All That Falls (7 page)

“You have ten seconds to hand it over, or I’ll leave you on the street.”

Her fingers tightened their grip. There was no way on earth she was getting into a car with him unarmed, especially with the bloodless stare he had trained on her.

The window rolled down and a huge man with white blond hair looked out. “Everything cool, boss?”

Merrick’s eyes never left Cerise. “Ms. Xenakis is trying to decide whether she wants to see Alissa or not.”

“It’s not personal. I always carry a gun,” Cerise said.

“I don’t blame you,” Merrick said, getting into the car and rolling up the window.

Cerise realized they were going to leave her on the street. She exhaled slowly. Maybe it was for the best. One look into Merrick’s eyes, and she’d had second thoughts about crossing into the Varden with him. She’d figured if Alissa spent time there, it couldn’t be all bad, but she’d changed her mind about that.

Cerise took a step back toward the hotel. She’d check into the Grand and get someone to smuggle her back into the Etherlin in the morning.

Except the car didn’t drive away. Instead the door opened, and Alissa and Merrick both got out.

Cerise was used to Alissa’s skin being like a sliver of moonlight, but she had a light tan and the normally sleek hair that skimmed her shoulders had grown longer and hung in loose waves. She looked as beautiful as ever, but much more relaxed and approachable. Even her Tom Ford lace dress flirted with ease, and she pulsed with strong magic that was enviable.

“Let me hold your gun,” Alissa said.

Cerise shook her head sharply, noting the way that Merrick stood with his body slightly blocking Alissa’s. Would the heartless ventala actually step in front of a V3 bullet for Alissa?

“No offense, but there are two opinions on your leaving the Etherlin. First, that you were abducted and are still being held against your will. In which case, I’ll keep my gun. The second: that you lost your mind and went willingly. In which case, I’ll keep my gun.”

Merrick moved in a blur of speed. Cerise’s arm throbbed where he’d yanked it forward.

Her mouth dropped open at the sight of her gun in his hand.

“Enough standing on the street. Alissa, get in the car.”

“I—Merrick, you can’t,” Alissa protested, but Merrick didn’t answer. Instead he tapped the roof, and the blond bruiser emerged.

“We’re going,” Merrick said, and the big guy plucked Alissa off the ground and reentered the car with her.

Cerise started to back away, but Merrick grabbed her and pulled her forcibly into the car. The doors all closed and the instant they did, the car pulled away from the curb. Cerise’s heart pounded.

“For God’s sake, Alissa,” Cerise spat. “You let me walk right into this? I trusted you.”

“It’s not like that!” Alissa said, and she grabbed Merrick’s arm. “You can’t do this.”

Merrick popped the clip from the gun, removed the bullet from the chamber, and then dropped the gun on Cerise’s lap. He slid the bullet and clip into his pocket.

“The girl behind the desk got on the phone the second she saw me,” Merrick said flatly. “You wanted to talk to Cerise. When we get to the penthouse, I’ll leave you guys alone in the guest room. When you’re done talking, I’ll drive her back to the gate.”

Cerise’s brows rose. “What the hell? Are you a prisoner or not?”

“Not,” Alissa said firmly.

“He just kidnapped me off the street.”

“He was worried that your security detail was lying in wait. Or that you’d come armed yourself to do something to me. Also, there’s a problem between us and the ventala syndicate. We shouldn’t spend too much time out of Merrick’s territory.”

“Paranoid much?” Cerise said, looking at Merrick. “I brought the gun for protection, not to shoot Alissa or you.”

“You don’t need a gun for protection. Your protection is sitting right there,” Merrick said, nodding to the seat across from them.

“How do you figure?” Cerise said, glancing at the bulky blond bodyguard who looked as though he could bench a semi.

The blond guy smiled. “Not me. Though I’ll be happy to step in if you need something. He meant her,” the man said,
cocking his head at Alissa. “Nothing will happen to you because you’re important to Mrs. M.”

Cerise’s jaw dropped.

Mrs.?! What the hell?

“Alissa, no!” Cerise lurched forward, grabbing Alissa’s arm. Cerise raised Alissa’s elegant left hand, and there on her ring finger was the damning evidence. A flawless antique diamond ring and accompanying band. The onetime face and unblemished image of the Etherlin had married a ventala assassin.

“So it’s true then,” Cerise murmured. “You have lost your mind.”

Lysander spotted the madman he’d become fond of in the Crimson’s doorway. Alissa’s father, Richard, wore navy drawstring pajama pants and a white T-shirt with a terrycloth robe and house slippers. Richard’s pockets bulged with scraps of paper and pens, and the man still wore the pair of Merrick’s sunglasses he’d donned upstairs. The sunglasses were to shield his eyes during their poker games, but since they were no longer playing poker, nor was there any significant light source to speak of in the ridiculously dark nightclub, the sunglasses seemed an odd addition to his already odd outfit.

Lysander glanced at the table closest to the stage where Merrick and Alissa had sat before they’d left thirty minutes earlier. He’d thought their departure strange since it was Alissa who’d asked him to play, but once he’d started playing, he was hard-pressed to stop until the end of the set. The human musicians had passable talent, and the energy and care they put into their music was admirable.

The club bouncers watched Richard closely. Lysander’s fingers worked the strings with fierce precision despite the distraction. Did Merrick’s men all know that Richard was Alissa’s father? And if the bouncers tried to block his entry into the club, how would Richard react? In general the silver-haired man wasn’t violent, but he was given to explosive monologues on occasion, which the bouncers were unlikely to tolerate.

Richard shuffled into the club, which was filled with a sleek and stylish crowd who looked like they’d never been rumpled in their lives. Richard bumped a table as he meandered toward
the stage. A top-heavy glass fell over and crashed to the floor. A frowning bouncer started toward the ambling author.

Where the hell was Merrick? If he was going to keep a mad novelist as a houseguest, he needed to keep a better eye on him.

Oblivious to security’s approach, Richard took a circuitous route to the stage. It really wasn’t Lysander’s business if Merrick’s bouncers dragged Richard out, but he and Richard were in the middle of a game of chess that Lysander wanted to finish.

Lysander frowned and held out a hand to hold off the pursuing bouncers. Richard stood at the edge of the stage tapping his foot. After a couple of moments, Richard walked up the stage stairs in time to the beat. Lysander continued to watch him, and so did the audience. Weaving between them, Richard ambled across the stage, his feet catching on amp cords, which made him stumble. The crowd gasped, but Richard managed not to fall or rip any cords free.

For a moment, the other musicians lost their place and Lysander snapped a finger to draw their attention to recovering the beat. Richard went into the wings where Lysander would have preferred him to stay until the song ended. Instead, he returned with a saxophone.

Lysander raised his brows, waiting. He’d allowed Richard to wander and trip across the stage, but there were limits. When Richard played the first few notes, however, Lysander realized that the lauded author was a madman of varied talents; Richard North was a sax man. The audience applauded heartily.

Richard shuffled to a mic and played hard, like he didn’t care if he put his last breath into the mouthpiece. Lysander smiled. When angels had invented music this was the way they’d intended instruments to be played.

Lysander paused, letting Richard solo, then feeling the rhythm, anticipating the timing of every note, Lysander melded his guitar’s music with Richard’s sax’s, the notes fusing.

Just there. Flawless!

There was something more than human to Richard at times. As if in madness, he transcended human consciousness. Maybe that was why Lysander could tolerate his company so well.

With unerring timing, Richard played on. Lysander leaned back, guitar resting against his hips and loins, music vibrating through him. For several suspended moments, Lysander felt
his body warm to the temperature it had once claimed before he’d fallen. Ribbons of grace edged his body, making him the closest he’d been to touching heaven in many millennia. Lysander sank his teeth into his lip, straining, holding his breath.

Closer still.

He closed his eyes, knees bent, body bowing back till his hair skimmed the floor and memory skewered his heart. He offered the music up, louder and harder.

Let the chorus hear. Let the riot in my heart be known.

Sinking to the floor so his shoulders were supported by the wood’s grain, his body stretched like the strings.

At the song’s end, the audience thundered to its feet, applauding wildly. Lysander panted, raising his torso from the floor. The spotlight fractured around him prismatically, but a few shards of light touched him, highlighting the steam curling from his skin. Lysander’s smile stretched to his heart.

A rarer than rare moment found in the unlikeliest location. Among fallen creatures, bent on pleasure and sin, hope still trickles. The well is almost dry, but not quite. Not yet.

Lysander held out a hand to acknowledge Richard’s contribution to the moment. The audience shouted their appreciation.

Locks of Richard’s silver hair fell away from his face as his gaze turned momentarily to the ceiling.

Does he feel a glimmer of grace? Might he hear an echoing chorus that I’m barred from hearing?

Lysander’s heart thumped. Richard lowered the sax and glanced at Lysander.

Speak, man! If you felt
heaven’s
rush, tell me.

Lysander held his breath and waited, would have waited all night.

“The black-haired bitch’s army is advancing,” Richard said.

The moment’s divine nature fled. Lysander’s skin cooled, his hope and excitement draining away.

“Our champions are behind enemy lines. They don’t realize it yet, but—” Richard tipped his head down, and his pale eyes looked over the top of the sunglasses, locking with Lysander’s. “They’re trapped.”

“Do you hear that?” Alissa asked.

“What?” Cerise said, and then everyone went silent to listen. Cerise didn’t hear anything over the motor, but Merrick’s gaze turned westward and he nodded. He rolled down the divider between them and the driver.

“How’s it look?” Merrick asked.

“Clear streets, boss,” the man said, but the sharp movements of Merrick’s eyes poked holes in Cerise’s calm.

“Don’t take Milano. Go up a block and take Bacci.” Merrick’s thumb slid over the surface of his phone and he made a call. “There’s a chopper coming from the west, Tony. Turn the tower cameras and see if you can get eyes on it.”

Merrick pulled out the earpiece and put his phone on speaker so that Ox and the driver could hear what the man on the other end said.

“Boss, two sedans just came out of the Jacobi tunnel. They’ve got reaper plates,” Tony said.

Cerise grimaced.
What the hell are reaper plates?

“They won’t catch us. We’re only six blocks out. Check the sky,” Merrick replied.

Cerise’s breath caught as she heard the blades’ distinctive chop. Her heart thudded in time as she looked up. Etherlin Security had four helicopters, but they wouldn’t come from the west. The west was more of the Varden. The part of the Varden where the ventala syndicate was located.

“Boss, a semi just blocked Milano.”

“Have we got a camera that shows Bacci and Pisa?” the driver asked.

“No,” Merrick said, “but it’ll be blocked, too. Ox, under the seat.”

Merrick opened the sunroof and stood to look out. The helicopter noise got markedly louder.

Merrick ducked back inside and closed the sunroof. There was a pinging sound, like hail hitting the car.

Cerise tensed. “Was that gunfire?”

Merrick ignored the question and instead said, “Tony, there’s one chopper on top of us. Any others?”

“Not that I see, boss. Want me to send a guy to the roof now with binoculars?”

“No. I want the guys sent to Milano. Whichever street we choose, it’s going to be a battle to get through. I want men on the other side waiting for us. If I can knock the eyes from the sky, I’m gonna go east. Send someone to Crimson for a quiet word with Lysander.”

“We’re on it.”

Alissa moved to sit next to Cerise so Ox could raise the bench cushion they’d been sitting on. From within the seat, he lifted a very large weapon that was in pieces. He put it together quickly. Cerise leaned forward and saw the ammunition. Rockets.

“I have weapons training,” Cerise said. “All the muses do. Alissa and I should be armed.”

“Cerise is very good,” Alissa added.

“Give Alissa a gun, Ox,” Merrick said, handing the clip for Cerise’s gun back to her. He pointed to the corner. “I want you guys there.” Cerise and Alissa moved to the designated spot.

Merrick took the assembled weapon just as an explosion rocked the limo. Merrick kept his footing. The driver yelled curses.

“Boyle, I want quiet.” Merrick’s voice was low and calm, and the driver immediately fell silent.

“Sedan with reaper plates a block back and closing fast,” the driver announced.

“Then move this car. Make a right.”

“We’ll be heading right by the tunnel, boss.”

“Make a right,” Merrick repeated. He opened the roof and followed the gun through the hole. The blast from his weapon was followed by a deafening boom. Within seconds, a ball of fire hit the ground.

Merrick ducked inside and held out a hand. Ox slapped another rocket grenade into it.

“The chopper’s down. Turn us southeast. I’m going to clear you a path,” Merrick said to the driver in a tone so mild he might have been a weatherman forecasting clear skies.