Bound by Light (52 page)

In the picture, Jake saw the splendor of Manhattan after dark, spread beneath him like jewels against a field of black velvet.

Times Square flashed by, and he caught the numbers on the clock. Eight something.

Fuck!

The view grew sharper, more focused, then narrowed to a smaller area. Trees, grass, rocks, and paths.

Central Park.

Closer again. Even narrower in focus.

Tavern on the Green. The sounds of a crowd rose and fell near the restaurant, in front of the bandshell, and Jake knew it was the political rally, probably at full tilt right about now.

Merilee.

There she was, face grim, eyes flat.

His heart surged at the sight of her.

She was cleaned up and dressed in fresh leathers that looked a bit too large for her. Probably Riana’s, from the brownstone. She was unarmed, and she was walking stiffly between Delilah and Max Moses, with her hands hidden beneath a black jacket.

The sight of Merilee so close to Delilah and Max made Jake want to chew on lead. His fangs gnashed at the image.

Why was she walking so slowly?

And her hands—did they have her cuffed?

What the fuck?

Jake’s fists flexed, his claws extending until they dug into his palms, then his wrists.

Delilah and Max and the chauffeur guy marched her past another group of security officers, toward a big black limousine that felt . . . wrong. Smelled wrong. Was wrong.

Elementally locked.

A cage.

Jake let out a louder hiss.

That car was a trap just like the cell in Riana’s lab.

"How do I get out of here?" Jake bellowed to Darian.

Darian touched the side of his own head again. "Think it. Will it. Go to her, and we will join you soon, Leader."

Darian shimmered, then dissipated, leaving behind nothing but a silvery afterimage.

Jake squeezed his eyes shut and threw every ounce of his energy into where he wanted to go.

Merilee.

Take me to her.

He imagined the feel of her wind, the gentle signature of her elemental energy. He imagined her scent, that tantalizing white tea and honey, and the soft, quiet sounds her leather-clad feet must be making as she walked toward her doom in that limousine.

He felt himself getting less substantial. Lighter.

But, shit, he was still in the castle. Above.

How much time was passing here? Below?

Seconds?

Minutes?

Jake thought about the joy of holding Merilee, kissing her, touching her. He imagined touching her right now, grabbing her away from Max and Delilah and flying her out of Central Park before August got within a hundred feet of her.

Merilee.

He couldn’t see her anymore. The stones below his feet had gone solid again. He gripped his own talisman, ordering himself to reach her, sending his demon senses toward her like an arrow fired dead center at the bull’s-eye.

Jake sensed himself disappearing—starting to sink through the castle floor.

Yes.

Merilee.

That’s it.

Hold on.

Merilee, I’m coming!

(39)

Streetlamps and flashlights and news spotlights turned night into day as Merilee walked into Central Park, but thanks to the elementally locked handcuffs, her vision was so dulled she still couldn’t make out too many features of her surroundings. With each step she took toward the limousine where she was supposed to meet the Leviathan, more anger built in her depths.

Max and Delilah Moses, cleaned up from sink baths and spot-dabbing their black pants and Peace Warrior orange shirts, flanked her like well-trained guard dogs.

They had the good sense not to speak. If they had, elementally locked cuffs or no, Merilee would have killed them on the spot.

They had to know she wasn’t doing this for them.

They were, as they had noted back at the brownstone’s basement, just her ticket through all the modern security surrounding the ancient demon.

Her wrists ached from the bite of the elementally locked lead, and waves of nausea made it hard to concentrate. Her hearing was as dulled as her vision. Her nose was absolutely numb. She couldn’t smell anything. She felt disoriented without being able to tap the air, draw the wind, move freely through her element and feel it moving freely through her.

But it had to be this way.

August thought the cuffs would hold her, would make her helpless, and she needed him to believe that. If her elemental energy wasn’t somewhat contained, August would sense it, and everything would blow up in her face.

Like it hasn’t already?

Jake . . .

Somewhere, somehow, he had to be alive, and she intended to keep him that way—and herself, too, if she could.

Three hours, fifty-nine minutes,
said the Sibyl voice in her mind, keeping up with the basics, always attentive to the details.

From deeper in the park, she heard the roar of cheers and magnified voices as the rally proceeded.

Without putting so much as a finger on her, Delilah and Max showed identification and orange passes, then guided her through the third and final line of orange-shirted private security workers. Merilee had threatened them about touching her, and they’d believed her. She hadn’t let them put their hands on her weapons when she left them at the townhouse, or put the cuffs around her wrists, or even wrap the jacket over her arms to hide the cuffs.

Delilah and Max were filthy to Merilee.

Filthy, and treacherous, and she could find only the barest shred of sympathy for either of them—if that.

Heat swirled inside her, growing, swelling, and burning until she thought she might finally understand what it felt like to be Cynda. To explode with flames and fire and burn down anything that got in her way.

Thank all the goddesses my triad is alive, that their babies are alive.

That thought fueled her as the limousine came into view, sitting at the far end of the turnaround outside Tavern on the Green.

Like thoughts of Jake, memories of Riana and Cynda kept Merilee moving.

One day, she wanted to fight with her triad again. She
was
their broom. Nobody else would take care of them like she did.

As they closed in on the limo, darker images flashed through Merilee’s mind, of Charlotte Heart, driven to suicide rather than face capture by the Leviathan. Of Sal Freeman dead on a conference room table, torn open by massive, merciless hands. Of Phila Gruyere, abused and strapped to that bed. Of the terrified, battered young Sibyl triad sobbing for her to stay with them. Of the poor, dead girl who wouldn’t even have the opportunity to heal from this bastard creature and the evil he perpetrated.

It went so much deeper than that, too.

The Leviathan and his Legion had been murdering people at their own whim for a century. And before that, how many had he killed in various forms, various guises?

Merilee bared her teeth and wished she had fangs like Jake.

This world had definitely had enough of Bartholomew August, or whatever name he chose to use. Eventually everything came to an end. Every creature went back to its maker.

Tonight, the Leviathan would meet his at the top of Káto Ólimbos.

They reached the limousine, and a man dressed in chauffeur’s black hurried around to meet them.

"Mr. August told me you would be coming." The man, who looked completely normal, if a little on the small side, beamed and pulled open the back door.

Merilee flinched back a step.

Even with the dulling from the cuffs, she sensed the horrible, powerless void inside that car.

She had been wondering when she’d find the first trap, and here it was. A limousine that doubled as an elementally locked cage.

Delilah and Max swapped worried looks.

"After you," Merilee said to Max.

The man frowned at his mother, but Delilah jerked her head toward the car. "Go ahead."

Max slid onto the seat and moved over to give Merilee and his mother room.

Instead of getting into the limo, Merilee faced the chauffeur. "Where is Mr. August?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light even as her fingers curled tight against her palms.

The chauffeur pointed away from Tavern on the Green. "At the main stage, ma’am. He’s speaking now—or soon—but I’ll call to let him know you’ve arrived."

"Oh, don’t." Merilee widened her eyes and flashed the chauffeur her best, sexiest smile. "Let me surprise him at the stage."

Delilah went rigid, clamping her fists together, but the chauffeur’s eyes moved slowly from Merilee’s face to her leathers and back up again, obviously appreciating what he saw.

"He wanted us to wait here." Delilah gripped the limousine door. "He told us to meet him at this car."

Merilee changed her smile to indulgent and winked at the chauffeur. "Give us a moment, would you?"

When the chauffeur moved away to a discreet distance, Merilee fixed her gaze on the old woman. "Is that what you really want, Delilah—to play his game on his terms?" She kept her voice low, so only the two of them could hear what she said. "Where has that gotten you so far? Think carefully, because this is your last chance."

The old woman’s eyes narrowed, and her grip on the door tightened. Her throat worked as she stared at Merilee, then at Max in the limo. For the briefest moment, her features softened enough to suggest a flicker of hope.

When she raised her eyes to meet Merilee’s, there was an honesty in her gaze Merilee had never seen before.

Her only question was simple. "Can you take him?"

Merilee measured Delilah in her mind, weighing all her betrayals against her one consistency. Max. Always Max. This was the woman who used Cynda’s sword to take out a major Legion ally two years ago. The woman who had survived a long and involuntary relationship with a bloodthirsty demon, perhaps the most dangerous creature on the planet, and she was still right here, willing to put her life on the line for the one and only thing she cared about.

Her son.

Merilee lifted her cuffed hands, letting the jacket fall back just enough to reveal the elementally locked arrow tip peeking out of the sleeve of her leathers.

She lowered her hands, letting the jacket fall back into place. Without ever breaking eye contact with Delilah, she said, "To protect what
I
love, I can take him."

"Stay in the car," Delilah said to Max, and she slammed the door.

The chauffeur came back over, gripping his hat in both hands. "Um," he managed as Merilee smiled at him again.

"The boy can wait in the car, but I’ll escort this one to the back steps." Delilah’s jaunty grin impressed even Merilee. "I know Mr. August will be so glad to have her support. Directly, if you know what I mean."

The chauffeur’s cheeks flushed. He stepped out of their way, and Delilah and Merilee walked away from Tavern on the Green, crossing the West Drive and heading for the cheers and shouts and speeches of the rally, which sounded like it had to be at the Mall area in front of the Naumburg Bandshell.

Three hours, thirty-two minutes,
Merilee’s brain in formed her, her Sibyl time-sense keeping careful track of the disappearing seconds. I can do this.
He won’t have Asmodai—no time to make any, and I doubt he’s got any stashed or stored, since they only last a day. All the Cursons and Astaroths aren’t fighting anymore, or they’re on our side.

She went over everything again just to keep her mind clear, but she still felt like her head was stuffed with cotton.
If I can get him away from his security officers, he’ll be alone. He’ll underestimate me. I
can
do this.

They cut northeast across Sheep Meadow, closing in on the lights and noise. Delilah led her around the nearly frenzied Mall crowd, keeping to the left-hand side of the bandshell. The stage had been extended with temporary wooden reinforcements, and the whole half-bowl-shaped enclosure was packed with men in suits, sound techs, security personnel, and what looked like a band quickly setting up behind the speaker.

Her blood chilled when she made out the fuzzy lines of August at the microphone, holding out his hands in a beatific, embracing gesture.

"Peace," the bastard was saying. "Peace for a new day, and a new deal. It’s our
only
option."

And the crowd cheered, and cheered, and cheered, until Merilee was glad her hearing was a little muffled.

August stepped back to make way for the band, which kicked up loud, punchy theme music.