Flameout (24 page)

He unlocked the rear door and ushered me out. “And does this happen to all humans who are killed too early? Because it does not apply to us. Our souls simply become one with the mother until it is time to be reborn again.”

“As far as I know, it applies to not only humans but many nonhumans, like wolves and other shifters.”

“But not spirits.”

I shook my head. “If we die—really die—then our energy also returns to the mother, but there is no coming back for us.”

He squeezed my hand. “Then I'll have to make sure you don't die for real. I'd truly miss your presence in my life if you did.”

Which, given dark fae didn't really do deep emotion, was almost a declaration of love. “I'd seriously miss you, too.”

“Well,
that
is only natural.” His expression was decidedly cheeky. “Shall we risk heading back to the hotel to collect our things, or go straight over to see Grace?”

I hesitated. “Let's go back to the hotel. And given the rental place is open twenty-four/seven, maybe it's time to change the car over. The sindicati and probably Luke are aware we're driving it.”

Of course, if the sindicati had shifted from using werewolves to using winged shifters, then changing cars wouldn't make much difference.

“Let's deal with one threat at a time,” Jackson commented. “Right now, that's Luke and his cloaks rather than the sindicati.”

We hailed a cab and were back at the hotel in very little time. Once we'd checked out—and after cautiously inspecting the car to ensure there were no hidden surprises waiting for us—we returned it to the rental company and got a different one. It was a subterfuge that might be pointless, but it was better than driving about in a car too many people now seemed to know about.

We found the nearest drive-through, collecting both drinks and food so we could get through the next couple of hours, and then headed through the traffic toward Sassafras. I dug out the phone and called Grace. Unsurprisingly—given the time—she didn't answer, so I left her a message saying we would be at her shop around six.

Night was still holding court by the time we got there, and the main street was quiet. Hushed. Usually places high in the hills like this were alive with
birdsong at this hour, and the fact that it wasn't had unease stirring.

But maybe they knew we were the bearers of sorrow and, as such, deserved no welcome.

Aside from the streetlights, the only other lights to be seen were the ones in Grace's shop. She was waiting for us.

I climbed out of the car but didn't immediately move toward her building. I really didn't want to confront her. Really didn't want to give her the news I had to give her. I may have saved the souls of the witches, but I hadn't saved their lives, as she'd undoubtedly hoped.

“This has to be done,” Jackson said, voice soft. “For the sake of those you carry as well as those who await news.”

“I know.”

But knowing never made being the bearer of bad news any easier. I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and led the way across the road.

Once again the bell chimed as we entered, but neither the riot of color or gorgeous scent of the place lifted my spirit as we wove our way through the organized chaos.

The curtain dividing the main room from the workshop section parted, and Grace stepped through. Like before, she was wearing a colorful gypsy skirt matched with a shirt and shawl, but this time the colors were muted, more gray and blue than cheery red, yellows, and orange.

She knew, I thought, seeing the pain etched into her features.

She stopped, one hand on the curtain and the other clenched. “You do not bring with you good news.”

I stopped several feet away. Jackson halted behind me, his presence pressing heat into my spine and oddly giving me courage. “No, we do not.”

“How did they die?”

I hesitated. “I cindered two. The other was dead by the time I found them. I also cindered her remains, but I cannot guarantee her soul has not become lost.”

Her gaze swept me, bright with tears. “You have them with you?”

I unzipped my jacket and reveal the entwined ashes around my neck. Grace took a deep, shuddering breath. “They are all there. Come.”

She disappeared into the other room. Jackson pressed his fingers against the small of my back, lightly pushing me to follow. After a moment, I did.

Grace pulled three small urns out of a small cupboard at the rear of the room then returned and placed them on the small table. All three were unadorned and made of simple clay, and were a very fitting resting place for witches who followed the earth mother.

Grace uncorked the urns, blessing each one as she did so, and then raised her gaze to mine. “Can you separate them and place each one in an urn?”

I called to the hint of fire remaining in each of the ember strands, and directed them into separate urns. Heat kissed my skin for just a moment—heat that came from the ashes themselves—then the threads that were once life unwound from my neck and disappeared into the urns.

Grace whispered a prayer as she sealed the first of
them up, but a frown creased her features as she touched the second and grew when she picked up the last one. “What happened to Rennie and Neriana? Their souls twist, as if in agony.”

I hesitated, and Grace's gaze sharpened. “I must know if they are to gain forgiveness and rest in peace.”

“They were all infected, as we warned,” Jackson said when I didn't immediately answer. “It made each of them something of a pseudo vampire.”

“That alone would not account for this.” She hesitated, glancing at the first urn. “It has something to do with Angie, doesn't it?”

“Yes. I cannot say whether she was infected or not, because she was dead before I got there.” I battered away the images of the other two witches feasting on her body and wished I didn't have to say what I now had to say.

“Please,” Grace said, obviously sensing my reluctance.

I took a deep breath, then added softly, “She was given as a meal to the other two. They had little choice but to eat.”

“He is a
fiend
.” There was horror in her voice and eyes. “An absolute fiend.”

“Yes. And he'll pay for his crimes, believe me.”

“In this life, and in others, I suspect.” She wiped a hand across her eyes, smearing tears. “Thank you for returning them, even if you could not save their lives.”

I grimaced and crossed my arms, feeling cold. It had nothing to do with my failure and everything to do with the premonition that there were many more deaths to come before this was completely over. Intuition, I thought
bitterly, could be a bitch sometimes. Especially when it kept hitting me with vague promises of death and destruction and yet refused to ante up anything solid in the form of a dream.

Grace scooped up the three urns and carefully placed them back in the cupboard. I suspected their final rites would be held tomorrow. The full moon was due then, and that was always a good time for such things.

After locking the cabinet, she moved across to another section of the room and picked up what looked like three simple, multicolored string necklaces.

“These are the spell blockers we promised,” she said, returning to where we stood. “As I said, they will counteract only magic designed either to restrict your fire or your access to the mother, but I suspect that will be enough for now.”

She dropped two of them into my palm. The energy that ran within them made my skin tingle, but it was not an unpleasant sensation. She gave the other one to Jackson then added, “We have designed them to be unobtrusive. No one but a witch of extreme power will even see that you're wearing them.”

“I'm afraid there just might be such a witch in this town.” I told her about the fire and the hellhounds. “Is your coven—or any of the others—missing other members?”

“Not that I know of, and we would have been informed after recent events.” She frowned. “I'd suspect it might be an outsider who has been brought in, except we surely would have sensed that.”

“Unless, of course, he or she is using magic to cover their presence.”

“That is possible, especially if we are dealing with someone following a darker path.” She hesitated. “I shall seek advice from those higher in my order. If there is such a witch in town, we'll do our best to track them down and deal with them. We cannot afford to have such a person working with those who now control Brooklyn.”

“Whoever it is, it's likely they are as your missing witches were—no longer in control of their own thoughts or emotions,” Jackson said. “If you do find them, it will be wiser to report their presence to PIT rather than confront them yourself.”

“One witch—even a follower of the dark path—has little hope against the might of an entire coven,” she said. “We can deal—”

“Yes,” I cut in, “except that it's
not
just magic you're dealing with. What afflicts Brooklyn is an infection in both a physical
and
medical sense. Believe us, what happened to your sisters could very easily happen to you.”

Her gaze traveled from me to Jackson and back again, and her expression became even more troubled. “If this
is
an infection in the literal sense, then I doubt the dark witch is afflicted, let alone in the control of another. Not given what you said about the hellhounds.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because that sort of magic is extremely dangerous, and the witch would have to be in possession of all faculties to achieve the necessary control.”

“Meaning he or she is working with him
willingly
?” Jackson's voice held an incredulous note. “I cannot believe—”

“Those who crave the power of the dark path are often drawn to those with similar spirits and goals,” Grace cut in. “And a man with a black heart and chaos on his mind would be a beacon to those with similar aims.”

I scrubbed a hand across my eyes. This was
not
what we needed. “We'll have to inform PIT,” I said, glancing at Jackson.

“Yeah.” His voice was grim. “They're undoubtedly under the same impression as us—that it was only the one nutter we were dealing with.”

I slipped one of the necklaces around my neck and put the other safely in my pocket. “Thanks for these, Grace, and be careful out there.”

“I will. And I will send a message if we do get any further information about the dark witch.”

I opened my mouth to tell her to contact PIT rather than us then closed it again. Maybe the coven wanted as little to do with PIT as we did. Couldn't blame them for that.

We said good-bye and headed out of the shop. I paused on the pavement and glanced around. Dawn was beginning to spread golden fingers across the sky, but here at street level, darkness still held court, and the world remained eerily quiet. Ignoring the notion that it was the calm before the storm, I glanced up at Jackson and said, “What next?”

“I don't know. I'm tempted to go back to the office, though.”

“That's just asking for trouble.”

“And it would also be very inconvenient,” an all-too-familiar voice said behind me. “Especially since I've taken the trouble to drive all the way out here to see you.”

J
ackson and I swore in unison and turned around. The three men who stood in front of us were swathed head to foot in reflective blankets, and both their hands and faces were covered with heavy black material. Only their eyes were visible.

They were obviously vampires, because it certainly wasn't
that
cold up here. And while the sun wasn't yet fully up, most vamps tended to be overly cautious—not surprising when the sun's touch could at least leave them with scars and, at worst, kill them.

But I didn't need to see their faces to know the man standing slightly in front of the others was Frank Parella. He was not only a general of one of the two sindicati factions wrestling for overall control, but the man who'd shot De Luca, his counterpart on the other side.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jackson didn't bother smothering his annoyance. “We had a damn deal—”

“The deal,” Parella cut in, “is the reason I'm here. I believe you are not living up to your part of it.”

I snorted. “And you know this how? Are you psychic or something?”

“No, nor do I keep the company of witches.” There was amusement in his voice, but it held little in the
way of warmth. I doubted it touched his lips, because it certainly wasn't touching his eyes.

“No, you were just using the werewolves,” Jackson said. “Which didn't exactly turn out well for either them
or
you.”

“No, it did not,” Parella said. “But it is
that
unfortunate event that has forced me out here.”

“Why?” I asked bluntly. “It's not like you couldn't have sent more goons. You have plenty of them, don't you?”

“Well, yes,” Parella said. “But I suspect you would have treated them no better than you treated the wolves. Besides, did you not tell them that if I wanted the damn notes that I should come and get them myself?”

Well, yeah, but I certainly hadn't thought he'd actually
do
it. “The wolves rather unwisely resorted to guns, and totally deserved what they got. I take it their actions were outside your orders?”

“Yes.” That hint of amusement was back in his voice, leaving me uncertain as to whether to believe him or not. “However, you cannot escape the point that you have information you have not shared, as was our deal.”

“There's nothing in the satchel of importance—”

“
I
will be the judge of that,” he cut in. “The notes, Emberly, or the deal is off.”

His sharp tone had annoyance flaring, but there was also a whole lot of relief. He might know about the satchel, but he was apparently unaware of the fact that we'd taken copies or that we'd found a USB in Wilson's gym locker. Hopefully, we could keep it that way. PIT were unlikely to inform us of its contents,
and I certainly didn't want to lose
our
copy until we'd discovered what was on the damn thing.

“The deal was for you to stand back while we investigated,” I snapped back. “Having us followed is hardly in keeping with the spirit of that.”

“Given the situation and your subsequent actions, we can hardly be blamed,” he replied calmly. “The satchel. Now.”

I glanced at Jackson. He shrugged.
Do. Can't afford offside.

No, we couldn't. We had enough people pissed off at us already. I blew out a frustrated breath then spun around and lead the way back to our car. There was a large white van parked behind us, which was undoubtedly how Parella and his men had gotten here. The driver was sitting inside, but he wasn't covered and none of the front windows were darkly tinted. Not a vampire, then.

I opened the trunk, pushed our bags to one side, and plucked the satchel free. One of Parella's men stepped forward and took it from me.

I scowled and returned my gaze to Parella. “Is Amanda working for you? Is that how you knew we had the satchel?”

“I believe Amanda is now under the not so tender ministrations of whoever has taken over De Luca's position.”

“And De Luca's vamplings blame
us
for his murder,” Jackson snapped. “Don't suppose you want to correct that piece of misinformation, do you?”

“It would not be in my best interest to do so, so no.”

“It's in your best interest to keep us alive,” I bit back. “Keeping De Luca's lair off our butts would be a major part of that.”

“You are more than capable of taking care of yourself, young lady, and we both know it.”

I couldn't exactly argue with that. And I certainly couldn't help being amused by the term “young lady.” It had been a long—long—time since either of those really applied. “Then I guess it's also useless to ask you to pull the tail off us?”

“Indeed. We both know that you will not willingly hand over information. However, I am more than happy to keep advising my superiors not to kill you as long as you continue to be useful.”

How nice of him. “And what about Rinaldo?”

The air got decidedly frostier. “What of him?”

“Are you working with him?”

“No, we are definitely not.”

“Then why are you allowing him to gain toeholds here in Melbourne?”

“He has not—”

“He's behind a major attack on the rats,” I cut in, having no intention of swallowing the bullshit he was undoubtedly about to sprout, “and he's blackmailing us to give him information about the virus research. If he hasn't already got a very strong toehold, then how the fuck is he accomplishing all that without you knowing about it?”

I could almost hear the cogs turning as he decided how much we needed to know. “It would appear you are very well informed.”

“Yeah, well, when you have two sindicati factions, a madman intent on world domination, and PIT on your back, it pays to be.”

“Not to mention the rats and the werewolves.”

The smile that touched my lips held about as much warmth as his voice. “It would appear we are not the only ones keeping informed.”

“Even the most ignorant underworld citizen would have been hard-pressed not to hear about your altercation with Radcliffe and his men. The wolves were foolish not to heed such a warning.”

The wolves in general
had
, as I had no doubt
that
was part of the reason why Baker had decided to work with us rather than against us. “And Rinaldo? Or whatever the fuck his real name is?”

“Is proving rather hard to track down. We suspect there's magic involved.”

Another of those prophetic chills ran through me. “The witches wouldn't work with someone like Rinaldo.”

“No, but not all magic users are bound by covens, and many are far more powerful than what the witches would have the populace believe.”

Two dark witches in the same city, working for different criminals? How likely was
that
? But did it mean Luke was in contact with Rinaldo, or that the dark witch working with him was actually a Rinaldo plant? Either possibility was a scary one.

If it
was
the latter, it would certainly explain how Rinaldo seemed to know so much about the virus and the research. But if it
was
the case, then why did he need us to find the missing notes when he had access to the scientists via his source in Luke's camp?

Was Luke keeping their location secret from everyone in his camp, as De Luca had kept secret Baltimore's research notes?

It was possible. Luke had never really trusted anyone beside himself. Not even his family.

Especially
not his family.

“Why would you suspect magic is involved?” Jackson asked. “Why couldn't he simply be very good at hiding his presence?”

“Because between the city pack and ourselves, we pretty much own this city. Nothing goes down that we don't know about. That neither of us can find him suggests other forces must be at work.”

“Even magic leaves a trail that can be followed,” I commented.

“We are aware of that, but convincing the covens to work with us on this matter is . . . difficult.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “You seem to be on good terms with them. Perhaps you could have a word with them?”

“Sure. As soon as you make De Luca's lair aware that we were not responsible for his murder.”

He laughed. “I do like you, Emberly Pearson.”

“I'm thrilled.” And damn certain him liking me didn't mean he wouldn't kill me if necessary. “Is that it? Can we go now?”

He made a somewhat grand sweeping motion with his hand. “By all means, do. Just remember, keep in contact. You have my phone number.”

I did—I'd grabbed it from Radcliff after one of our altercations. “Between you, Rinaldo, and PIT, it's a damn wonder we actually get off the phone and get some work done.”

I slammed the trunk shut and walked around to the passenger side of the car and climbed in.

Jackson got in the driver's side, started the car, then did a quick U-turn and planted his foot. The vampires were left in a cloud of burned rubber. “Well, that was exciting.”

“Yeah.” I scrubbed a hand across my eyes. “Did you know they were following us?”

“No. I mean, I saw a white van on several occasions, but there's so many of the things on the road these days I didn't think anything of it.”

“We'll need to be more careful.”

“Is there any real point right now? It would seem everyone is aware of our damn movements.”

I wrinkled my nose. “If Luke knew where we were staying, he would have attacked.”

“Maybe. And maybe he's just waiting for a convenient moment.”

“Luke is many things, but patient isn't one of them.” I paused. “Do you think Parella is right about Rinaldo using magic to hide his presence?”

“It's possible.”

“Then maybe we should go back and talk to Grace—”

“No,” Jackson said, “Leave them to their mourning.”

“But they might be our hope of stopping him—”

“
We
don't need to stop him.” He glanced at me, expression grim. “And as long as the wolves do as they promised, we just need to keep making those calls and string him along.”

“It's never wise to tease a tiger.” And Rinaldo would not act favorably if he ever realized what we were doing.

“So we feed him just enough information and hope he
doesn't
.”

“Which means giving him a copy of the notes we just gave Parella.”

“Why don't we go back to the office and leave our selection of pages there?”

I frowned. “Do we really want to invite him into our place again?”

“We didn't exactly invite him in the first time.”

“Well, no, but that's beside the point.”

“We don't have to be there. Besides, we can grab the chance to check the phones. I'm sure our other clients will be getting a little antsy about the lack of progress on their cases.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you rang them all and explained the situation?”

“I did. But I also didn't think this bloody thing would go on for so long or take up so much of our time.”

“You could always step back and just let—”

“Not on your fucking life.” He glanced at me, expression unyielding. “We started this damn thing together, and we'll finish it the same way.”

“Well, technically,
you
started it. I got dragged into it when my boss was murdered.”

A smile tugged his lips. “You know what I mean.”

I did. And I appreciated the sentiment. I just had to hope he didn't pay the ultimate price for his determination.

“Don't worry.” He briefly placed his hand on my thigh and squeezed it gently. “I'm a hard bastard to kill. Besides, there's a world of women still out there,
waiting for me to discover them. I can't disappoint them, now can I?”

I snorted. “Even
you
can't possibly have the time or the energy for more women than you currently have. Or did have, before this mess all started.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

I laughed. “No, it is not.”

“Shame. I would enjoy proving you wrong.”

“Which you undoubtedly will anyway, given your conviction our liaison is only a short-term thing.”

“I
am
hoping I am wrong—you know that, don't you?” His gaze met mine again. “But even if I am right, do not expect me to become a model of decorum. I will still flirt and tease you shamelessly.”

“I'd be horrified if you didn't.”

He grinned and returned his attention to the road. I flipped down the rearview mirror but couldn't see any sign of the white van. Which didn't mean they weren't actually behind us, as neither of us had spotted them the first time.

It was nearing peak hour by the time we hit the freeway, so it took us a couple of hours to get to our office. Once Jackson had parked, I climbed out and made my way up the steps to the front door. It was still locked, but that didn't mean anything when we were dealing with criminals like Rinaldo and the sindicati.

I cautiously unlocked it then pushed it wide-open with my fingertips to ensure there was no one lurking behind it. The paperwork I'd stacked on the nearby desks, ready for filing, scattered as the wind gusted around me and the air was cold—almost stale. I couldn't see or sense anything or anyone, and, after a
brief hesitation, I stepped inside and turned off the security cameras. A couple of seconds later, Jackson followed me in.

“I'll check the cams,” he said. “You want to see if anyone's tried to contact us?”

I nodded and headed over to the phone. Jackson generally diverted calls to his cell, but when we ditched our SIMs in an effort to stop PIT tracking us, we'd also ditched the diversion. One of the lights on the unit was blinking rapidly, and beside it a number—there were twenty-three messages waiting. I hit the
REPLAY
button then walked down to Jackson's industrial-sized coffee machine to make us both a drink. For the most part, the messages were either from clients wanting an update or telemarketers trying to sell us shit.