Bound by Light (44 page)

He turned and scanned the rows of bookshelves, the tables, and the chairs, but he didn’t see anything.

"Merilee?" he asked aloud, and the crying grew more forceful. Loud hitches and jerks.

Jake walked back into the library and tracked the noise, moving from shelf to shelf until he found a small, crying woman huddled at the end of the farthest row, clutching a big, leather-bound volume that looked like an ancient compendium or encyclopedia.

Delilah Moses.

She had pulled herself into such a tight ball that Jake might not have seen her at all, except the ghost of his mother was standing right beside her.

Shit. Not
this
again.

Jake’s stomach churned with revulsion at the sight of that dagger, that red dress, and his mother’s flat, vacant eyes.

"You can’t hurt me," he said aloud, wondering if real words would finally banish the spirit. "If you could use your biosentience, you’d have blown up every cell in my body by now. So whatever you want, you aren’t getting it."

Delilah Moses twitched with each sound, but she didn’t look up.

The response from Jake’s mother was swift and vicious and instant. She bared her teeth, raised her dagger and plunged it downward, straight into Delilah’s head.

Jake’s gut lurched as the phantasmal tip disappeared into the old woman’s skull—but Delilah didn’t so much as twitch.

His fists clamped together. He wished he could choke his mother’s ghost to death, but that wasn’t reasonable or possible. She was only a shade, nothing more than a vestigial flicker of—

He went cold.

No . . . way.

Was it . . . could it be?

No.

But—
oh, shit
.

The knowledge came to him as clearly as if the words were spoken aloud.

His mother was the vestigial representation of the snake in the gift box. The unexpected threat from within.

Jake’s skin went from cold to frozen as realization covered him, clear as a thin sheet of ice.

His mother’s manifestation wasn’t a personal thing at all. It wasn’t even her, for shit’s sake. It was Jake’s own Astaroth instincts trying to tell him what he needed to know.

He stared at the sobbing old woman on the floor, the woman who saved him once—the woman he owed, the one he promised to help.

Delilah Moses.

The source Bartholomew August had likely been using to gain information on the Sibyls and the OCU for who knew how long.

From the corner of his eye, Jake saw the apparition beside the old woman break apart and drift down to the floor, the books, the shelves like so much silvery dust.

He wanted to pound his fists into the bookshelves, pulverize every volume, every piece of wood.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

"Delilah," Jake said, forcing himself to keep his tone calm even though he wanted to snatch her off the floor and shake her. "Look at me."

Something about his word choice seemed to wound her. She convulsed and gripped her book tighter, but a few seconds later, she did as he asked.

Jake noted her unkempt hair. Her pale skin. The tears in her eyes and the livid bruise under her right eye.

He still wanted to shake her, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t. He’d commit murder if he took a single step.

"I know what you’ve done," he said, rage creeping into every slow, overly articulated word. "I know you’ve betrayed us to him. To August."

"Good." Delilah’s voice shook, but it held more power than Jake expected. She sobbed once, then caught herself and managed to get to her feet. That bruise was worse than he thought. Somebody had really knocked the hell out of her. "Then I won’t be leavin’ this townhouse alive, and I’ll be free of him. I can’t take another minute. Not even another second."

Confusion made Jake hesitate, slowed his reaction time just enough for Delilah to say, "You owe me, cop, and now I’m collectin’. Kill me. Kill me right now, then do whatever you can to save my boy."

She held her book and looked at him, like she was waiting. Truly wanting what she had just requested.

Jake’s insides heaved. He wanted to grant her wish, but he didn’t kill women—especially not women he owed.

But why had she done this?

Why spare his life then, help them all—only to betray them?

"What turned you, Delilah?" He ground out the words, still doing his best to keep the fury out of his voice. "And why do you want me to kill you now?"

Delilah blinked. "I had no choice, cop. It was this or my boy’s life, but I know now I can’t protect him anymore." Tears slid down her cheeks, and she suddenly looked twice as old. Frail and weak in ways Jake had never seen from her before. "No matter what I do, my boy and I, we’re both done for, so kill me. I know you’ll do it fast. And maybe if I’m gone, he’ll lose interest in Max and let the boy live a bit longer."

"Max Moses." Jake kept himself planted between Delilah and the end of the bookcase where she might escape. The pieces were all there, he knew it, he just couldn’t slide them together.

"His son. Our son. Goddess save me." Delilah’s gaze shifted from Jake to the volume she clutched. "I didn’t know what he was, you see? When I was younger. He was handsome. A rogue. I thought he was a witch, or maybe a changeling. I never guessed—"

Air left Jake’s lungs in a rush, and his muscles went slack from the shock.

Delilah and August?

Max Moses . . . their son?

"I never guessed his true nature, cop. Or how cruel he’d be. How he’d . . . use us, whenever he wanted." With both hands, Delilah thrust the leather-bound compendium toward Jake. "I’ve been lookin’ every day, but I’ve never found his like or his picture in this library to learn his true nature and find a way to have at him. I did find what’s plaguing him though, what he sent me after. Maybe it’ll help you instead. Help you save yourself—and Max, too, if you can."

Jake didn’t want to touch the book, and at the same time he wanted to grab it out of Delilah’s hands and order her to get out, never come back, never let him see her face again.

But her face. It was bruised. Her whole soul seemed bruised, and she was clearly terrified—and of more than Jake’s wrath.

She saved my life once. She saved all of our lives.

"These are the spirits helpin’ your Merilee and keepin’ that bastard out of her mind." Delilah came toward him, still holding out the book. "He doesn’t understand them. I think—I think he fears them."

She sounded so earnest.

Jake stared into her wrinkled face and tried to see the lie, the trick, but found nothing.

But he hadn’t seen any of this coming at all, had he? So what good were his fucking instincts, especially where Delilah was concerned?

Senses on high alert, he jerked the book from Delilah’s hands and opened the yellowed volume to the spot she had marked with a strip of paper. The thin, aged pages revealed a full-color print of the Keres, fangs glowing white in the moonlight, the fog of their mountain wrapping their long, deadly bodies.

"He’s scared of them," Delilah repeated. "But I don’t know why. I’d tell you if I did." She brushed her palms against her skirt and swallowed. "Now, demon. I expect you to pay your debt. I’d prefer a broken neck. Always heard that doesn’t hurt, except for a few seconds."

"Clearly, I’ve missed something," Mother Anemone said as she came to stand beside Jake.

He didn’t answer.

He couldn’t stop staring at the Keres, wondering why they had been making such a point to reach out to Merilee, and to help her.

Delilah, talkative as always despite her obvious exhaustion and wish to die, began explaining her treachery to Mother Anemone, who seemed to grow more stiff and angry with each word. Jake figured he might not have to carry out the old woman’s death sentence. The Mothers were probably more than up to that task.

The picture of the Keres called him more deeply, and his senses spread out into the oils, seeking their essence, seeking an answer—and he became aware of a vibration in the energy of the library.

Was it them?

Was he hearing a hint of the screaming that had so disturbed Merilee?

But . . . no.

From behind him came the voices of Mother Keara and Mother Yana as they entered the library.

It must have been their approach he sensed.

That was all.

Jake frowned.

"She’s sleeping now," Keara told Mother Anemone, who had moved forward and taken hold of Delilah by one arm and her collar. "We’ve left Bela to guard the door, and to come for us when Merilee wakes. The remainder of our New York Sibyls are combing the city. Shall we join them?"

Jake noted how unhappy the Irish Mother sounded, and that Mother Yana didn’t speak at all. No doubt both women were profoundly distressed at the kidnapping of Riana and Cynda, Sibyls who had been, essentially, daughters to them.

"We can’t leave this place as yet," Mother Anemone growled as the others came forward, clearly confused by her response and what they were seeing.

Mother Anemone laid everything out for them in quick, terse sentences. The remaining Greek Mothers joined the conversation, and the women discussed what in hell to do with the traitor they had trusted and allowed so deeply into their ranks.

Jake heard them, but didn’t hear them at the same time. He kept his attention firmly on the dark spirits of death.

Who are you, really?

What’s your angle with this?

A new ripple of energy came again, whispering through the library like a quiet wave.

It felt familiar to Jake, but strange, too.

The Keres in the picture seemed to move, and his head snapped up. He lifted his hand to his neck and touched the spot where his talisman would have been, before he gave it to Merilee.

Did she touch it?

Had she taken it off?

Jake turned to the Mothers. "Can Merilee open the communication channels?"

Mother Anemone turned her gaze on him, looking surprised. "No,
agapitos
. She cannot. She’s secured in Cynda’s communications room with elemental locks—absolutely contained, absolutely safe."

Jake gripped the book tighter. "Are you sure?"

"Completely," Mother Yana said. "The channels can only be managed by fire Sibyls. Vhy?"

"Because . . ." He glanced over his shoulder, to the empty library, as if he might see the energy glowing red like a sulfur trail. "I think I just felt them open, only not like they usually do."

He touched his neck again, sensing his talisman somehow, feeling it and yet not feeling it, as if some connection had been irretrievably severed.

When the Mothers gazed at him, obviously not believing him, he growled. "I’ve sensed this kind of energy before, many times. Here. At the Motherhouses. I’m telling you, the channels opened in some weird way. I’m positive they did."

He glanced down at the picture of the Keres, and a seed of dread bloomed in his gut.

Jake held the book toward Mother Anemone. "If Merilee can’t open the channels—can they?"

Mother Anemone handed Delilah to the smoking Mother Keara, then took the book from Jake’s hands and stared at the death spirits. "Foul, vile creatures." Her fingers grew white as they curled against the book. "I can’t imagine they would be concerned by our means of talk and travel."

"But they are very old," Mother Yana said. "Very powerful. And they may have been communicating vith your Merilee, no? There is no telling vhat they vould be capable of doing, should they decide to attempt it."

A burst of energy exploded through the library.

Jake slammed against the bookcase shoulder-first, pain blasting his senses clear as the Mothers and Delilah all dropped on their backsides.

From somewhere below them, glass shattered.

"The channels were opened," Mother Keara said as they all managed to get upright, her words thick with wonder and anger. "Now they’re closed—and not by us."

Jake righted himself, let out a roar, and bolted out of the library, desperation surging through every vein and sinew.

Down the hall. Down the steps.

He had to get to Merilee. He had to stop her.

Fuck. I’d do it in her shoes—but no. Merilee, please no.

He was aware that the Mothers were following him, dragging Delilah along for the ride, but he didn’t wait. He ran straight to Cynda’s communications room, where Bela was shaking her head as if to clear cobwebs from the rush of energy she must have just endured.

Shoving past her, Jake grabbed the door handles and threw open the wooden doors.

The communication platform was charred a brittle black—and the largest projective mirror had been blown apart. A few black feathers lay on the floor beside the platform, next to . . . Jake’s talisman.

His body went still, from his mind to his heart. No movement. No thought, no beat. Nothing. All of his emotion dried to nothing as he stared at the talisman, not wanting to accept what he was seeing.