Bound by Light (23 page)

August studied the broken man before him and mused over that bit of information.

Was that part of the problem?

Excess elemental energy?

"Merilee’s triad sisters are incapacitated by late-stage pregnancy," August said, delighting in the fresh outsurge of misery from Holston. "Certainly, they’re weak links, like the untrained water Sibyl and the human police officers comprising the OCU."

Holston gave him no answer, confirming that suspicion, and opening new potential avenues of attack against Merilee’s formidable power and resolve. Thanks to Holston’s earlier confession, August already had a better handle on at least two of the Lowell brothers, who were apparently Curson demon halflings created by the late and great Senator Davin Latch and his unstable but useful biosentient wife, Raven. The brothers had mastery of their talismans and would not be easily compromised, so August left them out of this final discussion.

Derek Holston groaned, and his breathing grew more shallow. August soaked up the outflow of the man’s life energy, took in Holston’s misery like elixir, letting it strengthen his muscles, his mind as he pondered what he did—and didn’t—know.

The final Lowell brother, the youngest, was Jake, an Astaroth. Definitely a wild card, an unknown, and unfortunately mostly a mystery to Holston.

"Let’s return to Jake Lowell," August said, determined to glean something useful about this one potential catch in his plans for Merilee.

"Please, just let me die." Holston’s voice was only a whisper, drawing a growl from low in August’s throat. A warning. A hint and a promise, that Holston’s pain could be increased, no matter the cost.

The woman shifted against the soundproofed wall, her movements so soft and slight few would have detected them. August sucked in the flow of her unhappiness and discomfort. So satisfying.

"Professor," August began, but he didn’t need to continue.

Another groan issued from Holston, then an almost imperceptible nod. Perfect. August smiled. The professor had traveled far beyond any measure of resistance, which would save them valuable time for a few more inquiries.

August leaned forward and clasped his hands, gazing at his fading prisoner. "You’re certain Jake Lowell issued from Latch stock, the same ‘parents’ as Creed and Nick."

The professor let out a slow breath, then managed, "The Latches murdered their youngest son, Jacob, to create him, yes."

Trying to offer some humanlike encouragement, August nodded. "Relate what you know of his history again, please."

The professor complied, going over Jacob’s politically explosive "murder," and how Senator Latch brokered his child’s ritualistic death into political capital, all the while using the new Jacob, the Astaroth demon, for his own personal gain as well. Professor Holton then covered how Jake had fallen under the control of a half-crazed nun with a grudge against fire Sibyls, and nearly eliminated Cynda.

"That’s the fascinating part," August said, almost conversational in his thoughtfulness. "That he managed to resist commands placed on his talisman, that he had power enough to push back against that which tried to enslave him. And how he ultimately rallied many of his fellow demons to assist in the downfall of our Legion attack on Motherhouse Ireland."

Holston made no response, but the woman muttered to herself, growing ever more restless as she waited for August to have a use for her. August ignored the minor distraction, and once more prided himself on not getting physical with the ancient bitch. She was so frail, too likely to break—and too well conditioned to dispense with as yet.

"Powerful indeed, this Jake," August continued, studying Holston’s closed eyes and agonized grimace. "Unusual for his breed. What could have given a created demon that kind of strength? Surely the Sibyls have some theories. Did Raven Latch make some critical error in her ritual—or was it something inside the boy she murdered? Something about that poor, unfortunate child?"

Of course, Holston had no answer for that, or he would have provided it.

Had the Sibyls spent time and effort on that question, or was that another potential chink in their powerful elemental armor?

August stood, moving quickly and silently, to pay his debt to Derek Holston by bringing him to a swift, painless end. It took little to no strength to twist the professor’s weak neck until it snapped.

The woman let out a strangled little grunt as the man died, but she didn’t move until August beckoned for the gloves. She brought them to him and stood quietly as he pulled on the thick leather and made sure it was secure.

Then he took the bag of tools from her and completed Derek Holston’s final role—that of victim of a heinous and perverted sexual assault and murder.

This usage of the good professor, it was very
much
tied to August’s broader political ambitions.

Just for kicks, and for an extra infusion of misery and discomfort, August forced the woman to watch.

When he finished, and after he milked every bit of horror and disgust he could from her, he took the gore-spattered tools and her quaking, blubbering wreck of a body out through the secret exit and used his own command of the elements to seal it well enough that no human could tell it had once been a door. Dragging the woman behind him, August covered the tunnel’s length in a handful of strides, sealing it behind him as he went.

Of course, he left a little gift behind.

August smiled as he hauled the woman out of the tunnel mouth, through a hole in the ground floor of a neighboring building.

"Thank you, Professor, for your valuable information," he said, and smacked the woman on the backside to get her moving toward the door. "Thank you very much."

(17)

Jake’s muscles bunched as he slammed his wings up and down, barely keeping himself aloft in the night sky. Winds swirled off the dark Atlantic below him, fighting his efforts, driving him first right, then left as he ground his teeth and tried to hold course. Salt air and spray stung his eyes, and he knew he was flying weak. Flying low.

Too damned bad.

He didn’t care.

He hated flying and all that it represented—but Mother Anemone’s worried face swam through his thoughts.

Thank you, agapitos,
she had said when he arrived in Greece with the body of the air Sibyl Devin Allard, to present the poor woman for burial at her Mother-house.

But after the ceremony, Mother Anemone had lectured him for choosing to stay in solid, human form for such long stretches that his Astaroth "advantages" were beginning to fade.

Even now, as he sped toward New York City, Jake felt the pain of that stubborn decision to remain day in and day out in human form, and the bodily stress of so many recent sudden shifts.

His wings seemed clumsy and unnatural. His body felt like a stone in the air. He found it hard to remember the sensation of lightness, of insubstantial existence.

Could he even become invisible if he wanted to?

A few days ago, it had been easy, driven by so much pure emotion to make certain Merilee was safe and comfortable.

But now, after claiming his human form again, his Astaroth abilities were definitely not cooperating, as if he had ignored them, then overused them and maybe burned them out.

Good.

Yet . . .

Show me,
Mother Anemone had demanded.
Agapitos, my dear, my favorite, you must use your demon essence consistently, frequently, or risk losing it and never being whole again.

Jake had refused to try.
You can’t make me human, so I’m doing it my way.

A partial existence is no existence
. Mother Anemone’s green eyes had studied him like one of her archival record books as she gestured to the damnable bit of jewelry around his neck.
Even if you cannot transform into Astaroth form, you won’t be freed from your talisman.

Jake drove himself forward in the bright moonlight. The sooner he reached land, the sooner he could ditch the wings—and maybe leave them ditched, forever. Besides, four days was a long time to stay gone from his responsibilities with the OCU.

And Merilee.

Knock it off. She’s a fantasy. Just a dream you’ve let yourself play with far longer than you should.

Merilee was a fellow warrior in the fight against the Legion. She needed extra help he could provide while her triad sisters waited to give birth. It couldn’t be more than that between them, because he wouldn’t let it be more. No one had a clue what would happen if an Astaroth and a human mated beyond transient sex. He would
not
limit anyone’s life as his own had been limited, or risk someday being trapped by his talisman, perhaps ordered to kill the woman—or the family—he loved.

Despite arguing over
that
decision, too, Jake and Mother Anemone had parted on civil, even warm, terms. But Jake had made himself clear to the Mother, despite his infinite respect for her.

Don’t push me.

As he sped through the night, he gained strength. Staying in his demon form, even partially, lent him power. A sensation like being freshened, or renewed. Which galled him.

The glow of the United States’s eastern coast competed with stars on the horizon, and the ocean’s brine took on a stronger smell. Traces of oil and garbage. Dead fish. Civilization.

Another few minutes of this torture, and his flying would be finished. Maybe forever. No matter what the circumstances, he didn’t want to let loose his wings again.

I’m human, damn it
. He closed one fist around his talisman as he flew.
Controlled by this fucking piece of gold—but human.

Was Merilee out tonight, patrolling, on guard for Legion activity?

He didn’t like the thought of her vulnerable, without him or her triad. Though Andy, Freeman, his brothers, and the entire OCU offered powerful backup—when Andy controlled herself reasonably well.

Instinctively, Jake reached out with his mind, searching the coastline for Merilee’s powerful energy signature. As an Astaroth, with his attention fully focused, he could find anyone if he knew how they felt in the grand scheme, the brightness of their particular inner light.

Merilee’s signature had always been so intense. It fascinated Jake, how such a strong woman could subjugate herself to any leader. Not that Riana Dumain was a poor mortar to her triad. Quite the opposite. To bat cleanup for heavy hitters like Riana and Cynda—no easy task, he was certain. He supposed Sibyl triad hierarchy, with earth Sibyls always choosing and leading the triad members, was much like police command. Necessary organization, to prevent chaos and move the team forward.

Jake homed in on the life signs of New York City, street by street, passing up the small handful of people with paranormal abilities, even Sibyls he sensed weren’t Merilee.

As his thoughts swept over Central Park, her signature flared like a torch.

Too bright, even for her.

Jake’s teeth clenched.

She was fighting. Maybe in trouble.

Blood pounded in his ears and he soared high, all four wings beating the salt air. Miles passed in fractions of a second. Ocean spray coated him, followed by the water of New York Harbor.

Jake blasted past the Statue of Liberty, sped back into his city, hooked around the Chrysler Building, and sailed toward mid-park, near Seventy-ninth. Taillights stained the edges of his vision a brilliant neon red, and the heat and stench of automobile exhaust clogged his senses.

He had fangs now, and claws. Jake could feel them extending, along with that lightness of body he had struggled to achieve for hours and miles.

Goddamnit, not now!

He tried to pull back on his demon essence, grab hold of his human form and regain some control.

But . . . no uniform. No gun. He had left his gear with Captain Freeman, the night he left with Devin Allard’s body.

Shit.

Shifting between demon and human forms, Jake spied the dark granite structure towering atop Vista Rock. Belvedere Castle. That’s where they were.

He folded his wings and shot toward the shadowy, unlit loggia where Merilee’s energy signature blazed like lightning.

As he soared toward one of the four archways in the open-air stone corridor, Jake counted eleven other life-forms, seven on Merilee’s side and four at the other end of the long covered walkway.

We’ve got numbers, at least.

Gunshots cracked through the New York night.

Jake burst through the castle archway, hit the stone floor of the corridor as a human in jeans, and ran toward Merilee, who was about fifty yards from him. Andy had her right flank, with two OCU officers charging forward on her left.

Several prone figures lay another fifty yards in front of them, and Freeman and Creed stood between Jake and the Sibyls.

Merilee shimmered like a beacon in the darkness, outshining everyone else, casting a golden glow on the Gothic stone structure around her. For a moment, Jake felt like they were back in time a thousand years, on a covered stone bridge, suspended in the middle of nowhere.