Ties That Bind: a New Adult Fantasy Novel (The Spire Chronicles Book 2) (24 page)

Considering my exhaustion, it wasn’t the best of ideas, but the pain was so intense I couldn’t help pumping healing magic into my hand to speed up the regeneration. When I was done, I cradled my hand to my chest, too afraid to flex it in case the pain was still there. It wouldn’t be, but I wasn’t interested in risking ghost pain. There was a giant hole in the safe, and once the metal had cooled down, it took little more than a few firm tugs for the door to fall open.

“Son of a bitch!”

15

The whole “innocent until proven guilty” thing was hard to hold onto when all I wanted was to go all badass Terminator and walk through the halls, taking down anything in my way. I knew that wouldn’t have gone too well even if I had been in top shape, which was nowhere near the case right now; hunters weren’t pushovers. It didn’t matter if they were only guards, basic training gave us all enough of an edge to be dangerous.

The damn items were gone. I knew there was a chance they would be, but holy hell was it a kick in the face. In the hopes that I didn’t FUBAR my hand for nothing, I pulled out the documents inside the safe and began to look through them for anything incriminating. There didn’t seem to be anything relating to the murders, and I was about to give up when a photograph slipped out from the pages.

A photograph of Fake-Corrigan’s talisman.

It was a rounded-off piece of human bone with a symbol resembling a broken infinity sign etched onto it. I’m sure there had to be some sort of meaning behind it, a link to whatever cult he belonged to, but no one had found anything so far. I guess that’s what it had going for it – it was kind of hard to find anything concrete on a symbol that looked like it could be sold on anything labeled “D&D.”

We had nothing on the bone, either. It was old, yellowed with age, and appeared charred in some places, but there was no information on whose body it had been a part of. At least, nothing the Council
revealed
. Talking about shunning malicious influence is nice and all, but you don’t hold an organization dedicated to fighting paranormal creatures together through sheer virtue. Dark magic, underworld contacts, or whatever – someone had to have something. Not that I thought the Council was hiding information…for malicious reasons.

Wright hiding the photograph in his safe was weird, but not as weird as the extra files he had with the same symbol. I sat on the desk and looked the pages over. It wasn’t much, but it did reveal Fake-Corrigan was the one who created the bindings and the knife. Yay for paranoid hunters who kept records. The discovery didn’t surprise or satisfy me, but it was enough to raise my curiosity. I was too drained to process everything right then; it’d have to wait until the case was officially solved.

With that in mind, I kept looking through the pages for more damning information. Most of it was a bunch of hastily written notes with questions jotted down in the margins, but it did give me something. There were a few notes about the vampire’s real identity that were all crossed out. Apparently, he’d introduced himself to Wright as “Morgan.”

Adorable.

There were also questions about why a demon worshipping vampire decided to outsource poaching to hunters, which was a good thing to ask. Why
was
Name Fail doing this? It had to be about more than money. I was beginning to see a pattern. He enticed Vaughn with money and the promise of power to get the now dead hunter to help him gather ingredients for that ritual. Now, he was here, enticing Wright with money to get his hands on shifter and werewolf parts for…what? Another ritual?

“Fucking better not be another apocalypse happening,” I huffed, looking at the unconscious hunter slumped under the desk. “I just stopped one. Kind of. Ipos stopped it. With hellfire, which was badass. Why am I even speaking to you?” It was a step up from speaking to myself, I guess.

Wright’s notes indicated he had no idea what the vampire needed those ingredients for, but he didn’t really seem to care. I couldn’t find any connections to me or my mother in there. Did Wright not know what she looked like? It was possible. After my mother vanished, all the pictures of her in the house seemed to have disappeared as well – who knows what my father did with them. Maybe I’d ask if I could have them once this was over.

There were photos of Wright meeting with…I don’t have a new smartass name for him. They were high quality, close range. It surprised me that, um… Fuck it, Fake-Corrigan worked fine. It surprised me that he allowed these pictures to exist – there was no way he didn’t know these were being taken. My narcissistic side said it was to taunt me, and I wasn’t sure if she was wrong. The person in these photos was definitely him – it was the same face: slim features, cold eyes. Grey eyes. I had almost forgotten exactly how much he looked like my mother and the reminder pissed me off.

Would these pictures and notes be enough to incriminate Wright? Meeting with the dude who tried to unlock the Spire had to be enough for Sullivan to put him in holding until we found the items. I folded the documents, putting them in my pockets before changing my mind and fitting them along the inside of my thankfully roomy boots; Wright wasn’t the only paranoid hunter around here.

“Hey!”

I slid off the desk just in time for a bullet to whiz past me, singeing the ends of my hair.
Thanks for the warning, guy.
What’d he do, skip the lesson on stealth approaches? They literally spent an entire semester at the academy teaching that.

“I don’t suppose you’d listen–”

He fired off another round, the bullet hitting the back of Wright’s safe with an impotent clink.

“–to an explanation?”
Yeah, probably not.

I fired off a jolt of electricity over my head. At the dull thud that followed, I popped up and looked around, seeing the guard on the ground. Good, I thought he might’ve ducked. I walked over to make sure he was knocked out but had to hug the wall next to the doorway when two more guards appeared, the sound of pounding footsteps signaling the remaining two would be here soon. Four on one didn’t sound good, but hey, I survived an ambush with a dozen demons a few months ago. No biggie. Yes, I was intentionally ignoring the part where I almost died.

A deafening crack rang out, and I rolled away, looking at the splattering of craters on the floor in front of me. Shotgun. Okay, semi-biggie. I still had the advantage – this room was at the end of the corridor, meaning they could only approach one or two at a time. I could– Oh, fuck it. Strategy was for the patient and well-rested.

Electricity crackled around my curled fingers like a tangle of whips, almost muting the sound of the next shotgun blast. I pressed my hand against the floor, flattening the lightning out into a disk. I peeked out of the door and slid the disk straight through like I was playing air hockey, waiting for it to reach the middle of the group. Once it did, I detonated it like my barriers and flyaway ice spears. The sound was underwhelming, barely louder than an electrical short, but I guess not everything can be shock – pun totally intended – and awe. Their bodies flew up and banged against the walls before falling down. Five in the hall and one under the desk made six, so the only one left was Wright. Yeah, fuck you, strategy. Brute force all the way.

I checked the bodies to make sure they were all knocked out. None of them looked seriously hurt. Hopefully, I wouldn’t live to regret that. Or
would
live – a few regrets weren’t worth dying over. Wright would bolt the second he saw the bodies, so I had to get to him now. I ran across the hall, letting out a grunt of pain and surprise as something bit through my side. Reflexively, I shot out a bolt of lightning toward the direction of the attack.

Now that the shock had worn off, the pain spread through my abdomen like the blood seeping through my shirt. It wasn’t fatal, but it still hurt. “Who the fuck uses a silencer?” I groaned.

“It wasn’t a silencer,” Wright called, stepping out from between the new cluster of men who appeared downstairs. “You just weren’t paying attention.”

“Yeah, that sounds like me.” Ignoring the bullet stuck in my stomach, I looked over the ten guns pointed at me before focusing on Wright. “I did pay enough attention, however, to know that you were fishy right from the start, though I’m not sure what exactly possessed you to start skinning innocent people alive. I mean, I get you’re racist and all, but I didn’t think you were a psychopath.”

Wright’s pudgy face twisted into an angry mask and wrinkles formed heavy grooves in his forehead as all jovial pretense vanished. “You don’t know a damn thing about me. You’re calling me a racist? Those furries ruined my entire life. I’m supposed to forgive that? Deep down, they’re all the same: wild animals. Just because they’re playing nice now doesn’t mean–”

“Shut up,” I growled, magic roiling around my insides. “You hunted down
innocent people
. They were sons and daughters, mothers and fathers – they had friends and family who loved them! All they were guilty of was being the same species as the guy who fucked you up. They just wanted to live their lives,
you
were the one who had them hunted down. And when it happened, you didn’t even care if they suffered. All you wanted was to get your hands on as many parts as possible so you could make some extra cash.”

The magic raging through me sped up my regeneration, and my newly healed gut forced Wright’s bullet out. It landed on the carpeted floor silently as the hole closed up. Normally, it would’ve hurt like, well, getting shot and having the bullet pulled out, but the anger washed away the pain. Some of the hunters around Wright lowered their guns, looking from me to him with uncertainty.

“Fuck you,” he bellowed. “I lost everything. After that hunt, I couldn’t work anymore. My wife left me, I went broke – everything fell apart! Wasn’t hard to make the decision: a few dead animals for money that could save a life.”

“Your life isn’t more important than theirs,” I yelled, stepping forward. The world bled into a mass of grey and I grabbed the stair banister for support.

All the hunters went alert at the action, guns ready to shoot the wobbling brunette. It’d be funny if I didn’t feel like ten tons of crap. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, hoping no one noticed the way my arm shook as I held myself up.
Stupid regeneration, you could at least let me choose when to heal so you don’t use up all my strength.
I’m sure, if my powers could speak, they’d scold me for being so temperamental. I was glad they couldn’t.

“My life was ruined because of them!” Wright’s eyes were bulging out and spit flew from his mouth with every word. His fervent belief would be admirable if it didn’t make me sicker to my stomach than the bullet I’d just expelled. I just shook my head feebly, unsure if I could even consider him human anymore. He sure as hell couldn’t be called a member of the Order.

“You’re a disgrace,” I said, giving all of them the most disgusted look I could muster. “All of you. We are hunters. We are Order. Our job is to protect
everyone
from preternatural threats. We don’t just protect the people we like and we don’t target beings by race or creed or whatever. Last I checked, we aren’t Nazis going around killing anyone we hate. And for what? If you’re going to sell your soul, at least do it for something more than just money.”

“She’s right.”

Twelve pairs of eyes turned their attention to the front door as Sullivan walked in. He was alone for God knows what reason. Was this some kind of family trait I never knew about? Was it this infuriating when I did it? I had new respect for Alex and Rowan’s patience. He was the head of a freakin’ legion of hunters and he came alone. It didn’t seem to bother him; he had his hands tucked casually into his pockets as he strode into the room. Only two hunters still had their guns up by the time he stopped in front of Wright, but their arms fell the second he looked at them. Okay, who needs to bring an army when you can convert one? I wish
that
was a family trait.

Sullivan looked at his former right hand man. “Stand down, Wright. This has gone far enough.”

“Sir, I’m–”

“Don’t waste your breath. I heard everything.” The authority in his voice boomed as he spoke. “All of you, drop your weapons and step back.”

His orders were carried out immediately. It was almost comical how all ten hunters managed to be so in sync – their guns were placed on the floor and the men took three steps back like they were of one mind.

“Are you alright, Morgan?” he asked. “You’re bleeding.”

With his attention directed at me, the anger came flooding back. That was the thing: when I got mad, every little thing someone did just made it worse. Especially if I was already mad at them because, say, they had a fucking lovechild and didn’t tell me. So, Sullivan pointing out the obvious – like I hadn’t noticed the blood when I got
shot
– pissed me off way more than it should have. I swallowed it down, knowing there was no reason to start acting like a royal bitch. That could wait until I had more time to rage out, complete with pacing and arm waving.

“I’m fine.” I let go of the banister in foolish overcompensation. The world didn’t fall over, though, so I figured it would be okay. “He’s the one behind the killings, but I think that’s obvious by now.”