Shaker of Earth (SPECTR Series 2 Book 5) Page 4

  It does not matter. SPECTR will view them as the enemy now. John will never love them again. The past cannot be undone, even if they somehow stop Drugoy and Yuri from destroying the city.

  “I know.” Their heartbreak is the same, resonating between them. “But we’ve still got each other, for what that’s worth.”

  It is worth a great deal. He loves John and always will, but Caleb is his other self. And he is so, so very lucky to have found Caleb, when it might so easily have been someone else. Or when he might have been called forth and put into a living body from the beginning, a Forsyth or a Yuri.

  “Yeah, yeah, I love you too. But don’t get all maudlin on me now. We’ve got a job to do.”

  Yes. Gray scans the streets below once again. They are going south and west.

  “I see it. The area between Calhoun and King has an awful lot of flashing lights. Where do you think they’re headed?”

  I do not know. Drugoy has been…corrupted. Gray hunts, and he protects his mortals, and he takes pleasure in John and Zahira’s company. All the rest is Caleb’s mortal nonsense.

  “Wow, thanks.”

  But Drugoy’s mind was warped from the moment he was brought into this world. He had been searching for Gray, before either of them even were Drugoy and Gray. Gray was summoned first, into a corpse that didn’t experience the full intensity of mortal emotions and feelings. The chaos of this world was deadened for him. And so he continued, body to body, across the millennia, until Caleb’s heart unexpectedly began to beat at the very moment Gray possessed him.

  Drugoy didn’t have that cushion of memory, of experience. Those who summoned him brought him into a living host. As with so many others dragged through the veil into this world, it had been too much, too fast, to bear. His mind fractured beneath the alien weight of lust and pain and pleasure, and all the other sensations of mortal life. The search for Gray had twisted in on itself, becoming a terrible obsession.

  It was the only reason they were still alive, Drugoy unable to bear to bring himself to kill the one he had sought across time and space.

  “He means this to be our punishment,” Caleb says suddenly.

  What do you mean?

  “Drugoy and Yuri don’t see mortals as anything but amusing diversions, or annoyances to be removed. Even Dru’s renfields are there to be used and discarded.”

  This is why Deacon betrayed him?

  “I’m not even going to try to figure out Deacon’s issues. My point is, we chose John—a mortal—over Yuri and Dru. We were horrified over the cruelty of the sirens, and you spoke up for the value of mortal life. Dru’s been looking for you for thousands of years, and when he finally finds you, you pick mortals over him.”

  It makes a terrible sort of sense. So this chaos, this death, is directed at us.

  “I think so. Like, I don’t know, an abuser threatening his victim’s pet. They’re showing us what happens when we try to leave, so we don’t do it again.”

  Gray’s claws dig deeper into the steeple’s tiles. We must stop them.

  “Yeah.” They scan the city again. “The good news is, in the direction they’re going, they’ll run out of peninsula eventually. I think our best bet is to head down the peninsula, until we hit South Battery. Then we sweep east until we find them.”

  It is a good plan. And we will eat any demons we come across on the way.

  “That we will.”

  Let the hunt begin.

  * * *

  King Street looked like a set from a film about the apocalypse.

  John sat in the backseat of the SPECTR SUV, staring out the window in silent horror. Traffic inched forward, and the street was far too narrow for cars to pull off ahead of the SUV despite its flashing lights and siren. A sedan with a shattered windshield blocked one lane, the glass shards glistening with blood where the driver had been hauled out by force.

  Police in riot gear shouted orders for people to get off the street. Unfortunately, this was the major shopping district, and it was far too early for most of the businesses to be open. There were only a few places of easy refuge, which meant packs of confused tourists huddled in doorways or ran down the sidewalks in search of alleys or lanes. A few more spry people could be spotted climbing over iron gates meant to block access to private residences. Unfortunately, such gates weren’t effective at keeping out NHEs, as evidenced by one lying in the sidewalk, torn free from its hinges.

  Beside him, Zahira murmured a prayer under her breath. Karl sat on her other side, and three more agents crammed into the rearmost seat. A pyrokinetic drove, while Wells rode in the passenger seat, listening intently to a headset.

  “They’ve lost Azarov,” she reported. “He’s disappeared off the traffic and security cameras.”

  “They’ve probably taken to the rooftops,” John said. “Gray uses them to travel fast without being spotted. I’m sure Drugoy does as well.”

  “Look!” The driver pointed out the windshield. “Up ahead.”

  John leaned between the seats to peer out. The street made a bend ahead of them, blocking visibility, but he glimpsed a large, furred shape clawing at a heavy pair of locked fire doors. Traffic came to a complete stop, and the narrow streets gave them no room to maneuver the SUV any closer.

  “Looks like we’re going in on foot,” he said grimly.

  “You heard the man,” Wells said. “Let’s go!”

  There came a chorus of “Yes, ma’am!” and everyone bailed out of the SUV. John hit the sidewalk at a jog, weaving between vehicles that had tried to pull off, Zahira at his side and the other agents following.

  “SPECTR!” shouted one of the stranded drivers.

  “Help us!” pleaded another.

  “Go get ‘em!”

  “What’s going on? Oh my God, I can’t reach my wife, the phone isn’t working!”

  “Save us, please, don’t leave!”

  The cries spurred him on. Maybe SPECTR was more a family than a job, but this was why he’d become a field agent. Because he had a skill normal people didn’t have, a skill that could save lives.

  His pulse beat fast in the base of his throat, and he held his Glock at the ready as more of the street came into view around the bend.

  Two werewolves—and two ghouls, all of them ripping at the locked doors, trying to reach the people hiding inside. And with them, a much larger figure, towering seven feet in height and covered in muscle and fur.

  Arktothrope. Werebear.

  “What the ever-loving fuck?” Wells exclaimed, mouth all but hanging open. Because it didn’t make any sense. Sometimes pack hunting NHEs like lycanthropes and ghouls would travel in bands, yes. But they never worked across species, any more than a wolf pack would join with hyenas.

  “John, look!” Zahira pointed. “Do you see the etheric energy? Like ropes or a web…?”

  The bright light of the rising sun had caused him to miss them at first. A shimmering silver cord bound each of the NHEs, vanishing off to the south.

  “I’ve seen this before,” he said. “Howard Brimm used something similar to control the ghouls under his command.”

  The pyrokinetic shaded his eyes. “I don’t see anything.”

  “Because you’re not an exorcist.” John’s mind raced. “Yuri’s controlling them; he must be. That’s why they’re working together the way they are. A silver knife will sever the cords. It might not help, but it could make them more cautious, less crazed.”

  “At least then they won’t be acting as a pack,” Wells said. “All right, exorcists to the front. Cut through the silver cords. Everyone else, hold your fire unless you have a clear shot.”

  They split into two groups, the exorcists swinging wide, making for the silver cords. One of the werewolves left off the assault on the doors, its distorted head swinging toward them. A growl began to boil out of its chest, threatening to erupt into a howl at the sight of unprotected prey.

  There came a gunshot, silver-jacketed lead catching it in the side. It let out a yelp—then spun in the direction of its attacker with a roar.

  More gunshots, and the other werewolf and ghouls abandoned the hidden prey in favor of the SPECTR agents. John sprinted between overturned cars, making for the shimmering, silvery web of etheric energy binding the NHEs to Yuri’s will.

  The air dinned with howls and snarls now—followed by a scream. One of the werewolves had reached the other half of the team and flung itself onto an agent, huge jaws latching onto the pyrokinetic’s arm.

  Fire erupted in its mouth. Within seconds, the werewolf was screaming as well. It jerked back, leaving the agent to take a reeling step away, blood gushing from his mauled forearm.

  Damn it.

  Then they were out from among the cars and had a clear line to the cords. Offering up a prayer to Sekhmet, John brought his silver athame down on the thread of etheric energy.

  It began to unravel under the edge of the blade, one strand after another parting beneath the force of his will. Zahira and the others joined him, and within seconds the werewolf was free.

  It staggered back, shaking its head violently. Then it turned in a circle, snarling, realizing the trap and wanting out.

  “It’s working!” John called encouragingly.

  A ghoul was next; it cringed and howled, scrabbling off beneath a truck in an attempt to hide from the sunlight. What had been a united front of teeth and claws and death crumbled rapidly. The NHEs were still incredibly dangerous on their own, but much less so than as a group.

  Another ghoul free. A werewolf.

  Wait. There had been a werebear. Where had it gone?

  A roar sounded directly behind John.

  * * *

  Caleb and Gray move swiftly from rooftop to rooftop for as long as they can, coming to ground
only when they spot a lone ghoul or werewolf, hastily killed and consumed. Weariness begins to fall away, the last few superficial cuts healing over at last. But they will need a good deal more if they are to face Drugoy again.

  As for how they might defeat Drugoy, when they failed so badly before, Gray does not know, and Caleb has no helpful suggestions. But they have no choice—they cannot wait, while demons tear through the city and Drugoy feeds and feeds. The first earthquake was a warning, a hint of what might happen if Drugoy fully manifests.

  “Do you think he would? They might be pissed at us, but at the same time, Yuri at least really likes the mortal lifestyle. I can’t imagine him agreeing to become like…that.”

  A thing of hunger and need, Caleb means. The thing they had become on Fort Sumter, that longed for blood and more blood.

  John had brought them back to themselves that day. But should Yuri and Drugoy manifest, they have no John to help them.

  “Yeah, well, neither do we.”

  Gray cannot argue, so he says only, I do not know if Drugoy will wish to fully manifest. But I do not think it is a risk we can take. We may not be able to stop them now; we would never be able to stop them then.

  They managed to fight Forsyth’s drakul only by allowing Gray to fully manifest as well. But they have no convenient bottles of demons to gorge upon this time.

  “So that’s not happening. I guess we just hope for the best. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  Perhaps.

  As they move farther into the Historic District, the houses become larger, the lawns wider, until they have no choice but to abandon the roofs and descend to the sidewalk. Fortunately there are few cars, and all of them parked along the sidewalks, unlike the chaos of the main thoroughfares. If any mortals are about, they have chosen to stay locked inside their homes.

  “Legare Street,” Caleb says. “Big money area. Maybe they have spirit wards to keep out NHEs? I think there are some private exorcists who hire out for that kind of thing.”

  Perhaps. Such wards would not stop Drugoy, but demons are another matter.

  The relative quiet ends abruptly with the sound of rending metal from ahead, accompanied by screams and the blare of a car horn.

  “Someone’s in trouble,” Caleb says urgently.

  There was no need to point that out. I can hear as well as you, Gray replies, and quickens his pace to a run.

  A minivan sits at a stop sign across from a high brick wall pierced by iron gates. Its hood has been buckled by a great weight, smoke and oil pouring out from underneath. Terrified faces stare out through the windshield.

  The creature menacing the mortals is larger than an ordinary human, though smaller than the grendel. Its body is gray and lumpen, and a horn protrudes from the center of its forehead, like that of a rhinoceros. Its eyes are tiny, and tusks jut from its lower jaw. Thick-fingered hands scrabble at the seams of the doors and windows, seeking to tear its way in by force.

  The scent of damp stone and rotting wood rolls out from it, delicious. An ogre. I have eaten these before. They are very strong.

  Their heart quickens with the anticipation of feeding. Under other circumstances, this would be a good hunt, simple and straightforward. But as they race toward the intersection, the ogre brings back its fist and smashes through the glass of the back passenger door. The shrieks become abruptly louder, and Caleb’s fear seeps into their veins. “Christ, there are kids in there!”

  The ogre reaches in and wrenches out a small body. The child struggles, howling its terror, kicking and biting as it is dragged from the car. The ogre’s cruel eyes gleam, and it opens its jaws to feast on the tender flesh.

  Gray roars with all the force in his lungs. The ogre’s head snaps up in alarm, distracted from its intended meal. For an instant it hesitates, torn between the wriggling prey and the predator descending on it.

  It is a mistake. Gray closes the distance in the blink of an eye, seizes the arm the ogre holds the boy with, and buries his fangs deep in its bicep.

  Blood bursts into their mouth, and he sucks it down eagerly. The ogre howls in anguish, drops the child—and hurls Gray away with its immense strength.

  Fangs rip free in a spray of blood. Gray smashes into the iron gates guarding the entrance to the old home, which bend beneath the force of the impact. Falling to the sidewalk, he gives his head a shake, blood absorbing and joints healing.

  For the most part, the black metal of the gate is formed into slender curlicues, more decorative than functional. But set just beside the lock on each gate, the iron has been forged into the unmistakable shape of a sword.

  The child screams. It has fallen to the street and is scooting back as quickly as it can, but the ogre will be on it in moments.

  Gray grasps the handle of the nearest sword and tears it free with a scream of abused metal.

  “What are you doing?” Caleb demands. “It’s not even a real sword. It’s a decoration, you crazy drakul!”

  Gray ignores him. Surging to his feet, Gray puts himself between the ogre and the child. The ogre should flee him as a predator, but either Yuri is controlling it, or it is maddened by the screams of its prey. Hefting the sword, Gray brings it around in an arc just as the ogre charges.

  The blade is dull, but combined with his own great strength, it is enough to bite deep into the ogre’s neck. The demon’s growl turns into a gurgle, and it scrabbles at its throat, crumpling to its knees.

  Gray hurls the sword away and falls on the ogre, pressing his mouth eagerly to the wound. Sweet blood pumps out along with its dying heart, energy coursing through him as it is absorbed. The last of the strength leaves the ogre and it slumps dead to the street.

  “Get away from my son!” a woman screams.

  Startled, Gray looks up, just in time to see a tire iron swinging at his face.

  Chapter 5

  John spun, athame slashing blindly in the direction of the werebear’s roar. The silver blade caught in furred hide, and it let out a cry of rage and pain, twisting away from the knife. The blade snagged in tendon—then was wrenched from John’s hand.

  The creature reared up in front of him, blood oozing from one forearm. Huge, a vast wall of muscle and bone, its head a twisted parody of a grizzly. Its jaws gaped open for another roar, revealing jagged teeth, and hot breath reeking of decay blasted into John’s face.

  He brought up his Glock, firing again and again. The bullets struck the werebear in the chest. Blood spurted from the wounds, but the pain seemed only to enrage the NHE.

  The trigger clicked on an empty chamber.

  The world slowed around John as the werebear charged. His vision tunneled, and he was intensely aware of the saliva flying from its teeth, the fury in its red eyes. Training kicked in, an instinct he’d honed in the months after realizing sex with Gray boosted his exorcist powers, at least until Barillo had forbidden him to use it.

  He flung out one hand, but not to ward off the bear. A spiky rope of etheric energy, similar to what Yuri used to bind the NHEs, burst forth and buried itself in the werebear’s forehead.

  John had a split second to curse himself—exorcisms, no matter how powerful, had no effect on the permanently possessed. He’d wasted the last instant he might had done something to save himself.

  Except the rope…caught.

  The werebear rocked back with a scream, as though John had run a pike through its skull. Shock nearly broke John’s hold, but he firmed his concentration with a prayer to Sekhmet, narrowing in on the NHE. It struggled like a fish on a line, so he imagined more hooks forming, snagging its substance, entangling it until there was no escape.

  Then he wrenched it free.

  The werebear toppled as though felled by an ax. For a moment, the infected red tangle of its energy twisted in the air, detectible to John’s exorcist senses. But he had no bottle to trap it in, no Gray to eat it. There was nothing to do but release it to pass back into the etheric plane. He relaxed his hold, and the crimson energy flickered, then slipped away, returning to the realm from which it had originally been summoned.

  “How did you do that?” Zahira gasped. John blinked and realized the other exorcists who had come to his aid were staring in amazement. “Caleb said Yuri’s possessions are permanent.”

  There came a groan from the pavement before them. Even as John watched, the werebear’s form shifted and shrank, becoming more and more human. Within moments, a woman John recognized stared up at him, mouth open in shock.