All That Falls (21 page)

“You need to go,” Cerise said.

“What’s going on?” Dorie snapped as Cerise propelled her toward the door.

“Just go. I’ll call you later.”

Dorie’s furious expression rivaled Lysander’s. “You’d better call me in like ten minutes.”

“Or what?” Cerise said.

“Or I’m calling Etherlin Security. They’ll get right to the bottom of who he is and what he’s doing here.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Not you,” Dorie said, clucking her tongue and tossing a glare back at Lysander. “If he’s so dangerous that you have to run me out of the apartment, he doesn’t belong in the Etherlin or anywhere near a muse.”

“Just stay out of it.”

“No, I won’t. We’ve already lost Alissa to that bloodsucker, Merrick. I’m—”

Cerise sucked in a breath.

“What?” Dorie asked, eyes narrowing. Her gaze darted back to Lysander, and she whispered in a hiss, “Don’t even tell me he’s one of them! Some friend of Merrick’s who’s managed to sneak in. What are you doing with him? Why haven’t you called ES already?”

“I’ll talk to you about it later. Do
not
call ES or anyone else.”

Cerise yanked the door open and walked out with Dorie.

“Cer, wait! I’m not just going to—”

“I’m not Alissa,” Cerise said, her voice low. “If you cross me, I won’t forgive you. Not ever.”

Dorie blinked. “Listen—”

“No, that’s all there is to say,” Cerise said, stalking back into the apartment. Once inside, she closed the door and locked it. She scowled at Lysander. “Congratulations. We have no time.”

“She tried to get Merrick killed by falsely accusing him of attacking her. She’s not a demon, but she might as well be.”

“Merrick’s ventala and a killer for hire. Dorie shouldn’t have lied, but she did think she was protecting this community.”

“Merrick kills things that need killing. And what’s between him and Alissa is not your sister’s business.”

“Things aren’t exactly that simple. Ventala have raped and murdered muses in the past. That’s why there’s a wall to keep them out.”

“
Vampires
raped and murdered one muse.”

“Are you claiming ventala aren’t dangerous?”

“I’m saying Merrick wasn’t a threat when he infiltrated your retreat center. And anyone who tries to kill him is my enemy.”

Cerise put out a hand. “There’s no point discussing this now. I have to get you out of the Etherlin.”

Lysander seemed to contemplate her words as he glanced around the apartment, but when he spoke again, it was on a very different topic. “Now that the soup’s cool, do you know what I smell?” he asked, looking at Cerise. “Paint.”

She swiveled her gaze from Lysander to Jersey, who was sitting silently against the mound of cushions. “Jersey, did you go up to the roof and paint over a mural on the ledge?”

“No,” Jersey stammered as Lysander stalked to the balcony and yanked open the door. He held up a paint can with telltale black smeared on its rim. “I didn’t do the painting. Hayden did, because I asked him to.”

“Why?” Cerise and Lysander asked at the same time.

Jersey bit her lip. “You’ll be pissed.”

Lysander moved toward Jersey, but Cerise waved him back and sat on the edge of the chaise. “It’s really important, and we don’t have much time. I’ll only be pissed if you don’t tell me everything right now.”

Jersey swallowed and stole a nervous glance at Lysander.

“Hey,” Cerise whispered. “It’s me. No one is going to hurt you. Just tell me.”

“I was supposed to—I just wanted to be numb for a while. Life’s been so screwed up; I needed to forget about everything. Just for a little while,” Jersey whispered to her soup. Cerise moved the tray and sat closer, taking Jersey’s hands in hers.

Cerise infused her voice with persuasive power and felt a surge of triumph when the magic coursed through her as she said, “You’re not afraid. You know that no one will be upset with you. You want to tell me everything.”

Jersey’s lids drifted to half closed. “I called Griffin’s dealer.”

What the hell? Griffin had a dealer?
Cerise’s pulse quickened. Griffin told her he’d tried a few recreational drugs, but that he’d never used regularly. While they were together, he’d sworn he wasn’t taking anything except his prescribed Klonopin. She’d asked about it because of his mood swings, but she’d never come across any paraphernalia in the apartment…And he’d sworn up and down.

He swore on his music.

Had he been an addict and too afraid or ashamed to confide in her?

“Was he using while we were together?” Cerise asked.

“I don’t know,” Jersey said, but Cerise heard the hesitation in Jersey’s voice. She knew. She just didn’t want to trash Griffin’s memory.

“So what happened when you went to meet the dealer?” Cerise asked, trying to keep the anger from leaking into her voice.

“When I went to meet him,
she
was there. That scary ventala woman with the short black hair. And she said—she said Griffin owed her money. She’d only let me buy if I did something for her. I said I’d made a mistake. I told her to forget it, and I tried to go, but she wouldn’t let me.” Tears welled in Jersey’s eyes. “They held my arm and shot me up, made me drink something.”

Assholes! Don’t tell me some of the ventala aren’t dangerous fucking criminals! And who’s the black-haired ventala woman? Tamberi Jacobi? The daughter of the syndicate leader? She’s rumored to be more predatory than any animal on earth.

Cerise held tight to Jersey’s hands.

“I don’t remember how I got back here,” Jersey continued. “I just remember the roof. There were a thousand whispers in my head. I had a vial clutched in my pocket, and I was supposed to break it over the blackbird. I climbed onto the ledge and walked along. I saw the painted blackbird, but I didn’t want to do what she said. I felt like I hated her and hated the whispering voices. I didn’t want to help them. So I just stood there, feeling dizzy and tired and sick. Then I lost my balance,” she cried. “Lost my balance and fell. I couldn’t breathe, and then I saw these facets of light, like I was looking through a diamond. He had giant wings. He caught me and a bunch of blond hair hung down around his face and mine like a cloak. I heard a low voice, not vicious like the whispers, just peaceful. I felt myself dying, but I wasn’t too scared because the angel was holding me, and I remember thinking that I’d finally get to see Griffin again. Even when my heart stopped, the angel stayed with me so I wasn’t afraid.” Tears trickled down her cheeks. Jersey stared at Lysander. “Thanks.”

He nodded, and Cerise had to blink away her own tears and swallow against a throat so tight it burned like a thousand flames. If she’d had any doubts left regarding Lysander, they evaporated in that moment. No demon would’ve hovered over a dying girl to ease her fear. Lysander might be fallen, but there was still goodness in him.

“I told Hayden about the vial. I thought maybe I’d dropped it on the roof. He went up there and smashed it on the ground, not near the picture of the bird. I don’t know who painted that ledge or why, but I know it’s bad. I didn’t think we should leave it, which is what I told Hayden. He got the glossy black paint you guys used on the trim in the teal bedroom and went up to the roof and painted over the picture.”

Cerise nodded. “You guys were probably right to do that, but I needed to see it. Are you sure you don’t know who painted it? Could Griffin have done it?”

“No way. Griffin couldn’t draw like that.”

“Have you ever seen artwork that looks like it?”

“I think the painting on the fourteenth floor looks kind of like it. When you get off the elevator you turn right and go to the end of the hall and around the corner. There’s a big mural.”

“The top floor. Right under the roof,” Cerise said, exchanging a look with Lysander. Cerise leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Jersey’s forehead. Infusing her voice with power, she said, “Rest now.”

Merrick has definitely gone soft,
Tamberi thought, sitting at her desk whose top was made of recycled cut-glass windows and whose wood was stained with varnish infused with blood, à la
The Red Violin
.

By now Merrick had certainly heard that she’d been telling everyone that he’d killed her father. He should’ve offered a swift denial and attempted to put a bullet in her brain by now, but there’d been only silence from his patch of the Varden.

She’d heard it had taken him all night to mop up the casualties and hunker down.
Let’s see how he manages a battering again tonight,
she thought. With Merrick there could be no middle ground even if she’d wanted that, which she didn’t. She wanted him headless, heartless, and permanently dead.

She’d heard that Cerise Xenakis had gotten back to the Etherlin by chopper. That pissed Tamberi off, but she had to keep the big picture in mind. Taking Merrick out and working with Reziel would be game-changers. She wouldn’t let temporary setbacks distract her.

She looked over the maps again. She really wanted to blow up Merrick’s building and reduce it to rubble, but getting someone inside would be tough. The word was that the place was completely locked down, and there were rumors that he had an underground bunker with a separate exit. Of course that might be bullshit. Everyone gave him too much credit. No one could plan that far in advance. If he had, why would he have set up house in his apartment with his muse girlfriend and her derelict father? He could’ve taken them anywhere in the world. Only a moron would’ve sat around waiting for Tamberi to come for revenge. Unless Merrick hadn’t been worried. Unless he’d believed his own press and considered himself invincible. He wasn’t. No one was. And she was just the bitch to prove it.

When her phone rang, she answered by demanding, “What?”

“It’s Lane week.”

She licked her lips. “The little girl’s back for more?”

“No, the brother. Hayden Lane would like to know how much money his brother owed you.”

Tamberi laughed. “Tell him fifteen grand.”

“Shit, that guy was into you for fifteen grand worth of smack when he died? No wonder you were pissed when they found his body.”
Griffin Lane didn’t owe me a fucking cent when he died or I’d have gotten paid long before now.

“Tell the kid he has to deliver it in person.”

“Will do.”

Tamberi replaced the receiver. There now. Things were getting easier all the time.

Cerise boarded the elevator with Lysander, but her mind wasn’t on the mural they were going to examine. Her racing pulse was driven by the muse magic that still flowed through her. Her power was definitely getting stronger. She subdued her smile, but couldn’t keep the rush of excitement from her step.

There were two elements to muse magic. The first was the power to inspire, which was the most important skill, the one they all tried to cultivate and hone. The other was the power to influence people outside the realm of creativity. All of Cerise’s magic had been extinguished by Griffin’s death, but since the night in the retreat, she’d felt her power of persuasion returning. It hadn’t been strong enough to be of consequence until she used it on herself after Lysander left her alone and burning for him.

Her magic was being slowly restored to her, and the catalyst for its restoration seemed to be contact with a seven-foot angel with stormy green eyes and a mane of tangled gold hair.

“Lysander, is it possible that when I came into contact with Reziel’s follower, he or she did something to impair my memory?”
And my muse abilities?

“When a human being comes into contact with an angel or demon, their memory is affected. People are not supposed to have access to the other side until their lives are over. We’re part of that other side, so we can influence what’s recalled. And heaven can influence it. For example, the rituals for raising a
demon fade from memory. They have to be written down and carefully preserved. Even the ink or blood that those spells are written in degrades faster than it would normally. Hell-bound demons must work extremely hard to raise themselves to conscious thought in a human mind. They do it with one goal in mind. To be brought forth in the flesh.”

“What happens when they become flesh?”

“They can do whatever a human being can do and more. Many of them have wings and the knowledge of ages behind them.”

“Could they interfere with a witch’s magic? Steal it or suppress it?”

“If the witch raised the demon, then yes. Entering into a pact with a demon strips a person of heaven’s protection. Any supernatural power, any divine gift, including the soul, is forfeit and the demon can claim it at will.”

“What if one met a demon and didn’t know what it was? If a person helped a demon unknowingly and without breaking any divine law, would that still make them vulnerable?”

Lysander shrugged. “I’m not sure. To forfeit the soul, a pact must be entered into knowingly. The law is absolutely clear on that point. But whether someone’s supernatural abilities could be hijacked without some kind of compact…I can’t say I know. There are so few people with true supernatural gifts that I don’t imagine it comes up very often. I’m not a demon nor was I in heaven when the laws that apply to demons were laid down, so I don’t know all the restrictions that bind them.” As they exited the elevator, he added, “How long have your abilities been gone?”

Obviously her questions had been too thinly veiled, but there was no one in a better position to provide her with information than Lysander. As far as most of the muse scholars were concerned the only way to amplify a muse’s magic was to commune with other muses or to wear the Muse Wreath. Neither thing had helped where her missing magic had been concerned. “My power isn’t gone,” she said.

“But you’ve had trouble using or controlling it?”

“For a time I did.”

“When?”

Until I met you.
“It’s not important,” she said.

He caught her arm and stopped her progress toward the mural. “It could be. We’re trying to discern with whom Reziel has made contact. If the person who’s helping him impaired your ability to inspire your aspirants, maybe we can pinpoint when you met him and who he is.”