Shadowman (34 page)

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Authors: Erin Kellison

BOOK: Shadowman
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“I don't have the power to release you,” Layla said, a little too flippantly for Rose's state.
No single person has that.
“Well, then bring them all to me,” Rose said. She twisted each word with power.
Rose watched Layla close her eyes, her lips tighten as she breathed deep. But she didn't make any move to do what she was told.
When Layla opened her eyes again, she shrugged. “I've had a little practice with this kind of mental thing: The gate made me open it. You almost made me kill myself. Lost my mind in Twilight.”
“Why don't you do as I say then!” Rose shoved as hard as she could, tried to splinter the whore's brain. It had been so easy before.
Layla had the nerve to smile. “Because I've faced far worse than you today. Believe me.” The whore leaned in. “You won't influence me ever again. Got it?”
Rose was going to have to kill her. Nobody spoke to her that way. Least of all some trash that wrapped her legs around—
“Can I see her?” spoke a familiar voice. Soft. Loving. Mickey.
“Mickey?” Rose called. She pulled at her bloody sweater. Swiped her hair back from her eyes. Wished she had some mascara to make them pop.
Layla looked beyond the doorway. “You've earned it.”
Did the world a favor in my opinion.
“Just keep back from the bars, and remember what I told you.”
Rose straightened herself up. Strained for a first glimpse.
Mickey shuffled into view. He wore the faded uniform of a custodian. He must have had to work so hard without her help. His belly had bulged over his pants while she was away.
That's her, all right,
Mickey thought.
“You okay?” Layla asked him.
“Mickey, honey”—Rose batted her eyes—“we'll find a way out of all this. We'll be together again. I promise I'll find a way.”
Mickey's bushy brows drew together.
They warned me about her arm.
“Oh, this?” Rose answered, lifting her bad hand. “Well, yes, it looks a little . . . unusual. But, honey, it's strong. It's kept me alive. Soon you'll think it's as beautiful as I do.”
And they warned me she could read my mind.
“Yes,” Rose said. “I can. It will bring us closer together.”
Don't think it. Don't think it. Don't. Don't. Don't.
“Honey, say you love me,” Rose implored. If she was going to be taken away, even for a little while, she'd need to survive on those words.
Mickey jerked his face into the fat at his chin and took a step back alongside Layla. “I'm ready to go.”
Don't think it. Don't. Don'tdon'tdon'tdon'tdon'tdon't don't . . .
“Mickey,” Rose sobbed. “You can tell me anything. Tell me you love me.”
Not that I was the one—don'tdon't—
Layla gestured to a man in front of a group of soldiers. “It's time.”
—who killed you.
Rose went very still, her hands, good and bad, gripped the bars. She must have heard Mickey wrong. They'd been everything to each other. Shared their secrets. Sure, they'd had some hard times, and there was that once or twice when she'd had to remind him how to treat her, and the occasional messy business he'd cleaned up for her, but . . .
“Honey?” broke from her lips.
Mickey's face went red. His lower lids twitched, as his brain said,
I put a pillow to your face.
But now that Rose thought about it . . .
You thrashed and bucked.
. . . she couldn't remember how she'd died.
Never loved you.
“Say you love me!” Rose screamed.
“She was even worse when she was human,” he said to Layla. And with that, Mickey Petty turned his back on her and walked from the room. Stenciled to his jumpsuit was State Prisoner. His last thought trailed behind him.
Worth every damn year.
Fury exploded in Rose's mind.
Mickey had betrayed her. Mickey had killed her. Mickey had sent her to Hell.
The burn took her whole body, and she shook, gripping the immovable bars for support. She shrieked when her blood turned to acid in her veins. A rush of searing cold washed through her body, snapping and spinning her cells.
“Stay calm,” someone called, but they weren't talking to her.
New bone stretched her toughening skin. She threw her head back as the change crunched her features. No more pretty eyes. No more winning smile. The transformation crackled across her other arm, took her belly, her pelvis, her weak leg. Made her strong.
Worse, Mickey said? She'd show him worse. All of her went bad.
Layla turned and asked the lead soldier, “Will the cage hold?”
“It should,” he said. But his mind answered,
Thank God Talia and the kids are on their way to New York.
That was all the hope Rose needed. She launched herself horizontal and kicked a bar with the full force of her altered legs. The bar dented outward.
“She's like a lizard hulk!” a soldier shouted.
Rose jacked her legs at the bar again. It squeaked into an outward triangle, just big enough. Mickey owed her an explanation.
Rose watched as Layla drew a gun from her waist and fired point-blank. Cold-blooded was what Layla was. Shoot a prisoner in a cage. No honor in that.
The soldiers followed Layla's lead. Rose was dinged over and over again, but the only bullet that hurt was the one that pierced her skull. Even that didn't slow her.
Rose wrenched the bar out of place.
Where is he?
She used the bar to bat Layla out of the way.
Where is that liar?
She bounded knuckles, feet, knuckles, feet through the door of a wide, open room dominated by a long conference table. Her husband was backed up to a wall, surrounded by soldiers, which she swatted aside while taking a bullet to the eye. Another bullet bounced around her teeth in her mouth.
Blood made her tongue lazy. Her nose itched from her new foul smell. Rotten. Like her love.
She snorted like a beast in Mickey's face. “You did this to me.”
His jelly chin quivered, but he didn't tuck it. Took him twelve years to find his spine.
“You always looked like this,” he said. “Now everyone else can see, too.”
Rose fought a sob and knew the wetness streaking her face was tears. She could feel the violence gathering around her. Men organizing to kill her, while they thought to protect her murderer. One shouted, “Lie facedown on the floor!”
The room was thick with their mind chatter. One man seemed in control of them all.
Bring her down fast, heart and head
, he thought.
“On the floor, now!”
Heart. Rose punched Mickey's chest to see if he had one. It was a puny, slimy thing, just like him. Too bad it stopped.
Mickey dropped to the floor. Ungrateful man. And here she'd given him her best years.
Something hit her from behind and her left shoulder was alight with pain.
Use the Benelli
, a soldier thought behind her.
Rose shuddered as eight successive blasts thudded into her side. She couldn't feel her fingers. That whole side of her body had a sparkly singe kind of sensation that made breathing hard.
If they weren't careful, they might just hurt her.
Mickey dead, now that Layla had to go, the one who started it all. No wonder the gate was so intent on getting rid of her. Layla was poison.
Rose struck the window above Mickey. The glass came out in one funny big piece, with a whole lot of wall attached to it. Another fat shot struck her back, and she was propelled outward, skidding across a wide veranda on a slick of her own blood.
She managed to climb on top of the railing, but shots drove her over the side and into the bushes at the building's base.
“Circle around!” the leader shouted.
They were murderers, all of them, not to face her in a fair fight. If
she
died, her
soul
died, too. The end of Rose Petty. Forever.
kat-a-kat-a-kat: Go back. Kill Layla Mathews. Now.
The gate needn't worry. Layla was going to die. And not because the gate told her to kill the bitch. This was personal now.
Rose made for the trees, loping fast on all fours. The ground exploded beside her, showering her with soil, but she kept going. This was Layla's fault. Run. Hide. Heal.
Oh, Mickey.
That Layla was going to pay.
Chapter 18
The last time Layla had walked down this miserable street she'd lost her life. This time, she had it all in front of her. To her left was a wide concrete slab, and across the way, much farther, a cargo ship, crane reaching over its hull. Massive blue and orange cargo containers had occupied the lot near the warehouse. Now it was empty, and she could see all the way to the choppy, gray river. Parked on the street, to her surprise, was her car. Nobody had stolen it, after all.
This was the place. He had to be here.
A rusted smear of blood near the doorknob made her pause, but the frame was still broken, so she pushed the door open and peeked inside. The place was as dark as she remembered, though now a white-blue light flickered in the depths of the large space, like a fluorescent trying to come on. And then the light went out entirely.
Layla crept forward, keeping to the dark.
An extended male roar of frustration and the light burst into existence again, a plasma of blue violet tossed up into the air, battering the darkness. Magic.
Had to be him. Layla advanced, trying hard to keep each footstep soundless. That weird bursting feeling almost overcame her again when she saw his silhouette—his tall, strong body braced, one arm extended, palm flat as he coaxed the light to maximum brightness, the other arm outstretched behind him, for balance. His long hair was in a ratty knot away from his face. Poor man was finally learning what a hassle that hair was going to be. No way on earth she'd let him cut it, though.
Shadowman. Mortal?
She was three paces from him, but he still didn't notice. His body shook with the effort he used to create the magic light. From this close she smelled his sweat, dark, a little funky, and totally human. Which made her grin and go warm all over, in spite of the cold.
Screw it. She stepped up beside him, pretending to concentrate on the light, though all of her attention was on him.
“So what are we doing?” she asked lightly, rocking back and forth, heel to toe, on her feet.
He reeled back and the light went out. She thought he fell on his ass, but since she couldn't see, she couldn't be sure.
“You okay, honey?” She tried to keep the laugh from her voice. Really, she did.
A blue flame burst to life, held in his palm while he, yes, was half sprawled in shock on the warehouse floor. Strands of tangled hair fell in his eyes. His shirt, a long-sleeve tee, was ripped on the side, his abs nicely flexed beneath. An unlaced shoe had come off. Didn't look like he knew how to tie the laces.
“Need help up?” Layla held out her hand. The bursting feeling grew painful. Crap, she was going to cry again.
“Layla?” The “la” was hoarse. He'd gone and ruined his voice.
“That's me.” Her grin got wider, in spite of the tears in her eyes.
His face grew paler, expression dismayed. The poor man didn't blink, but he did start shaking. How long had it been since he'd had anything to eat?
Layla knelt on the floor, reached toward him.
He flinched.
She softened her tone. “It's just me. See?”
Kneeling on all fours, she leaned forward, their faces close. His black eyes went wide and wild, searching hers. “Hi,” she said. And then she touched her lips to his. His mouth was warm, firm, oh so real. She breathed him in, reveled in the return press, and gave him her soul.
He groaned, a lost, hurt sound. And the warehouse went pitch dark again. She was grabbed none too gently, dragged onto his lap, pinned with one tight arm around her, while his other hand roved, maybe checking for all the right parts, before settling at the nape of her neck.
Finally, he kissed her back, mouth moving against hers, devouring, tasting. Pulling back to feather with gentleness, skim satin on satin, before crushing her to him again.
And still he shook, but now he shook them both.
Layla shifted. Scruffed her cheek on his five o'clock beard. Yep. Mortal.
His breath was uneven. His heart was pounding against her.
“Shhhh.” Layla squeezed him tight. She'd thought to surprise him, and she guessed she had. “It's okay. You'll be okay.”
“I've gone mad, yes?” he said in the dark.
“No, actually, you just went missing”—Layla cuddled closer—“and weren't there for my triumphant return.”
“I don't believe it.”
She chuckled. “I've got two cars outside, my piece of crap, thank you very much, and a Segue loaner. How about we get to a safer location—Rose went full lizard, by the way—and I can convince you there?”
“Are you here? Do you live?”
“Yeah, I'm pretty sure I am. And you bet, I sure do.”
“And Moira?” His voice broke again.
“I tricked her. I beat Fate.” Layla laughed. “Boy, is she pissed at me.”
“But . . . how?”
She pulled back. Arched an eyebrow to tease. “I'll tell you all about it on the way. Devil's on the loose. We've really got to go.”
 
 
Shadowman stumbled out into the waning light of the day. He would not let go of Layla's arm. He gripped her too hard, and was sorry for it, but he needed to keep her by his side. The feel of her arm in his human hand astonished him.
She should not be here. She should be dead. If he could have felt her emotion, sensed the glow of her soul, he might have thought her return possible, but this absence of her feeling and the surfeit of his own confused him.
Layla hurried them down the street, beyond her old car to a sleek black one behind it, and spoke fast. “Rose couldn't have gotten this far yet, so we should be okay, but we still need to hurry. If I know about this place, she does, too.”
She held out a black fob and the car answered with a flash of its lights. He'd seen the swift rise of automobiles, but so far, he did not care for them. “Where are we going?”
And wasn't Adam taking care of the devil?
“New York Segue bunker,” she said, opening the passenger door for him. He should be opening the door for her, like a gentleman. When she smiled, waiting, he reluctantly released her and got in. Settled into the black leather.
She slid into the driver's seat and looked over while starting the engine. “Kev reported you didn't want to go to the Annex to ask the angels for help.”
“I had to find you, and they kill my kind,” Shadowman answered, and braced himself as she made a tight turn with the car.
Her eyebrows went up as she smiled. “And what kind is that?”
In her expression, he could finally sense a giddy mirth mixed with her determination to get them to safety. She was happy to see him. Welcomed him in any state. Delighted in this particular one.
Shadowman exhaled in relief as the car swiftly accelerated down the street. “I believe I am a mage, a mortal who can wield Shadow. A very long time ago, a mage or two crossed into Twilight. I was trying to do the same to find you, yet I have not had time to master the craft.”
“I know why the angels want to kill me, but why would they want to kill you?” she asked.
She seemed so blithe as she talked about her death. As soon as the angels knew she had returned to Earth, they would renew their attack on the gate. But in his mortal state, he could no longer protect her.
“Because while magery draws from Shadow, mages are not bound to Twilight, and can therefore wreak just as much, or more, havoc on Earth as the devil. Long ago there was a great war between Heaven and Shadow. Mages, being mortal, were crushed first, and then the fae eventually bowed to the dominion of The Order.”
She shrugged, scrunched her face. “What makes you think that's still the case? I mean, you yourself said it was a very long time ago.”
“I built a gate to Hell. They wish to destroy it and me.” Ballard would strike him down right now if he could. And Layla next.
Her expression smoothed. “Good point. No angels, then.”
“Eventually they will come for me, but I want to spend as much time with you as possible.” They were both mortal, yet in the schema of this callous universe, it was still impossible for them to be together.
“Aside from the gate business, we've got all the time in the world.” She sent a quick self-satisfied smile his way. “Got that out of Moira, too. Just about spun that frickin' thread myself.”
Very few mortals cheated Death. Fewer still, Fate. Shadowman was astonished, and yet, he believed. To alter a fate was impossible, but if anyone could, it was Layla. Hadn't she promised, upon her first death, that she would be back? Well, here she was beside him, radiant as ever. Dare he hope they could survive it all?
“Tell me everything,” he said.
They merged onto a main thoroughfare, traffic moving at a ferocious speed. She told him about the ghost clinging to life, the flight through Twilight, Zoe's mastery of the scythe, which made him again bereft at its loss. And then her capture by Moira, the sisters of Fate entrapping her in his winter.
“Your mind stayed sharp?” That was the first wonder of her escape.
“Oh, no, I was plenty crazy toward the end. But at the same time, everything made a weird kind of sense as well. It was like a nightmare or a dream where all the surface stuff stops mattering and what's important confronts you head-on, albeit in a twisted way.” Her gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, connected with something, then regarded the road again.
“Yes,” Shadowman said, “Shadow is exactly like that.”
“Anyway, I think I've got the hang of it now, though I wouldn't want to vacation there or anything. It did help me deal with Rose Petty and her mind games. Now I know anything is possible.”
So it would seem.
“You said the devil would be tracking us.” Maybe that's who she was looking for in the mirror. “Didn't Adam slay her?”
“She got away. Talk about a beast. Adam's trying to track her. The Order, too. We're going to stay in the Segue bunker for the time being. Hide out. Eventually, they'll bring her down.”
Layla leaned forward, squinting upward to peer at the sky. Then braked hard when she came too close to the vehicle in front.
“It's pointless to track her,” Shadowman said. He knew what had to be done. The devil wouldn't stop until Layla was dead, the gate secure.
He'd have to finish Rose himself. Even though he was mortal there was a way, though less expedient than his strength and power as fae Death. Mortals had been making deals with devils since the beginning of time. He'd simply do the same.
An adjacent car, boxy like the Hummer, nearly veered into Layla's space, and she jerked into another line of traffic, cursing, “Asshole!” All her previous levity was gone. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, her back straight and tense. “Hey, can you call Adam on that mobile?”
The car lurched forward as they were bumped from behind.
“What was that?” Shadowman asked. He grabbed the slender piece of technology from the slot in the dash but had no idea how to use it. Again, he was useless in this world.
“We're being followed, but I don't know who it could be. Only you, me, and Rose know about the warehouse.” A drip of sweat rolled down her temple. She puffed her hair out of her eyes.
Cold stole over Shadowman, and he shivered for the first time. Ever. “The angels know as well. They came for the gate, and moved it.”
“Angels are bullying me on the road?” she demanded. “They could get someone hurt!”
“They just want me.” The Order was taking no chances. A mage had been born, one who'd already brought Hell and death to the world. His cursed gate was his own death warrant. “You simply found me first.”
“Well, they can't have you.”
The boxy car veered again, scraping against theirs, the sound an offensive shriek of metal on metal.
And still the devil had to be dealt with. Might as well be now, before he lost this last chance.
“Get off this big road, Layla.” The calm in his voice surprised even him.
“No way.”
“We can't go on like this,” Shadowman insisted. “Trust me. Let me speak with them.”
“The angels will do what's right. Right?” But she didn't sound as if she believed it.
The truth was, the angels would do what they believed was right, whether it was or not. They had only their own counsel to go by, the good of humankind foremost in their minds. But there would be no doubt: A mage who'd built a gate to Hell would be best scrubbed from Earth. Unless of course, that mage meant to fight a devil first.
“This road is dangerous, Layla,” he reasoned. “Let's get off it before someone”—
meaning you
—“gets hurt.”

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