, Jules realized suddenly, as Scott lifted his head. Like Cross's. The vampire's were much lighter, like glass marbles, while Scott's were the dark green of a forest. But green just the same. For some reason that knowledge made Jules shudder.

Scott didn't notice, he'd already turned back to his son.

Toby lay on the bed. Still as always, his sweet caramel skin ashy, bandages and wires and tubes covering almost every inch of him, making him unrecognizable from the boy Jules had wrestled with short weeks ago. Even his hair, that wild, beautiful hair Fannie had been so proud of, had been shaved within an inch of his scalp.

Jules set the toy on a chair where it joined dozens of others, along with flowers and candy and cards and balloons. Some of the latter were losing their helium and starting to sink closer to the floor. The flowers' scent mingled unpleasantly with the odor of hospital.

"Why do you keep bringing him that shit? He don't even know it’s there."

Jules ignored the anger in Scott's voice. Rage was the man's default setting now. And who could blame him?

"He will. Someday. Someday
soon
, Scott.”

Scott didn't reply. Jules leaned against the foot of the bed. The quiet in the room thickened. He wondered, as he often had lately, if Scott blamed him for Fannie.

Scott hadn't said a word when they had told him she was gone. Outside the ER room where doctors had been frantically working on Toby, they had come to tell him, Jules and Kelsey. He'd just stared at them blankly before turning back to the glass window, where he watched his son fight the battle Fannie had already lost. It hadn't been until days later Scott had told Jules he'd known the minute she died. He'd known because Toby had opened his eyes in the ambulance and squeezed his hand, saying just a few words from his mother before losing consciousness again. Scott refused to tell anyone what those words had been. Only that they had been from Fannie and Scott had known then it was over.

Jules thought that might have been why Fannie had been so still there at the end. It hadn't been just pride, her standing quiet and straight, her hair dancing in the lights. Fannie had been using every ounce of her power to comfort her son and say goodbye to her husband before that monster had ripped out her throat.

Jules shook his head to dispel the haunting image, having revisited it enough in his nightmares. "Do you hate me, Scott?"

He didn't expect an answer, but after several endless moments, he got one. So low Jules barely made it out.

"I hate everyone at the moment, kemosabe. Get the fuck in line."

Machines beeped and whirled around them, both men fell silent again. To Jules' surprise, it was Scott who broke the quiet next.

"What's up between you and Rissa? Why did you let her go to St. Louis, for god’s sake?"

Jules didn't reply for a minute. First, he was shocked that Scott had even noticed Rissa was gone, second he was silent because he didn't know how to answer the question. So Jules settled on asking one of his own.

"How did you know she was gone?"

"Because she's not anymore. I called her to ask if she’d sing at the funeral. She just got in early this morning. "

"What?" Jules was stunned. More by the fact Rissa was back in town and he hadn't known, than the fact Scott had called her.

"Fannie liked her. She liked her an awful lot, kemosabe. She would want Rissa to be there. Why, don't you?" Scott’s tone made it clear it wouldn't matter whether Jules did or not, he just wanted to know.

"I…It's fine if she's there." Jules rubbed the back of his neck. "No. You're right. It's good that she will be there. It's just…we're not together anymore, Scott. You know that, remember?"

"Maybe I thought you'd wised up after all you saw that night. Guess I was wrong."

Jules straightened. "That night didn't change anything about me and her, Scott. If anything it just made it worse. What Cross did to my family, to Fannie, to Toby? How could I do that to them?” The excuse was sounding thinner and thinner, even to his own ears. But Jules couldn’t get over the idea that finding happiness as a vampire was bad enough, let alone
with
a vampire that had been
made
by the very monster that had started it all.

But e
verything
was so wrong now, so twisted and assbackwards and fucking awful, Jules didn’t even know that there
was
a right path to take anymore.

Scott's head didn't turn, but the venom in his voice stung like acid. "Do
what
to them? Throw your shot at love away? You think that shit will somehow
honor
them…or comfort me?
After what I fucking lost?!"
His laughter was hollow. "You know damn well if Fannie was here…." Scott choked on the words, hunching over in his seat, his fingers tightening in Toby's bedsheets.

Jules moved forward, wanting to put a hand on that bowed shoulder, but he didn't dare. He had no doubt if he touched Scott right now, he'd get a fist in the face.

After a minute, Scott continued, his words strangled. "Fan would tell you what a fucking loser you are for that stupidity. But me …I just don't give a damn. You do whatever the fuck you want, Jules. But don't lay it at Fannie's grave, or your family's. This isn't about them. It's about you being a lousy-ass coward.

"Now get the fuck out. Visiting time is over."

Jules left. He left Scott over the body of his broken son, wondering if maybe the answer was as simple and painful as that. Fear. Of what was and what had been….and what could be.

And how to get past it all at last.

Rissa brushed her hair slowly, looking at her tired eyes in the glass. The shower hadn't done anything to perk her up. But she hadn't really expected it to. Chicago glittered outside her windows once again, but she found no joy in the view.

It had been a rough couple of weeks to say the least. Leaving the city had been hard. Coming back was harder, but she had to say her goodbyes to Fannie. In the short time Rissa had known the woman, Fannie had claimed a special part of her heart, as had her children, and Scott, too. She owed them this, no matter what it cost her. Because in comparison, what was her heartbreak?

Rissa set the brush down and closed her eyes, remembering the night she had left. Jules coming down to the car. Step by step. His reluctance obvious. But she hadn’t allowed him to get away with saying no, she’d just showed up at his house and called him from her rental car. Telling him to come outside or she’d sit on his porch and sing folk songs all night long. He hung up on her, but Jules had opened his door less than a minute later. They had locked eyes and the pain had been unreal, but she'd refused to leave town without a goodbye.

She simply shoved the hurt aside for later. Something that should've been second nature at that point, but somehow…wasn't.

They talked awkwardly at first. Mostly about Toby while Jules avoided looking at her and kicked at the asphalt. The same asphalt under the same streetlight where Cross had once held her by the throat.

Finally Jules said it. "I don't want you to leave, Rissa."

She swallowed as hope flared inside her, then sputtered out. "But you don't want me to
stay
either."

Jules bent down to the window then and really looked at her for the first time since he'd walked out on her in that hotel room. His dark eyes were filled with despair. “There's nothing for you to stay for. I can't forget, Rissa.”

“I don't want you to. I just want you to let it go." She lifted her hand, trailing her fingers over his face. He closed his eyes, as if unable to face the acceptance in hers. “But you’re not ready.”