Bound by Light (51 page)

Needed to, but . . . couldn’t.

Max and Delilah were heading out of the basement.

Another little voice intruded, far back in Merilee’s brain.

It sounded like her own, from forever ago, when she was rested and intelligent and sane, and not torn into a million little bits. A Sibyl’s voice, strong and authoritative, keeping track of detail as only Sibyls could do.

This was the voice that finally got her moving. Running, in fact, toward Delilah and Max and his idiotic elementally locked handcuffs.

It said,
Four hours, twenty-two minutes.

And counting
.

(37)

Bartholomew August got out of his newly refitted limousine at Tavern on the Green without waiting for his driver to come around and open the door. Orange-shirted Peace Warriors lined the drive, keeping back the hansom cabs and onlookers, members of the media, and rally-goers who had strayed from the main event. The NYPD was on scene as well, and August had been notified that a Secret Service detail would be joining him before he went onstage in an hour or two.

Nothing like respect.

Nothing like a good crowd to whip into riot mentality.

For now, though, a glass of wine and a decent meal.

Some human habits August more than enjoyed.

The night was warm, and Tavern on the Green glowed so beautifully, like a jewel of hope, a beacon of new beginnings. The loneliness inhabiting August’s core eased a fraction, enough to allow him a true smile.

Tonight would be a big step toward August’s new beginnings. Already, the rally in Central Park was reaching a fever pitch. Jensen would ride the wave of their combined efforts directly into a position of leadership. Jensen, code name
Klaus
to August’s people, would direct the free world. For his part, August would have unprecedented access to the weaponry and forces needed to effect a rapid resolution to the nagging problem of the earth’s human infestation.

Access—and relatively little supervision, compared to the president.

By the time anyone, Klaus included, realized August’s true aims, he would be impossible to stop, and nearly finished with the task of destroying the bulk of the human race. He would sire many babies with his genetically superior mates. Accelerate their growth. Then watch the race get stronger as each generation bred the next.

"Do you need anything, sir?" the driver asked, stopping near August and folding his hands behind his back.

Nothing like respect.

"No. Thank you." August ran his fingers across the gloss of the limousine’s back door, admiring the paint job that concealed the elementally treated lead now lining the passenger section of the vehicle. "Keep the engine warm. As soon as the rally’s over, we’re pulling out for Philadelphia to meet up with the rest of the campaign staff for the nationwide phase."

"Stumping. Yes sir." The driver smiled.

August thought
stumping
was an idiotic term, but such was the American political game. "I’m expecting a guest and his . . . ah, grandmother and sister. Please seat them comfortably in the car and notify me on the cell when they arrive." August patted the pocket of his dinner jacket that held his phone. Human contrivances for human purposes. Effective, if annoying. "I have it on vibrate in case it’s during the speech. I might not answer, but I’ll know you’ve called."

The driver nodded and moved toward the front of the limousine.

August swept his gaze over the crowd once more, waving to a few people who shouted and reached toward him.

Where
was
Max, after all?

They should be here by now, all of them, or a few minutes from now at the very least.

August had no delusions about his son’s capabilities. He knew the boy could never carry out the task he had been assigned, and August wasn’t counting on that at all.

No.

He was counting on Delilah.

Let those black winged creatures block his mind from Merilee’s. Let their energy shove him back from approaching her at every turn. Delilah was his intermediary now, and August was certain the black winged menaces would pay the woman no attention at all.

But where the hell
were
they?

He’d make her pay for being late.

August glanced toward Sixty-third.

By now, Merilee would have located her triad sisters, or what was left of them after Max did his dirty work—assuming he was competent enough to manage killing two defenseless, unarmed pregnant women.

Either way, the captive Sibyls would be in bad shape, and Merilee would be devastated. Vulnerable. It would be nothing for Max to complete the leg shot as they had practiced, cuff her, and bring her here, to be placed in a limousine every bit as fortified as the cell that contained her now-dead triad sisters.

But he’d fail.

Failure was in Max’s nature.

And when Max couldn’t subdue the air Sibyl, Delilah would find a way to get Merilee here anyway. A con, a lie, a trick—something, anything to make sure the job got done and protect her boy.

Delilah was resourceful like that. Always had been.

August smiled again as he separated himself from the limousine and headed into the restaurant to join his fellow candidate for a bit of fortification before they addressed the masses.

The night was just too beautiful to worry about anything, and too perfect to stay angry for long.

(38)

Jake sped through a great gray nothingness, though he couldn’t quite remember where he was trying to get to, or why he was trying to get there so fast.

A blazing light ahead of him caught his attention and he changed course, flapping his wings and using his feet for a rudder as if he had been flying every day of his life, maybe for centuries.

So rapid.

So free.

Why hadn’t he done this more often?

Air rushed over his body, feeding him, making him stronger. He glanced upward, wondering when the sun would rise. How splendid it would be, to fly toward that bright yellow orb as it burst free of the far horizon.

For now, though, he approached what appeared to be a massive castle rising out of a silvery-white mist, a structure so big he couldn’t take in its complete dimensions. Left, right, back to front, the damned thing went on forever.

The stone walls didn’t seem quite . . . solid, either. More phantasm than corporeal, yet Jake was able to land in one of the arched windows. The stone felt real enough beneath his bare feet, smooth and cool and pleasing in its own way.

He slipped inside.

His muscles relaxed, and his mind, too, as if he had always meant to come here, should have been here a thousand times or more.

This was . . . home?

"What an archive," he said out loud, amazed by the massive room before him. "I’ve never seen anything like this—felt it, maybe, in my head, through my vestigial memories, but seeing it . . ."

Shelf upon shelf, book upon book.

Damn, but he could spend the next thousand years going through all of these books—and what if the entire castle was nothing but rooms like this?

"I’m pleased to meet you here, Leader." The voice startled Jake into spinning around, and he found Darian standing behind him dressed in jeans like the ones Jake usually wore.

Darian’s arms were folded across his chest, and his wings were half-extended.

There was plenty of room for wings in this place. Nice.

Jake extended his, too, and relaxed again. "Do me a favor, okay? Tell me—where is
here
?"

Darian tilted his head as if considering the question. "Here is . . . where we come to think.
Here
is where our memories live. We use it to strengthen, and sometimes to do what you’re doing—move quickly from place to place."

Jake glanced around the massive library. Was it bigger? He could swear it was bigger, as if books were being written minute by minute, and placed on newly grown shelves inside newly expanded walls.

Losing it. No doubt.
He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, surprised that his own flesh felt as real and solid as it did. "What are you talking about—moving quickly from place to place?"

"You can relocate from this central point, from one physical, tangible location to another." Darian gave Jake something like a smile, Astaroth-style.

Jake cocked his head. For some reason, right now, that moving-place-to-place thing would be a valuable skill.

But why?

"How does that work?" he asked.

"Once you’re here, you can go anywhere." Darian unfolded his arms and tapped his temple with one long, pale finger. "Just by a thought."

"Damn, I suck at this part of the game." Jake shook his head. "I know a lot about fighting, about being a cop, but you know a lot about being an Astaroth. All this time, maybe you should have been training me."

At these words, Darian appeared to be truly shocked. When he recovered enough, he said, "But I have no human left in me, Leader. No special abilities beyond my Astaroth gifts. You have both natures—human
and
demon. You are . . . more than we are."

It was Jake’s turn to gape. "Human—more—? No, wait. I’m stubborn, not more. I was changed to an Astaroth, just as you were. My human body was put to rest years ago." He was starting to feel antsy, though he couldn’t yet grasp why. Maybe all this admiration. Jake never was much on admiration.

Darian’s golden eyes remained fixed on Jake’s face. "But you have your ability, the light within you—what you can do with cells and the essence of life itself. What is the term—biosentience? You retained some of your human essence through sheer force of will, and for that, all Astaroths admire you and wish to learn from you."

Jake stepped back from Darian, his internal agitation cranking up a notch. "I’m not biosentient. My mother was, but she’s dead."

"Look at yourself, Leader." Darian gestured to Jake’s midsection.

Jake glanced down, half expecting to see the spectral image of his murdering mother rising up from his gut, complete with her gleaming dagger.

Instead, he saw his own body, pale, translucent like Darian’s—yet, somehow more concrete. A shade darker than the other Astaroth. More . . . real than the castle in which he stood.

"You see?" Darian’s voice was thick with respect. "Even here in our place of the mind, your body has a solid character that the rest of us may never achieve. You are special amongst our kind, Leader. We look to you for great things."

Jake doubled both fists and kept staring at himself. Something about this place—no, not the place, the situation, it was all wrong. He was confused, somehow. Not thinking straight.

"Darian, why am I here?" Jake looked up at the other Astaroth, hoping for a quick answer before he crawled out of his barely real skin.

"Because you used so much of your energy in healing the wounded Sibyls that you degraded, lost your tangible form." Darian pointed to Jake’s legs, which were only just now gaining the same solid quality as the rest of him. "You came instinctively for restoration. The first time you’ve needed it, I suspect, since your biosentience allows you to heal yourself and others so completely."

I was healing Sibyls.

Who was hurt?

Why had he spent so much energy healing anyone?

Jake focused on Darian again. "Why are you here?"

Darian bared his fangs and let out a long hiss. When he pulled himself to his full height, wings extended, Jake couldn’t help but think of generals and battlefield commanders he had read about and, yeah, admired.

"We completed the mission of rescuing your brothers from jail, but they checked in with the OCU and went straight to the hospital where their wives and children were taken. So I came to get reinforcements." Darian snarled, low and dangerous. "We’ll need them if we’re to save your woman, Leader."

Reality came whistling back to Jake like somebody set off a bomb in his brain.

His thoughts caught fire.

His claws grew longer and his fangs, too.

"Merilee!" He let out a hiss to rival Darian’s.

If Riana and Cynda and the babies are already at the hospital and my brothers are already out of jail—what time is it? How long have I been here?

"How does time work here?" he asked Darian. "Compared to, uh, there. The other world."

"Below," Darian supplied. "We call it Below. The time Below runs faster, though I’ve never attended to how much faster." Darian pointed to the stone floor beneath Jake’s bare feet. "You can see for yourself, if you’d like."

Jake stared at the stones, which had become translucent now, like glass, or a movie screen.

Jake squinted at them, feeling his demon senses swell, delving into the sights and sounds unfolding for his viewing.