Downside Rain: Downside book one (24 page)

~*~

I
drift in out and of consciousness, pain my companion, a bone-deep throb. Except
if I move and my torn and shattered body screams. The elf is good at his job.
My head and face pound, my body is bloody and shattered joints are swollen.

I’m
broken

“He
heard me,” Castle says in a rush.

I
crack my eyes open.

“River.”
Castle’s hands flash around. “He got away from the mermaid and talked to
Sauvageau.”

I
smile with torn lips. River escaped Angelina’s clutches and that takes some
doing. “And?” I don’t care if Calla hears me. Let her think I’ve lost my mind.

“Sauvageau
said he’ll do his damndest to find you.”

Hope
expands in my chest and as quickly deflates. “He doesn’t know where to look.”

“Hang
in there, babe. If anyone can track you down, it’s Sauvageau.”

Blayne
and Phaedra exchange puzzled looks. No doubt about it, they think I’ve cracked.

Wool
watches us. He sees Castle, hears us talk, but manages to keep his expression
bland while Calla is in the room.

He
speaks to Calla. “Lady, she would have told you by now.”

“I
must be sure. We don’t know a wraith’s pain threshold. Do you? How much pain
can
you
endure, Sylar?”

Terror
flits through Wool’s eyes.

“He’s
right,” Phaedra says. “She doesn’t know anything. This isn’t about information
anymore. You are satisfying your sick appetites. End it.”

Calla
taps her chin. “Oh, I don’t know, I think she can provide me with more . . .
entertainment.”

Phaedra
makes a sound of disgust.

“Oh,
very well.” Calla flounces her shoulders. She flicks the fingers of one hand at
the elf. “Cut her throat.”

I
sag in my bonds. At least the knife has a razor edge, it will be over quickly.

“Castle?”

Castle
squats in front of me. “I’m here, love.” His voice wells with compassion.

“Is
she hallucinating?” Calla asks.

Wool
cracks with a wail. “Don’t kill her!” A tear beads down his face. “He’s here.
Castle is here. If you kill her, they’ll both haunt me.”

“Nonsense,”
Calla says with a chuckle.

I
don’t expect the deep, aching sadness. I mourn the familiar and all the lost
opportunities. I experience myriad emotions in the space of a minute and
foremost among them is regret.

Alain.
Why was I so stubborn? We could have been together, if only for a short time,
and maybe it would have been enough, a memory to look back on fondly in the
years to come. Alain is passion, seduction and excitement. I will never again
see his face, hear his voice, feel his hands on me. Funny, a wraith who shuns
physical contact regrets its loss.

“Do
it,” Calla brusquely tells the elf.

And
River. How did he worm his way into my heart in just a few days? What will he
do now? He’s all alone.
When we touch, you make me whole.
A lean face,
soft dark hair, amethyst eyes.

The
elf grins widely as he approaches. But he stops and looks past me, the smile
sliding off his face, his gaze becoming sharp.

Phaedra’s
head jerks toward the window.

A
distant noise sings in my ears, a high piercing note.

Spider
web cracks trace over the big glass window. Everything is noise, a dazzling
black flare. A huge dark body bursts through in a blizzard of powdered glass. As
it alights, another dark shape rolls over the floor and comes upright.

The
room glitters as if coated with crushed diamonds.

The
dark one unfurls from a crouch and rises, opening leathery wings, casting a shadow which smothers the sparkle. It is a huge, grotesquely muscular
demon, naked and definitely male. Black as old polished ebony, veins and sinews
like rope push up through horribly scarred skin. His wings are the color of
coal which bleeds to dark nacre and wicked fighting spurs curve from heels and
elbows. The red fires of hell writhe in slanted black eyes with no pupil as he
looks down at me, yet no sulfur stink emanates from him.

River,
tall and dark in his long leather coat, takes in the tableau. Me, wilting in
the chair. Wool, tied to me. The elf with a long bloody knife in his hand. Phaedra
lifting her hands as her mouth opens on a spell.

The
demon lets forth a deep, threatening, rumbling note which resonates through me.
Phaedra hesitates.

The
elf drops the knife and tries to run. River’s pistol booms. The elf’s left
cheek and part of his jaw disintegrate in a shower of blood, bone and gristle.
He looks surprised. Another
boom
, and a crater punches in his forehead. His
eyes are empty as he crumples.

The
demon’s fire-mad eyes turn back to me. His gaze rests on Wool.

Trying
to break free, Wool wrenches at the bonds but my flesh holds him as his holds mine.
He can’t escape what flares in the demon’s eyes. Like angels, demons know
everything.

Gently,
delicately, an iridescent wingtip dips and slices Wool’s throat. I turn my head
as hot blood spatters my cheek and body, and look away until Wool stops
thrashing.

I
gulp a sob. Wool’s death should have been mine, my revenge on Castle’s killer.
The demon took it from me.

“An
eye for an eye,” Castle says.

Phaedra
spits out a word, too late. A wing sharp as a blade sweeps down and takes her
head from her shoulders. Blood geysers from the stump. Her body, suspended,
writhes and jerks as dark shapes burst from her neck. The hellkind which gave her
power are breaking free. Amorphous gray shapes like wind-born smoke, they
careen around the room before shrieking through the broken window. Phaedra falls
in a heap on the floor, one outstretched hand near her severed head as if
trying to reach it.

River’s
boots crunch on glass as his long legs take him to Calla. Fury works over his
face, muscles in his jaw twitch as the big pistol’s muzzle presses to her
forehead.

Calla
flinches, but her panicked gaze calms and she visibly relaxes. She is going to die.
A bullet to the head, a quick death, will be a mercy.

Calla
doesn’t deserve mercy.

“No,”
I whisper.

Eyes
dark with fury, River throws a glance at me over his shoulder. He looks back at
Calla as his finger tightens on the trigger.

“Mine,”
I moan. The demon killed Wool, but Calla Blayne will die by my hand.
Ultimately, she’s responsible for Castle’s murder.

River’s
face contorts, his hand shakes with barely maintained control. He angles the
barrel to point at the ceiling.

The
demon stands before me where dead flesh tethers me to the chair, and folds to
his knees. His shadow curls around me. I flinch, but he reaches for the ropes
which tie me to Wool and slices them with a long talon.

I
pitch off the chair into darkness. All is silence, peace. I want to stay in the
darkness where nothing can hurt me ever again.

“Rain?”
River says.

I’m
on my knees, free, wallowing in relief akin to ecstasy. I swivel to look at the
chair, the plastic ties still on the arms and legs, the blood on the seat and plastic-covered
floor, pass my hands down my flanks, then my face. I’m whole again, unharmed,
unblemished.

Brow
creased, I look up at the demon, still on his knees by the chair. The
expressionless face tells me nothing and yet. . . . His eyes are like coals
backed by burning embers, and for a moment I imagine pure human emotion looks out
from behind them.

He
presents his hand, and fearing the touch of his flesh I hesitantly extend mine.
His fingers unfurl to reveal a glittering, multifaceted crystal tear dark as my
obsidian knives.

Comprehension
widens my eyes. I pluck the tear, hot from the demon’s skin. He has given me a
death worthy of Calla Blayne, more terrible than a knife or River’s gun.

He’s
gone from me in two smooth paces and stands over Calla with wings furled threateningly
overhead.

With
Blayne under the demon’s terrible regard, River relinquishes his post and comes
to me. When he reaches out, I take his hand and press his palm to my cheek before
he changes his mind.

In
a quiet moment amid chaos, he gathers me to his chest and rests his chin on my
hair. When I step from his arms, he takes off his coat and drapes it over my
shoulders.

I
sweep the elf’s knife from the floor as I pass beneath the demon’s wing. Calla
and I are so close, I inhale her natural earthy perfume as I stand before her
feeling dangerously calm.

She
tenses; her eyes are on the knife. “Are you going to torture me, Rain?”

I
look at her pityingly. “No.”

She
smiles in a supercilious manner. “The police?”

“Sorry.
I kill monsters.”

I
look into her eyes for five long seconds. She would lose that smile if she knew
what I hold.

I
flip the knife and smash her mouth with the pommel. Her lips gape apart, and as
she tries to cough out blood and a broken tooth I grasp her lower jaw and pop the
demon’s tear down her throat.

I
do more than step back - I backpedal across the room.

The
panic in her eyes lifts hair all over my body. She begins to tremble; it grows
worse until she shakes, arms and wrists flopping bonelessly.

Ground
to a powder, a sprinkle of angel’s tear fed to an unsuspecting victim reacts
with stomach acid and eats a person’s insides. It is a long, terrible,
excruciatingly painful way to die. And if you force a whole tear down someone’s
throat. . . . I figured a demon’s tear is as lethal, why else would he give it
to me, and I’m right.

The
demon’s wings clash; he looks upward and roars.

Patches
of skin on Calla’s bare arms, neck and face become translucent. Her skin writhes
and bubbles. Her clothes smoke and char black, pieces burst into flame and crumble
to ash.

With
a long, drawn-out howl, she crashes around the room and bounces off the table.
She ends up slapped against the wall.

And
she smolders, a pulsing woman-shaped coal. Her limbs thrash. She tries to
scream but gurgles instead, her mouth sets in an agonized rictus grin.

All
sounds cease as the fire eats her from inside out. Calla is dead yet still on
her feet. Small shreds of charred material are all that remain of her clothes.
Her hair is gone; her beautiful eyes cloud, bulge and become gelatinous as they
cook in her skull. The glowing red of burning embers lines the cracks of her
black fissured skin.

The
air reeks of burned meat.

We
stand together near the crematorium and watch smoke billow into the red sky. A mountain
of ash and cinders rise on the bluff where Calla Blayne’s mansion stood. The police
can sift through it for as long as they please, they will find nothing. No
bodies, no blood, no evidence of any kind. All has been reduced to ash by the demon’s
rage.

“Nice
job,” the faun says. “Thorough.”

My
gaze remains on the smoldering pyre. “You told Calla we . . . I was here.”

From
the corner of my eye, I see him twitch one shoulder. “She paid me to tell her
if you came around asking questions. A little extra to keep body and soul
together. A custodian’s salary don’t amount to much.” He rubs thumb against
finger. “Speaking of which.”

I
smile thinly. “I don’t think so. You won’t snitch on us.”

I
look up to where the demon circles. “My friend knows everything. You don’t want
me to send him after you,” I bluff.

A
snort wafts his thin beard. “Fair enough.” He trots back to the crematorium.

I
won’t kill him. He’s just an old man, doing business Downside style.

Black
wings clash, the demon cries out and wheels away.

“Incredible,”
Castle remarks.

“Did
you know it could shoot laser beams from its eyes?” from River.

“Demonfire,”
Castle corrects.

“Looked
like laser beams,” says River.

My
gaze slants to him. “How did you meet up with a demon and get him to help me?”

He
watches the demon, a black bolt in the red sky. “I knew you were in trouble but
nothing else. I remembered what you said about the angel knowing everything, so
I went to the shrine. I asked where you were, what happened to you. It tried to
tell me. It burbled on about towers and graves. I didn’t understand - how could
I? I got angry and yelled at it.”

“You
yelled
at the angel?”

“It
knew you needed help and did nothing,” he says sheepishly.

“It
can’t save everyone,” Castle says. “And its conscience won’t let it choose who to
help and who to ignore. It’s not a god.”

Castle
doesn’t know how the angel’s mind works, what it feels, what motivates it, if
anything. Nobody does. The rough edge to his voice tells me he remembers his
own time of need, when the angel did not come. He’s making excuses for the
sorry thing.

“So
I left. Next I know, that thing had me. Didn’t see it coming. One minute I’m
walking through town, the next miles up in the sky. It spoke to me,” River taps
his head, “inside my head. Said we were coming to get you.”

Why
did he help me? I don’t imagine he happened to be cruising over Gettaholt, saw
me and thought,
oh, look, a poor little mortal in trouble. I’ll just drop
down and help her out and pick up a passenger on the way.
Someone sent him.
And I’m not sure he is a demon. Big, black, ugly, wings and flaming eyes, but
no stink. Demons
always
stink. Demons don’t help people.

I
decide against saying anything to Castle and River. There are no answers and
chewing on it will drive us all crazy. Wondering about the demon will bother me
for a long time.

I
blink out of a reverie of flame-drenched eyes and search the sky again, but the
demon is long gone. “I didn’t thank him.”

I
touch River’s sleeve. “And you. Thank you.”

And
had Castle not penetrated the mush Angelina made of River’s mind. . . .
“Thanks, Castle.”

“Don’t
mention it, babe.”

I
step nearer to River. “Castle told me you got away from Angelina.”

He
doesn’t immediately reply and furiously concentrates on the path ahead with
brows drawn together when I peek at him.

“Yes,”
he says, pauses, continues. “When what he tried to tell me finally got through,
I shed flesh, all of it, and got out of there.”

A
smile stretches my mouth. “You finally did it?”

“Finally.”
He darts a look at me. “Like you said, I needed the right motivation.”

My
predicament provided the needed stimulus, when a demon trying to eat him
didn’t. I’m horrified to feel my chin wobbling. “And now?”

“Now
I’m a regular invisible man.” River grins. “When I want to be.”

Rain
patters down. I look back at the huge ash mound. A few good downpours will make
it a pile of gray goop. Good luck to anyone raking through that.

“Are
we done?” Castle asks. “’Cause we should be going.”

“Is
chit-chatting with dead people a regular thing here?” River asks me. “He’s
freaking me out.”

Castle
grins. “It’s a dirty job but somebody’s gotta do it.”

I
poke River’s arm. “You’ll get used to him.”

“We’re
stuck with him?” River says with a sly look at Castle.

“Afraid
so.”

“Hey!”
Castle points at himself. “Right here!”

We
hurry from the bluff, Castle on my right, River to my left. Despite what River
said, Castle’s manifestation doesn’t appear to disconcert him. I suppose a
ghost isn’t a big deal with all he’s seen since coming Downside.

“Will
Wool come back as a ghost?” I wonder.

“If
he does, he better keep his distance,” from Castle.

“Or
what?” River asks.

“Or.
. . .” Castle’s voice trails off. He scowls. “Damned if I know. I came back
when you needed me, but does anyone need or even want Wool? He doesn’t have a
grave I can hang around but maybe I’ll come here sometime. If he does return,
we’ll see if a couple of ghosts can go mano a mano.”

Do
all wraiths return from the dead; would I have? Would Castle have sent River to
where Calla put my body, to call me back?

“
Now
are we going to the police?” River asks.

“The
police are not our friends,” Castle says.

I
walk faster. “We do
not
want to be implicated in this.”

“Even
if we got that old faun to tell us where the bodies are, we’ve no proof Blayne had
them murdered,” says Castle.

The
rain stops falling. Overblown roses fill an urn at the head of a small burial
mound; their heavy perfume hangs in the humid air. Although they’re red, they
remind me of Castle’s grave and the lonely rose I stuck in the dirt. If I
believed in the gods and that they are responsible for giving Castle back to me,
I’d drop to my knees right here.

The
open gate is ahead. River’s voice is somber as he asks, “Why did she kill those
people?”

Contempt
tinges my voice. “Greed, pure and simple. Hyde found out she had sticky fingers
and planned to expose her, so she got rid of him and his wife.” I go on to
explain how Castle and I stumbled into the middle of it.

Music
tinkles from River’s coat pocket.

He
takes the shiny black phone from his pocket and puts it to his ear. “Hello?”

He
holds it out to me. “Eshmey Grout, for you.”

I
stare at the thing like it will leap from his hands and bite me. We don’t have mobile
telephones Downside for a reason: they don’t work, neither digital nor analog.

“Should
I take a message?”

Speechless,
Castle and I gape as River speaks into the phone. “Uh huh,” he says after
listening for a moment. “I’ll tell her. She’ll call you back.”

The
phone goes back in his pocket. “She says a hag is killing her livestock. I said
you’ll call her. Her number’s in the address book.”

Castle’s
mouth still hangs open.

“How
could. . . ? How can. . . ?” I can’t
begin
to ask the right questions.

“I
know, there isn’t a service for mobiles, but I thought it could be useful linked
to your home phone and programmed to forward calls.” River lifts one shoulder.

“You
can’t
do
that,” Castle finally manages to say. “You can’t,” he makes a
slashing motion in the air,
“program!”

“You
don’t understand,” I splutter. “It may turn on and off and you can play games,
but there are no providers, no networks. That call is . . . impossible.”

River
grins. “Tell it to Mrs. Grout.”

Castle
scoots to catch up with me. “Rain, he has magic.”

“River?
Magic?” I scoff.

“Magic
messes with Upside stuff like weapons and electronics. River’s magic somehow overrides
it.”

“Nah,”
says River. “I linked the thing to your home-phone. Simple.”

Castle
and I exchange a look. He dips his head toward one shoulder. I widen my eyes.

We
walk on. Hmm. Can we use River’s gift to our advantage? It’s something to consider.
We should experiment and establish exactly what he can do, and to what.

I
have a thought. “Magic must be how you neutralized Angie’s spell.”

“I
don’t have magic,” River says through his teeth. “If anything counteracted her
magic, it was my hands around her throat.”

Hells.
“Did you - ?”

“I
just frightened her.”

I’m
relieved. Angie is on my shit list but I don’t want her dead.

“I
was thinking,” Castle says, “I can still watch your back. We
are
still a
team, right? You’re not gonna kick me out because I’m dead.”

“No,
Castle,” I say, ending on an exaggerated sigh. “We’re still a team.”

“What
next?” River asks.

“We
have a long walk ahead of us.” And we’ll take the back streets, making the trek
longer. A cab will keep a record of our ride so calling one is out of the question.

A
dwarf couple holding hands walks toward us. We fall silent as they pass but
they don’t notice us. From the looks in their eyes, they see only each other.
It makes me smile.

“You
might want to tell Sauvageau you’re safe,” Castle says.

I
eye him quizzically. “Alain?”

“The
kid asked for his help, remember?”

“Before
I thought of going to the angel,” River says as though the words are forced from
him. His hands plunge into his deep pockets. “You watched me?” he asks Castle.

“Sure,”
Castle says with a shrug.

I
should talk to Alain and let him know I’m safe, and I’ll enjoy saying he’s
wrong about River.

“I’ll
go - ” I begin, but River’s amethyst eyes pierce me and make the words jam in
my throat.

I
swallow. What is with him? I try to hold his gaze but he averts his face.

“Does
that thing work both ways?” Castle asks. “Can we call anyone who has a regular phone?”

River
jerks his head.

Castle
beams at me. “There you go.”

River
takes the phone from his pocket and slaps it in my hand. “Here.”

Oookay.
I study the phone, stab the tiny buttons and put it to my ear.

Someone
picks up after two rings.

“Alain?”

“Rain!”
Clide’s voice booms. “Are you all right? Where are you?”

“I’m
okay.”

“Tell
me where you are and I’ll come get you. We can protect you.”

River
is watching me fiercely. Puzzled, I frown at the little phone. “Not necessary.
I called to let Sauvageau know I’m safe. Tell him I’ll see him later.”

“Rain,
we don’t know - ”

I
disconnect.

I
square my shoulders and increase my pace. Right now I need friends, not Gettaholt’s
reigning lothario. Castle, who sticks with me even in death, and River, a
stranger in a strange land who for my sake asked the help of what may be
Downside’s two most dangerous entities.

“A
hag, huh? Haven’t tackled one of those since . . . when was it?” I ask Castle.

“Three
years gone?” he suggests, tugging his earlobe.

I
grin at Castle, then River. “Call Mrs. Grout, tell her we’ll be there at
midnight to take a look at her monster.”

~*~

Castle
eyes River. Magic didn’t break Angelina’s spell, knowing Rain needed him did
the trick. The bond between a newborn wraith and their mentor is powerful, and
the newbie’s feelings can be intense. River is in love with Rain, but true love
doesn’t happen this quickly. The emotion is transient; at some point he’ll know
he loves Rain but isn’t in love with her, though he’ll be in a mess of pain
till then. Castle was in love with his mentor Beach, which created a few
awkward moments.

And
Rain has no clue. If she has feelings for River it’s as a friend, brother. Or
maybe a son, to be nurtured, protected and guided. Castle felt the same when he
brought her Downside. Heck, he still does.

But
he can’t protect her from Sauvageau. Thank the gods she’s held out. So far. He
hopes she doesn’t give in to the bastard, because the guy knows how to pressure
a woman. Now he’s dead, Castle can’t go whupping asses should anyone hurt his
girl.

He
eyes River again. The lad needs beefing up and training in the martial arts. Castle
can’t get physical anymore. River can do it for him.

There
again, he could take a closer look at Sauvageau, find out what the vampire
lover really feels for Rain. He’s invisible, he can do that. Spend some time in
the Peralta compound, listen to what’s said, see what’s to be seen. Sounds like
a plan.