Summoner of Storms Page 3

  The leap is fueled by Caleb’s TK, both of them united in this. They describe an arc through the clear air, and for a moment he thinks it will not be enough, they will not quite reach—

  His claws sink into the metallic skin of the helicopter, sliding across it before catching. The machine swings wildly, balance disrupted by his sudden impact, and he hears shouts from within.

  “Fuck! We’re barely hanging on here!”

  True, and he doesn’t wish to fall. He sinks his claws in deeper and begins to peel back the metal skin. Rivets pop, and the shouts inside grow more insistent.

  A bullet smashes into his hip, nearly knocking them free. Hot agony and shattered bone, and he sees one of the RD soldiers leaning out the side of the helicopter, preparing to fire again.

  Most annoying.

  The helicopter jinks and dives, trying to shake him off. For a moment, all his weight depends from his claws, and several rip free in a blaze of pain. But he cannot let go; he cannot let this infernal machine kill John.

  Drawing back one arm, he punches the metal plate, tearing it off. He hooks his arms into the opening he’s created for a more secure hold.

  “Forget that—those cables look important! Rip them loose!”

  He shrugs and does as Caleb suggests. Instantly, a hideous whine comes from somewhere in the machine. The helicopter lurches, one of the rotors freezing. The soldier shooting at them falls from his perch with a scream.

  The ground is coming closer with disturbing speed.

  “Shit! Jump! Jump!”

  * * *

  The gunship struck just within the surrounding woods, impact shaking the ground beneath John’s feet. Orange flames stretched their fingers toward the sky. Groans and pops came from the pines nearest the burning helicopter, sap boiling beneath the bark in the intense heat.

  Gray, Caleb, please no. John had taken refuge under one of the transports when the gunship began to strafe everyone fleeing the house. He’d last glimpsed Gray clinging to the side of the helicopter, before it vanished into the trees. Gray could survive a broken neck, a bullet to the head, but a raging inferno?

  John left the concealment of the transport. Whether or not any possessed soldiers remained to try and kill him, he didn’t know. Didn’t care. Right now he could only run, as hard as he could, as if reaching the crash site fast enough would somehow change fate.

  A dark shape stepped out of the woods, cast into silhouette by the burning gunship. Gray’s hair writhed around his shoulders, and his coat flared out behind him, the orange light catching on the silver buckles of his boots. Everything looked intact and uncharred; he’d doubtless leapt clear before the crash.

  John must have flown the last few feet between them, because suddenly his arms wrapped around Gray and his face pressed into one leather-clad shoulder. The coat smelled of cordite and pine resin.

  For a moment, Gray stood very still, before returning the embrace. Etheric energy wrapped around John like a cocoon. “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” John said into Gray’s shoulder. “You just scared the shit out of me.”

  “I am sorry,” Gray said, in his weirdly formal way. “If it is any consolation, Caleb was also very concerned for a few moments.”

  John laughed. “I bet.” He let go of Gray and stepped back.

  One column of black smoke rose from the planation house and a second from the burning helicopter. Someone would surely call the fire department, no matter how far from civilization they were. Tires and machine gun fire had gouged the front lawn, and dead bodies, both SPECTR and Vigilant, littered it. Screams and wails of pain came from the wounded.

  John broke into a jog. Tiffany stood near the gaping hole in the side of the building, one hand up to her mouth, coughing violently. Soot smudged her skin and her eyes were bloodshot from the smoke. A pyrokinetic, she was more or less invulnerable to fire, but smoke inhalation or falling debris would kill her as easily as anyone else.

  “Is anyone still in there?” John asked. Damn it, rockets hit the place—the whole thing might come down at any second.

  Tiffany nodded, wiping her mouth with the back of a hand. “M-Mom. A couple of others. I tried to go in, but the smoke—”

  John swore and frantically scanned the structure for some way in not blocked by smoke and flames. Going inside would be suicide, but they couldn’t just stand there and let Renée die without at least trying.

  “I will go,” Gray said, although he didn’t sound entirely pleased about it.

  Neither was John. “Are you sure?”

  “It is survivable.” Gray’s lips pursed. “And Caleb says we should.”

  The drakul drew a deep breath. Before either John or Tiffany could say anything, he darted into the smoke.

  “Shit, he’s fast.” Tiffany’s voice trembled. “He’ll get to her.”

  “Damn right he will,” John said.

  An eternity passed. The house groaned alarmingly as the fire ate at its support beams. What the hell was taking so long? Had they found her? Had smoke overcome Gray after all? Or had he fallen through a floor into the heart of the fire? What if—

  The smoke billowed, and Gray reappeared. In his arms, he held Renée’s limp body.

  “Hurry—get her in the back of the transport!” Tiffany shouted.

  “Was there anyone else inside?” called another of the Vigilant.

  “No.” Soot darkened Gray’s skin, and red rimmed his obsidian eyes, which streamed from the smoke. “All were dead. And this one is dying.”

  “Like hell!” Tiffany’s dark eyes blazed. “You’re not a fucking medic! Just put her down where we can take care of her.”

  Other wounded were being loaded into the transports, but everyone made way for Gray to carefully lay Renée down. One look at her sent John’s heart into the pit of his stomach. She was soaked in blood, fragments of white bone protruding from amidst the welter. Her lips and nails had taken on a bluish tinge, and her breaths came quick but shallow.

  Tiffany swore, voice cracking. “Somebody get a first aid kit over here!”

  “This is way past first aid.” John stripped off his shirt and pressed it against the worst wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. “She needs a hospital, now!”

  Renée moaned when he applied pressure. The sound made him wince—fuck, she was already in terrible pain, and he couldn’t help but make it worse. But they needed to get the bleeding stopped.

  She waved one hand weakly. “Tiffany,” she gasped. Blood specked her lips, which was never a good sign. Internal bleeding at the very least.

  Tiffany grabbed her hand and clutched it. “I’m here,” she said. “I’m here, Mama. You’re going to be okay.”

  “Forsyth...the demon army...” Renée’s breath hitched. “It makes sense now. But where? You have to find out where.”

  “Where what?” Tiffany asked. When Renée didn’t answer, she gripped her mother’s hand even harder. “I don’t understand. Where what? Mom?”

  John let up on the pressure. Renée didn’t move. No breath stirred her chest, and her pupils slowly blew wider as even the muscles in her eyes relaxed in death.

  “No,” Tiffany whispered.

  One of the other Vigilant touched her shoulder. “We’ve got to go, Tiffany. I mean, la capitaine.”

  Tiffany blinked rapidly, and for a moment John thought she hadn’t heard the man through her grief. Then she gently lowered her mother’s arm to the floor of the transport. “Yeah. We need to scatter. Take all the vehicles and go—it will confuse them for a while.”

  She scrambled out of the back of the truck and headed for one of the sedans. “Break up into groups!” she shouted at the Vigilant still milling around. “Get out and go to ground! Now!” Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Starkweather, Jansen, you’re with me.”

  “Where are we going?” Caleb asked; apparently Gray had lost interest in the proceedings at some point and let Caleb take over again.

  Tiffany flung open the door and leveled a
hard stare at him over the roof of the car. “The fuck away from here. Now get your skinny ass in the car before the cops show up.”

  * * *

  John crossed the enormous parking lot of a truck stop somewhere along I-95 south, carrying a tray of coffee and bags of greasy food, and wearing a new “I Heart Georgia” t-shirt. The sun hovered on the horizon, turning the sky a weird shade of pinkish-gold. The acrid stink of exhaust and rumble of engines seemed almost comfortingly normal after everything else.

  Tiffany had parked the sedan in the far reaches of the nearly empty lot. They’d made one earlier stop, just before getting on the interstate. Opening the trunks, she’d revealed an arsenal: several hand guns, a shotgun, and a dozen silver-plated knives. A hidden compartment yielded a handful of credit cards, a prepaid cell phone, and a number of driver’s licenses bearing Renée’s picture paired with different names.

  “Let’s not get pulled over for speeding,” he’d muttered. She’d only glared at him and slammed the trunk shut.

  He balanced the coffee tray on the roof while opening the door. “Dinner and coffee,” he said, passing one of the bags to her as he climbed in.

  “Thanks.” She hadn’t said much since they’d left the burning safe house in their rearview mirror. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

  “Still in the shower.” The only drawback to Caleb’s hair was how long it took to get blood and tangles out. They’d left him in the car while renting the shower. Having fought the possessed soldiers hand-to-hand, not to mention drinking their blood, he’d looked like an ax murderer. Anyone seeing him would have called the cops for sure.

  “Should have just run him through a car wash,” she muttered. She didn’t touch her food, but took a cautious sip of the coffee.

  John cleared his throat. “Listen, Tiffany. About your mom. I’m—”

  “Stow it, Starkweather.” She stared out the front windshield.

  “I know this can’t be easy—”

  “I’m la capitaine now. People depend on me for their lives.” Tiffany took a bigger gulp of coffee, as if she wished it were booze instead. “I knew I’d have to take over some day, just like she took over from her mother. I didn’t expect it to be today, but you don’t get to choose these things. I don’t need some damn pep talk from you, and I sure as hell don’t need a hug.”

  Caleb opened the back door and slid in behind them. “What’s this about hugs?”

  “I’m giving them out,” John said, passing coffee back. Caleb’s hair hung damply about his shoulders, and he smelled like the cheap soap and shampoo they’d bought when renting the shower. “Normally I charge, but I’ll make an exception for you.”

  Caleb snorted. “Right now I’ll settle for some food, thanks.”

  “They didn’t have much you could eat.” John passed one of the bags back. “Sorry, babe.”

  Caleb peered into the bag. “Fries and a donut. Good thing I’ve got Gray to keep my arteries from exploding.”

  “There are a couple of power bars, too.”

  John dug out his burger, and they ate in silence for a few minutes. Or at least he and Caleb did. Tiffany picked at one or two fries and went back to guzzling coffee.

  “What now?” Caleb asked after a few minutes.

  John had considered the question throughout the long drive. “Everyone in SPECTR isn’t involved in this. Hell, most people aren’t.”

  Tiffany snorted. “You aren’t suggesting taking this to SPECTR.”

  “You’re an agent, too,” he shot back. “Or were. You know—”

  “No, I don’t, and neither do you.” She crumpled her empty coffee cup in her fist. “You don’t have a clue who’s trustworthy, and who will stab us in the back first chance they get. If you did, you wouldn’t have taken Caleb straight to Sean, would you?”

  John’s stomach tightened around the food he’d eaten. He’d tried hard not to think about Sean. About the man he’d called his best friend, the guy he’d known since they were fifteen years old, who’d helped him move into his first apartment and commiserated with him on his love life.

  Sean, who’d gone over to Forsyth and put a bullet through the back of Caleb’s head.

  Nausea shook him, and it took all his self-control just to breathe and wait for the feeling to subside, instead of throwing open the car door and puking in the parking lot.

  “John?” Caleb’s hand on his shoulder, but his voice slid into a slightly deeper register, Gray getting in on the act as well.

  “I’m okay.” Maybe if he said it enough times, he’d start to believe it.

  Tiffany shook her head, braids murmuring against the shoulders of her jacket. “You go to the wrong person on this, and we’re all dead.”

  “She’s right.” Caleb’s voice was entirely his own again. “I mean...you saw RD. That kind of funding, no way the director doesn’t know about this. Even if we find somebody trustworthy to take it to, one of the other district chiefs or something, they’ll find themselves under the hammer right beside us.”

  “Not to mention, I think the Pentagon is involved at some level,” Tiffany added. “These poor bastards they’re stuffing full of demons have to come from somewhere. And it wouldn’t be the first time the armed forces handed over soldiers for some dubious experiments.”

  “And there’s one other consideration.” Caleb sat back in the seat again. “I’m a hopeless case now as far as SPECTR is concerned, right? A lost cause? Past my forty-day expiration date. They’re either going to want me in a cell or dead.”

  The memory of Caleb sprawled on the filthy floor of the abandoned house, his long hair soaking in the pool of blood spreading out from his shattered head...

  John flung open the door and staggered out, before falling to his knees and losing everything in his stomach.

  A car door slammed. A moment later, Caleb’s warm hands rubbed a comforting circle on his back. “John? You okay?”

  “Not really.” He spat, wishing he’d thought to grab some mouthwash while inside the truck stop. “It’s nothing.”

  “The hell it isn’t.” Caleb helped him up.

  “Later.” John slid back into the car. “Okay, fine. Turning to SPECTR is out. What are we going to do? Hide?”

  “Tonight, yes.” Tiffany started the car. “I’ve got ways of contacting people, all right? Now shut up so I can concentrate on driving.”

  Chapter 4

  “Home sweet home,” John said, swinging open the hotel room door. “At least for tonight.”

  Caleb followed him inside dubiously. Except for the keycard readers on the doors, the place hadn’t been updated since the ‘70s. The shag carpet beneath his boots had worn thin from the tread of a thousand other feet. The faint trace of mildew and dust underlay the fake pine fragrance of whatever they used to clean the shower, although he doubted anyone without his enhanced senses would notice.

  Caleb dropped his new backpack on the avocado green comforter of one of the twin beds. After the truck stop, they’d hit a 24-hour big box store for clothes and toiletries. He’d worried Tiffany would insist on driving farther, even though she looked like hell, with bags under her bloodshot eyes. Fortunately she’d pulled off at this hotel not too much farther down the interstate. It was the sort of place no one thought twice about payments made in cash.

  “All right, Tiffany.” John dropped a small suitcase beside the backpack. “I’ve been patient. I know this is hard on you. But I want some answers.”

  From the scowl on her face, Tiffany wasn’t in the mood to give any. But she stepped inside and shut the door behind her. “I gave you answers this morning. Remember?”

  John didn’t back down, hands on his hips and his blue eyes steady on her face. “What did Renée mean when she said the drakul are gods on this earth?”

  Great. Just what Caleb had spent all day not thinking about. What did she mean, anyway?

  “I do not know. If there are gods, I have never seen one. It is all mortal nonsense.”

  He sank down o
n the edge of the bed, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Gray says it’s mortal nonsense,” he offered weakly.

  It was the wrong thing to say. Tiffany’s expression went from angry to annoyed. “Oh? And what does he say he is?”

  “I am myself, of course.”

  Oh yeah, very helpful. Caleb repeated Gray’s answer anyway and received an eye roll from Tiffany.

  “Fine.” She leaned her back against the door and crossed her arms over her chest. “Listen up. If the drakul has anything useful to say, speak up. Otherwise, I’ll tell you what we think we know.”

  “You don’t sound very certain,” John said.

  “Shit, Starkweather, did you sleep through Non-Human Entities 101? Nobody knows a goddamned thing about them, not really. It’s all guesses and speculation.”

  “I thought the Vigilant were in favor of communicating with NHEs?” John crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Tiffany’s stance. Caleb wondered if he did it on purpose or unconsciously.

  Tiffany’s scowl became even more pronounced. “We are. But here’s the thing—they aren’t human. Whatever state they exist in naturally, they don’t have human brains. Once they have access to ours, they start thinking more like we do, but there’s still a disconnect. Otherwise you would have already gotten all the answers you wanted from your boyfriend there.”

  “I tried,” John admitted.

  “I thought you would.” Tiffany smirked. “Okay, let’s start with what we know for sure. It’s obvious certain NHEs have affinities for certain things. Early humans worshipped many of them as nature spirits. Look at the wendigo—they spread frost over anything they touch. It always comes back to sex with incubi. Therianthropes are blind rage. However they exist in the etheric plane, they obviously have or develop a connection to this world.”

  Is that true?

  Flickers of memory, disjointed and fragmented. Rain and lightning and wind. Hunting. Eating.