The Descent Series, Books 1-3: Death's Hand, The Darkest Gate, and Dark Union (The Descent Series, Volume 1) (72 page)

She froze. Her hazel eyes flashed.

Zettel stalked around the edge of the room, glancing over to make sure Allyson had the door secured, and stood over the woman. “Identify yourself.”

“Could I have my hood removed?” the man asked, voice muffled.

“You can, if your partner will behave herself.”

She glanced at the hooded man, and Zettel could see the calculations running through her mind. After a moment, she sat back and rested her hands on her knees. Her left hand was bruised, purpling and swelling, and still she had it in a fist.

Allyson jerked the hood off the man’s head. He winced and blinked at the bright light.

“Identify yourselves,” Zettel repeated.

The man cleared his throat. “I’m Lucas McIntyre. Could I have a drink of water, please?”

“You’re Lucas McIntyre? And what is your partner?”

“Leticia McIntyre. My wife.”

“I said,
what
is your wife?”

Lucas glanced at Leticia. “She’s my aspis. Please—I’m really thirsty.”

Zettel nodded, and Allyson left to find a bottle of water. “You swear that you are a kopis and she is your aspis?” When Lucas nodded, he said, “And you
swear
that you are Lucas McIntyre?”

“What’s going on? We haven’t done anything.”

“You’re the last person to see Michele Newcomb alive,” Zettel said, “and that makes you a person of great interest to the Union. I’m going to ask you to move away from your aspis, Mr. McIntyre. Get over there. On the wall.”

He didn’t hesitate to obey. Very nervous, like Allyson said. “Who is Michele Newcomb?” asked Lucas.

“She was our recruiter and a witch,” Zettel said as Allyson reentered the room with a bottle of water. She gave it to Lucas, who slurped half of it down with a sigh. “She put in a travel request to a private home at an unspecified Clark County address—
your
address. Michele Newcomb was found dead a few miles away. You’re the last person she saw.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said again. “We haven’t done anything wrong. Can you let us go?” He was so polite, and he clasped his hands together. “At least return Leticia’s gloves. She needs them.”

Allyson gestured. “Gary.” Zettel went outside to talk with his aspis. “I think she might be a witch after all. There’s
something
there. They’re also lying. I don’t buy that they’re married.”

“Let’s give them a few minutes,” he said. “I want to see what’s in their bags.”

A
nthony and Elise
sat in silence. The camera in the corner was a clear message—they didn’t dare speak where they would be observed. It didn’t take long for Allyson to reenter the trailer alone. She threw a pair of gloves at Elise. “This is your territory, isn’t it?” the witch asked.

Anthony glanced at Elise, who gave a tiny nod as she gloved her unbroken hand. “Yes,” he said.

“The Union apologizes for the rough handling. We’d like to offer medical treatment, Mrs. McIntyre, and we would also like to return your belongings. I hope you understand that the Union must be cautious—for the safety of our staff.”

They stood as best as they could with their hands bound, and Allyson removed the plastic ties from their wrists.

When they stepped outside, Anthony was only half-surprised to find himself in the middle of the Union’s temporary camp. He caught glimpses of fence topped by barbed wire and passing people who wore all black, like they were commandos. The trip was too short to see much else, for which he was grateful. He didn’t want to be paraded around in his boxers.

Allyson led them to a tent with a single table in the center and a very conspicuous camera wired to the corner. Their clothes were laid out on the table, but their possessions—including Elise’s daggers—were nowhere in sight.

“I’ll be back for you in five minutes,” the witch said, and she let the flaps of the tent fall shut behind her. The semblance of privacy it provided was a joke. There was no privacy in the room, not with the cameras watching and people waiting outside.

Anthony pulled on his jeans and t-shirt as Elise dressed in silence. By the time he finished and turned back around, she was struggling to button her shirt. Pain furrowed her brow.

A man clutching a medical kit to his chest entered the tent unannounced. He was a young Latino man, probably younger than Elise, and so thin that a good desert wind could have blown him away. “Afternoon! I’m Francisco—Frank—jack-of-all-trades around the Union camp here. I hear someone’s got a broken hand?”

Elise just glared, so Anthony said, “Her right hand.”

He tried to spread her fingers. “Ooh, that’s a bad one. You must have fought well to earn Allyson’s tender loving care! Let’s see if we can set these bones.”

She didn’t speak as the man worked. Frank was surprisingly gentle as he wrapped bandages from forearm to knuckles.

“How’s that feel?” he asked, still too cheerfully. Elise didn’t respond, and he went on as though he had expected as much. “Fantastic! That should do well enough. Might want to heal yourself up first chance you get, though. Are you a healing witch? Well, find one who is.” Frank gave Elise a friendly punch on the shoulder, and she scowled.

The tent flap opened again. Zettel carried a pair of folding chairs under his arm, which he set up in the middle of the tent. “Sit, Mr. McIntyre.” Anthony obeyed, but Elise made no move. Zettel folded his arms across his chest. It was a difficult pose; his muscles were so thick that they couldn’t have rested flat at his sides, either. “Has your partner’s hand been satisfactorily addressed?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Frank, take Mrs. McIntyre outside. Allyson’s waiting to interview her.” As soon as Elise and the self-proclaimed everyman had left, Zettel straddled the other chair. “Are you familiar with the Union of Kopides and Aspides?”

“I kind of think I am now, yeah.”

The commander ignored his response. “We’re an international corporation that trains, organizes, and funds partnerships such as yours. Thanks to private investors, we’re in the process of building a worldwide army that stands on the front lines of the war against Heaven and Hell. Are you familiar with the dangers both pose against humans?”

Anthony tried to decide if that was a trick question. He took a little too long to say, “Sure.”

“Things are sorely out of balance for the humans. One of the Union’s primary missions is to stop in-fighting amongst humans—kopides, aspides, and anyone else with special talents. We have to unite to focus our energies. Take up the sword and shield to defend ourselves.” He focused fully on Anthony. “Did you have an old rivalry with Michele Newcomb?”

“Uh, no.”

“Then why did you kill her?”

“I’ve never even met her.”

Zettel frowned. “You’re lying.”

“Yeah. Right. I am lying to a man who could shoot me dead on the spot.” Anthony rolled his eyes. “That’s a smart idea.”

“Why don’t you have any identification in your luggage?”

“You got in my luggage?”

“How long have you been married?” Zettel asked instead of responding.

Anthony’s pulse accelerated. Oh, hell. Allyson was probably asking Elise the same thing. When had they started dating? May? “Just about four months.”

“Newlyweds. Congrats. What year were you born?”

“Why the hell do you care?”

Zettel unfolded his arms, cracked his knuckles. Even though he had a schooled, east-coast accent, he still gave the physical impression of being a very smart gorilla with a crew cut. “Belligerence didn’t treat your wife very well. There are dozens of Union operatives arrayed throughout this base, and all of them are armed.”

“I’ve never even heard of Michele Newcomb. You can ask all the questions you want and that won’t change.”

“This can take all day if it needs to,” Zettel said. “All week.”

“Are you listening to a single thing I say?”

Judging by the commander’s expression, Anthony was ninety-nine percent sure that Zettel didn’t believe a thing he was saying. “She’s aggressive for an aspis,” he went on.

Anthony had to laugh at that. “She would be aggressive for a coked-out cage fighter.”

“You claim you don’t know Michele Newcomb. Would it be possible, then, for you to make any guesses as to why she might have had your name on her travel request?”

“You said she was a recruiter, right? Maybe she wanted to recruit us. How the hell am I supposed to guess at a stranger’s motivations?”

Zettel stared at him. Anthony responded in kind.

After a lengthy two minutes, which felt more like two hours, Zettel spoke into his phone. “You done yet? Bring her back in here.” Allyson escorted Elise back into the tent. She didn’t look like any new bones were broken, but she didn’t look happy, either.

“How long have they been married?” Allyson asked.

Zettel smirked. “Four months.” They both laughed.

So was that it? Had Elise given the wrong answer? Were they about to get shot and left to bleed out in the desert? Anthony couldn’t even find it in himself to panic beyond a slight hiccup of worry. Fear wasn’t nearly as heavy as the misery he had been carrying for weeks. It was actually a refreshing change.

But nobody drew a gun. Zettel stood.

“You both understand, this is an important summit. More important than any before. Not only are we dealing with a critical issue, this is the Union’s first move to provide some desperately needed organization to the United States. We can’t risk this going FUBAR. You got me?”

Elise glowered.

The commander strode to the flap and lifted it open.

“The first meeting is in an hour. I’ll expect to see you both there,” Zettel said. “We’ll be in contact.”

“You’re letting us go?” Anthony asked, but Elise was already grabbing his arm to haul him outside. The top of his head immediately stung from the sunlight.

“See you around,” Allyson said.

Elise shot the Union members a cold look. “Yes. You will.”

VII

T
he Union dropped
Elise and Anthony off at the edge of town. He waited until the black SUV headed back to camp before speaking.

“Seriously, screw those guys,” Anthony said. Elise slowly, carefully, tried to flex the fingers on her broken hand, but it was too painful. Her weekend was not off to a good start. “You know this is a trap, right? They know we’re lying. They’ve only let us go so they can mess with us later.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m going back to Las Vegas.”

Anthony blinked in surprise. “You can’t be running away.”

“I’m not. I need answers, and the only person who might have them is McIntyre. And I’m not going to wait to see what the Union will do to us next.”

“He’s going to be busy with his wife, don’t you think?” Anthony asked, frowning.

“They broke my hand,” she growled, shaking her bandaged fist at him. “I’m going to break the other one on his face if he knew that we were going to deal with murder charges.”

He pushed her wrist down—gently. “Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

“You’re not coming. You have to attend the meetings and do your duty as kopis.”

“But I’m not—”

“Shh.” She put her unbroken hand over his mouth and glanced around. They were on an empty street corner. The only person she could see was another hot, exhausted kopis dragging himself toward the high school gym. But just because nobody was watching didn’t mean they weren’t listening.

He whispered into her ear. “I don’t know anything about…
anything
.”

“You know something about this. Trust me. There’s only one issue on the agenda—a violated quarantine on an ethereal dimension,” Elise said. Anthony stared at her blankly. “Because someone opened a gate.”

Realization dawned. “Oh.
Oh
. That’s bad.”

“At the meeting today, they will discuss who needs to be responsible for guarding the gates. The Union will make a case for it being their job and insist on stationing a unit or six in Reno. I don’t want those assholes anywhere near the gate. You need to insist that the local overlord guard the gate instead.”

“But you killed her.” He lowered his voice. “The Night Hag is dead.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It kind of matters a lot,” Anthony said. “I can’t face down some crazy organization on my own. Especially not with angels and demons and God only knows—”

She cut him off with a hand on his chest. “Just do it. This is important.”

“Then you do it!”

“I’m not going to argue with you. I’m taking care of McIntyre. You take care of the gate. Got it?”

She walked away.

“Elise,” he said. When she didn’t turn around, he repeated louder, “Elise!”

“Leticia,” she shot back over her shoulder.

Elise ducked into the gas station before heading out. She soaked her button-up shirt in the sink and wrapped it around her hair. Then she walked out of town, past the trailers, beyond the “Welcome to Silver Wells, Land of Plenty!” sign, and hiked up the hill to the abandoned the car. Her shirt was soaked with sweat by the time she reached it.

Elise opened the car, grimaced at the blast of hot air, and used the open door to push it onto the road. Only one of her arms was any good, so she leaned her shoulder against the metal. It burned through her shirt.

She pushed it about a quarter mile before getting behind the wheel. Elise turned the key. The engine groaned as the dashboard flickered to life.

The drive to Las Vegas left her plenty of time to stew in anger. After all those years of teaming up with McIntyre—after they had taken down a whole legion together—and he had walked her straight into a trap. Elise didn’t trust many people, but she had trusted McIntyre. It was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.

Are you okay?

James’s voice was tentative in the back of her skull. She tightened her good hand on the steering wheel and tried to focus on the long, flat road in front of her. “I’m fine,” she told the horizon.

You’re in pain.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

His presence faded again.
Very well.

She almost wished he wouldn’t go. It was a long drive from Silver Wells to the hospital, and the company would have been nice. But James hadn’t been good company lately—they had barely spoken since Betty died.