Summoner of Storms Page 6

  “I’m sorry,” Caleb said at last, helplessly.

  Tiffany didn’t move. “Me too.”

  Caleb peered around at the still woods. “Why would SPECTR do this? Kidnapping people now? What the hell?”

  John holstered his Glock. “Hostages? To convince the Vigilant to turn themselves in?”

  “Maybe.” A horrible thought occurred to Caleb. “You don’t think Forsyth grabbed them to put demons in them, do you?”

  “Goddess,” John whispered, half-curse and half-prayer. “I hope not.”

  “How did Forsyth even know to send his goons here?”

  “A mole? Interrogating someone they’d already captured?” John leaned past Tiffany and gently shut the dead man’s eyes. “Without an empath, we can’t know who might have been compromised.”

  “Fuck,” Tiffany whispered. She dropped her hand and stood up. She stared at her uncle for a long moment, then turned away. “Come on. We need to get out of here.”

  Caleb gestured to the body. “Shouldn’t we...I don’t know, do something?”

  “We don’t have time to dig a grave. A pyre would give off too much smoke—someone might come to investigate.” She wiped a tear from her face. “The living have to come first.”

  Caleb glanced back at the body. It didn’t seem right to leave him there.

  “It is only a husk.”

  He was her uncle!

  “The mortal has ceased to exist. Burying his corpse will change nothing.”

  Remember how I tracked you down, trying to get Ben’s body back? She doesn’t care any less about her uncle than I did about my brother.

  “But Ben was gone. He could not care what I did with his remains. Why did you?”

  Caleb sighed and scrubbed at his face. Because I didn’t have anything else left of him.

  “Ah.” Gray considered, a tiger idly twitching its tail. “It was for your sake, not his. And burying this mortal would be for Tiffany’s sake, not his.”

  “What now?” John asked.

  Tiffany shook her head. “I don’t know. Go somewhere we can think.” She started up the slope toward the house.

  John and Caleb fell in behind her. She led the way back out of the woods and to the front lawn. The only sounds were the crunch of leaves under their feet. Even the birds and frogs fell silent.

  As they reached the driveway, the growl of a motor abruptly started from the direction of the road leading to the house. Caleb spun. An armored Humvee roared around the bend in the driveway and accelerated right at them.

  “John!” he shouted, and half-shoved, half-threw his lover out of the way. An instant later, the front of the Humvee smashed into him.

  * * *

  Gray snarls.

  Everything hurts, bones grinding back into place and muscles binding together. “They ran over us!” Caleb seems shocked, angry. “Fucking bastards!”

  And they would have run over John as well, had Caleb not moved him out of the way quickly enough. These mortals have done too much to tolerate—threatened them, threatened John. Taken innocent people, children even.

  He has inhabited the corpses of the young on occasion, knows how fragile they are, even for mortals. How vulnerable. He never gave it a great deal of thought before, more than any other aspect of human existence. Now...now it stirs heat in his chest, and brings out his claws in the desire to rend.

  Gray rolls to his feet even as the last bones snap back into place. One of the mortals in the vehicle lets out a horrified cry: “Oh shit, it’s the drakul!”

  “Kill it; kill it!”

  They have heard of him. Good.

  “Yeah, you’re a fucking celebrity. Christ, just take them out!”

  The gun turret atop the Humvee swings around, trying to target him. Gray braces, waiting for the impact of bullets in flesh yet again.

  Instead, guns speak from either side of the driveway, John and Tiffany setting up a crossfire. The gunner jerks, collapsing against the turret.

  The driver tries to turn the vehicle, but the limits of human reflexes doom the attempt. Gray crosses the space between them in a few strides and seizes the handle on the driver’s side. With a squeal of tortured metal, the entire door rips free.

  From there, it is easy. A hook of claws into the driver’s armor and flesh, the seatbelt snapping as Gray rips her loose. He tosses her behind him, into the driveway, as the vehicle rolls to a stop.

  The other occupants of the vehicle try to shoot him, but succeed mostly in injuring one another. He pulls them out the opening one at a time, hurling them far enough to snap bone and hopefully discourage any more violence on their part.

  “Freeze!” John shouts, leveling his weapon at the mortals trying to stand or crawl away. “Don’t move!”

  Howls echo from the woods. The hunting cry of lycanthropes. A moment later, more howls answer from the opposite direction.

  “I believe we are surrounded,” Gray informs Tiffany, who is nearest to him.

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  “My name is Gray.”

  Werewolves burst from the surrounding woods, still mostly human in appearance, but armed with claws and razor teeth, their eyes bloodshot gold. Their scent, of mange-clotted fur and old blood, causes his stomach to cramp with hunger. May we eat these?

  “Yes, damn it!”

  The demons come from all directions, a tightening circle. Gray grins in anticipation, dropping into a half-crouch, ready for the first assault.

  A werewolf careens into him, snarling like a mad thing—but he can smell its terror, beneath the delicious scent of demon. Its claws slide off the leather of his coat, and it tries to bite, but its strength is nothing compared to his. He seizes its head, wrenching it to one side so hard ligaments pop, and sinks his fangs into its throat.

  The grooves on the back of his teeth channel blood straight into his mouth, an intense rush of ecstasy, which makes him moan. Energy floods into him, invigorating every nerve, adding to his strength even as the demon weakens.

  The flow of blood and etheric energy slackens, and he lets the lycanthrope’s body fall. Rot already slicks its skin, setting in as if the host died the day the demon moved in. He turns, searching for more prey.

  The werewolves race in from every direction, no doubt hoping to overwhelm with force. Tiffany holds her gun in one hand, fire blooming around the other, charring away her suit sleeve and writhing around her skin. John has dropped to one knee, both hands braced on his weapon.

  A werewolf comes from an angle, dodging even as John shoots the one directly beside it. It surges forward, jaws open, pitting its reflexes against his.

  It is faster, clawed hands impacting with John’s shoulders, bearing him down. His gun spins away.

  “No!” Gray roars, and lightning flashes into being around him, but he is too late, too slow, and can do nothing to stop it.

  * * *

  John’s back slammed into the driveway, dirt and gravel shredding his t-shirt and skin. The werewolf’s weight landed on him, one knee in his gut. Its mouth gaped, inhumanly large, revealing sharp teeth and hot breath stinking of rancid flesh.

  Beyond all physical sensations, he sensed the throb and pulse of its etheric energy, more clearly than ever before in his life, even in a banishing circle. Dark and heavy, it intertwined with the human it possessed, like a kudzu vine slowly smothering a tree.

  He’d lost his gun when his wrist hit the ground, and his athame was in some SPECTR evidence vault. Only his bare hands remained for a weapon, and although the lycanthrope didn’t have the strength it would once possession became complete, it had more than enough to kill him.

  He fought anyway, grabbing it around the throat in an attempt to hold back the slavering jaws. Etheric energy pulsed beneath his fingers. Why did he feel it so clearly?

  To hell with that. The real question was could he use it?

  Claws punctured his shirt, digging into the skin over his ribs. The thing would rip him to pieces and eat his heart out right there.
Nothing to lose.

  John let go of its throat and slammed the heel of his hand into its forehead. At the same moment, he envisioned a barbed rope shooting out of his palm, hooking and ensnaring the NHE.

  It worked. He saw his own energy, tinged with purple, grasping the angry red infection of the lycanthrope’s energy. It screamed and thrashed, but its body seemed glued to his, unable to tear itself away.

  With a shout of effort, he pulled, not just with his hand but with his entire being. Incredibly, the NHE began to emerge, although its twisted, misshapen form would be invisible to anyone unable to sense etheric energy.

  Another crackle of energy, this one familiar and much, much larger than the werewolf held in his snare. Gray’s angry roar vibrated in John’s chest. John tried to find the breath to shout at Gray not to hurt the formerly possessed soldier on top of him.

  He needn’t have bothered. Gray swooped in, all black leather and thrashing hair, the lightning a storm in his eyes. Ignoring the soldier, he grasped the tangle of etheric energy, which was the lycanthrope, yanked it to his mouth—

  And, as far as John could tell, simply ate it.

  The now exorcised soldier scrambled back, his mouth stretched wide in a purely human scream. “God! Oh God! That thing—I didn’t even realize—oh my God!”

  He rolled to the side, staggered to his feet, and ran for the woods. One of his former brethren broke off after him, but a shot from Tiffany dropped it. The soldier vanished into the woods. What would happen to him? Would he go AWOL and try to disappear, or return to base and have another demon shoved in him?

  Or would SPECTR just kill him for knowing too much?

  “Another vehicle is coming,” Gray warned.

  Of course. Because they didn’t have enough problems.

  John scooped up his Glock. Another werewolf rushed at him, but this time he was ready. He exorcised it before it reached him, Gray snapping up the NHE like a shark after a bit of tossed chum. The soldier reacted much as the first, stumbling away in horror as she realized just how much the lycanthrope had altered her thinking.

  A big truck with a rugged grille guard roared up the drive, its shocks taking the potholes easily. A werewolf darted out in front of it, only to be smashed aside and crushed beneath an oversized tire.

  “Dad!” Tiffany exclaimed. “Don’t shoot. It’s my father!”

  The truck came to a halt, its big engine vibrating the air. An older African American man flung open the passenger side door and leaned out. “Tiffany! Get in!”

  Tiffany tossed her keys to John. “Take the sedan and follow us. Hurry!”

  The engine revved to life as Gray piled into the passenger seat beside him. The truck roared back down the drive, and John followed, not even bothering to fasten his seatbelt first. The sedan jolted as it clipped yet another werewolf with a fender. Then the circling pack and the double wide disappeared behind them in a cloud of gravel and dust.

  Chapter 7

  “So, Starkweather,” Tiffany said, “what the hell is going on with you?”

  It was a good question. If only he had a good answer. Or any answer.

  They’d stopped for the evening at yet another off-brand hotel not far from the interstate, and checked into adjoining rooms. John assumed Tiffany used the time alone in the truck to fill in her father on everything.

  Goddess give them both peace, they’d suffered a lot of loss in the last few hours. Devon didn’t quite have the steely outer shell routine down as well as Tiffany. His eyes were red from crying and when he sank down on the edge of the bed, he moved slowly, as if expecting pain.

  Instead of answering Tiffany, John held out his hand to her father. “I’m sorry for your loss, sir.”

  Devon took it; his handshake was dry and firm. “Thank you. Renée...well, she would have said the work is more important than any man’s grief. But we didn’t always agree, not even when I was a wet-behind-the-ears operative, let alone after we were married.”

  “Don’t avoid my question, John,” Tiffany said. She’d secured the room’s only chair, leaving Caleb near the door, and John standing awkwardly near the second bed. “You exorcised two lycanthropes without a circle. I might not be able to sense etheric energy, but they went from slavering possessed to ordinary people in two seconds flat. You did something.”

  “I’m not denying it.” John spread his hands to either side. “I just don’t know how. I never could before—hell, I’ve never even heard of anyone just ripping out an NHE with his bare...well, not hands, exactly, but you know what I mean. I’ve got no idea why I’d be able to now.”

  And frankly, it scared him. His talent had been a constant in his life since his teenaged years. No matter what else changed, his ability to sense and manipulate etheric energy never altered once he finished puberty. Why the hell would it suddenly go crazy now?

  “I, um, have an idea.” Caleb shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “You know how my TK was barely strong enough to move a paper coffee cup, right? Then Gray moved in, and now I can do a lot more.”

  John nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, he tried to get a bead on Devon’s reaction, to see what the man might think of his daughter’s decision to turn Gray loose on the world. But the older man’s expression didn’t give anything away.

  “Right,” John said. “It’s one of the more common reasons the paranormally-abled strike deals with NHEs, to enhance their existing power.”

  “Like Senator Olney’s kid and the incubus. Yeah, I remember.” Caleb bit his lip. “Do you think something similar is happening here?”

  John blinked. “Are you...wait a minute. Are you accusing me of being possessed?”

  “Of course not! No, I mean, I think Gray’s giving you a boost, too.”

  “The drakul?” Devon asked.

  Tiffany nodded. “It’s what he goes by.”

  “And you’re certain it’s the same one as Papillon spoke to in the crypt?”

  “Yes. But that doesn’t matter right now.” Tiffany waved her hand vaguely. “Etheric energy doesn’t work by fucking osmosis. I’ve been stuck in the same damn car with Gray for two days and my pyrokinesis didn’t get a boost.”

  “Um, yeah.” Was Caleb actually blushing? “The last couple of nights, Gray manifested when John and I...you know.”

  “Ew.” Tiffany’s lip curled. “You’re fucking freak, Starkweather.”

  “Don’t judge,” Devon said.

  “He’s banging an NHE. I’m judging.”

  John shot her the middle finger, but his mind was only half on her words. “Would it even be possible?”

  Caleb looked like he wanted to sink through the floor. “There’s definitely an energy loss to go along with the...other loss. I figured it just, you know, dissipated or something. But your talent is to manipulate etheric energy, right? What if you absorbed it instead?”

  “Etheric spunk.” Tiffany crossed her arms over his chest. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

  “You’re the one who asked,” Caleb shot back.

  “That was before I realized the answer would involve so many horrifying mental images. Every time Starkweather does his new trick from now on, I’m going to have to scrub my brain all over again.”

  “Drop it, Tiffany,” John said. “It’s more of my sex life than I really wanted on display, but I think Caleb’s right. And if I can tear out NHEs in the middle of a fight...it’s a hell of an advantage.”

  “Only if one doesn’t bite your face off while you’re trying to work your mojo on it.” But she sounded thoughtful.

  “I just have to be careful. And the problem of disposal is taken care of, because apparently Gray can eat the captured NHE.”

  Tiffany looked at him speculatively. “I thought he needed to drink the blood of the host.”

  “The blood is just a container,” Caleb said. “The plate the burger is served on. In this case, the container was John’s ability to manipulate and hold the energy long enough to eat it. It wasn’t quite as, well, satisfying
. More like gobbling off a paper plate than fine china. But a lot less fatal to the poor bastard hosting it.”

  “Yeah. Which is important. Especially if we’re right about why Forsyth has started kidnapping people.” John hated to bring it up, but he didn’t think Tiffany would want him dithering, either.

  Her hands clenched slightly, but she nodded. “Yeah. Good point.”

  “I just wish I’d gotten there sooner,” Devon said. “I didn’t get Tiffany’s message until this morning. I thought she might go to Marcus’s place and tried to get there as quick as I could.”

  “If you’d arrived in the middle of everything, SPECTR might have you, too.” Tiffany patted his arm. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “What next?” Caleb asked, with a glance at Tiffany. “We still don’t know what your mom wanted to tell you.”

  “Not quite.” Devon leaned back. The bedsprings creaked under him. “Renée and I talked, you know. Before she got Tiffany’s call about RD, Renée was following up a lead. Seems Forsyth has been shipping his bottled demons someplace.”

  John’s heart picked up its pace and his mouth went dry. “Bottled demons? You mean he’s diverting the ones scheduled for destruction?”

  Tiffany snorted. “Destruction? You must be joking.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Shit.” Caleb rested a hand lightly on John’s shoulder. “I’m sorry—Tiffany told me before we came to get you, but I forgot. There was so much else going on. But the demons...SPECTR doesn’t kill them once they’re exorcised.”

  “It’s why Brimm left SPECTR,” Tiffany said. “He learned what the Vigilant already knew. All those NHEs you’ve yanked out over the years and stuffed in bottles for euthanasia? They’re sitting on a shelf somewhere.”

  “What?” For a moment, John feared he’d have to sit down. His head felt light, and he was glad there wasn’t anything in his stomach. “All of them?”