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23
The sun should be rising, I thought as I held the back door to my Tahoe open and snapped my fingers. Brimstone jumped onto the backseat, and I prayed to God he didn’t eat the upholstery while I was gone. Once he was taken care of, Hank and I made our way into Station One and down the flight of stairs leading to the med hold where wounded criminals were treated and detained.
Aaron was lying on a hospital bed, IV in his vein, monitors recording his heartbeat and pulse/oxygen levels. My sister raised her head from her forearm as the door clicked closed. “Hey,” she said in a drowsy voice, sitting straighter in the chair and rubbing her eyes. Her face was nearly as pale as Aaron’s and, as I drew closer, I couldn’t help but look for the signs of possession.
“How’s Liz doing?” Hank stood at the foot of Aaron’s bed, his gaze on the nymph, but his question for Bryn.
“She’s doing okay. In the cafeteria chugging OJ. The ritual went perfectly. What’s wrong with your arm, Charlie?”
I glanced down at my arm, wishing I’d had on a long-sleeved shirt or a jacket. As it was now, anyone who paid a lick of attention might notice the pink skin and the faint blue script just beneath the surface as though my veins had redesigned themselves. They curved from my useless fingers all the way up my bicep and the round part of my shoulder, and the relentless, throbbing pain was almost enough to make me cry. “It’s nothing,” I said. “Some weird reaction to something during the fight maybe …” I pulled my gaze away and stared at the screen to Aaron’s heart monitor for a long moment. “And the ring?”
“Liz still has it. The spirits Llyran had trapped inside were released when she read the inscription. At least now they can rest. What happened to the sarcophagus?”
The question was i
She responded with a soft “Oh.”
As I stood there I debated whether or not to tell her what I’d learned from Llyran, but I finally decided against it for the time being. She wanted to be here with Aaron and help right whatever wrong she’d done. Still … “I’m going to assign a guard for you,” I said, bracing for an outburst.
I expected outrage, claims that I was a bad sister for not trusting her or believing in her, but all she did was stare at Aaron for a long moment, her eyes large and sad, and then she nodded. “We can see an exorcist, too. Couldn’t hurt, right?” Her eyes lifted to mine and though her smile was twisted in sarcasm, tears shone in the copper depths.
I cleared my throat. “I’ll set it up for Monday.”
As we headed for the back door to Station One, several ji
One of the uniformed crime scene analysts whose name I couldn’t recall entered carrying a large container housing the spirit jar, which had been broken in four pieces. Scattered among the pieces were bone fragments—the remains of Solomon, but I guess we’d never really know for sure. Whatever spirit had been in that jar was long gone, probably set free when it broke.
Or at least I hoped so.
Hank and I finally squeezed past several more officers and made our way into the parking lot just as the chief was striding toward the door. “I want a report on my desk first thing Monday.”
“What about Te
The chief rolled his eyes. “Unit picked him up on Alabama Street, laying in a three-foot-deep impression in the asphalt. He was conscious enough to claim he’d come to the rooftop to pull back his ji
I shook my head. “No, it’s not worth it.”
“He’ll walk,” Hank said, disgusted. “It’s just a matter of time.”
The chief’s dark frown was followed with a snort. “And when he does, we’ll do what we always do—keep a close eye on him until he screws up again. Wouldn’t mind if the next time he hits the pavement, it puts him six feet under. For good.”
The chief started to walk away, but I stopped him. “Hey, Chief?” He turned. “Make sure Liz destroys that ring.”
He gave me a salute and then kept walking as Hank and I went to my Tahoe.
Grigori Te
Hank walked with me to my Tahoe. I stopped by the driver’s side door, frowning with resignation at the slobber trails rolling down the insides of every single window in my vehicle. Great. I leaned back against the door, finally acknowledging the deep ache in my muscles and bones.
“You should get that arm looked at,” Hank said, bracing his hip against the front side panel and crossing his arms over his chest, looking for all the world like some ancient, battle-weary hero with his torn and bloodied clothes, wounds and bruises, and disheveled hair and shadowed jaw.
“Mmm. How’s your back?”
“Feels like an axe was planted between my shoulder blades.” He rolled his shoulder and winced. “I’ll need a good soak in the baths …” Images flashed through my weary, unprotected mind. Loincloth. Ta
The drop in his rich tone only heightened the uncomfortable memories knocking around my head. “There is no us, Hank. There can’t be.”
His expression was blank, completely unreadable, and his voice was even when he spoke. “Because we’re friends, partners … Because I’m a siren and you’re a human? Because you’re afraid?”
“Yes, if you want to know the truth. All of that. And because now I’ve got this damn mark on my shoulder …”
“So? I bear one, too.”
“And how will I know whether it’s the mark or me reacting to you?”
One eyebrow lifted as the corner of his mouth dipped down. “That’s the biggest load of cow shit you’ve flung at me in days, Madigan. Might want to lose the excuses and stick to the truth. The mark only reminds you of what’s already there.” A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stepped closer and leaned down, until his bright blue eyes were level with mine. One hand reached out and flicked the ends of my newly cropped hair. “Tell yourself whatever you want. It doesn’t change anything. And now that I’m back to being one hundred percent …” A grin spread slowly across his face, slicing deep dimples in both scruffy cheeks. “You don’t stand a chance.”
With that, he winked and strode away.
Very slowly, I released my breath and watched him disappear into the shadows beyond the lot. Damn. Before the mark, and before Hank had gotten his power back, I was in trouble. But now? I was toast.
My eyes narrowed at the spot near the corner where he’d turned, not liking this sense of inevitability one bit. It felt too much like defeat.