Soul Stealer (31 page)

He pulled the covers back, and she scooted under them, sliding towards the wall while he sat on the edge, eyes closed. He had a serious conversation internally with his body, letting it know that it was to behave itself and not get any bright ideas while he was sleeping.

He felt the bed move as she lay down, and he looked over his shoulder at her. She had her back to him, trying to get comfortable on the pillow.

He shoved his feet under the covers, pulled the blankets up over both of them, and after the slightest hesitation, he snuggled against Claudia’s back, tugging her towards him. They fit head to foot, curled with their knees pulled up. She sighed again, and when Saleem closed his eyes he fell asleep immediately. And didn’t dream.

Voro followed a half-dozen angels down a stark-white hallway, hearing the cadence of their boots on the floor. His were out of step. But he didn’t care. He was too scared to worry about falling in line.

The crossbow rested against his back, its strap slung across his chest. He was all in leather. They all were, shoulder to foot in black hides that creaked with motion. He kept his eyes on the back of Anael’s head in front of him, her swaying blonde ponytail hypnotizing. The hallway had always seemed long, but as they reached the door to the portal chamber he realized the hall was actually quite short. It wasn’t just this metaphysical alarm bell he’d apparently inherited. He was scared. He wasn’t a fucking soldier. When did this become his fight?

When that fucker touched Raphael,
his internal monologue went completely pansy on him.

The door snicked open softly, and it was more due to the flow of traffic that he even entered that little room. When it closed again his throat tightened.

“Sin Eater,” a voice said next to him. Voro opened his eyes, realizing then that they’d been closed, and saw Douma, Angel of Silence, right next to him.

“Yeah?” Voro knew full well he sounded like a pre-teen compared to the guy.

“Raphael trusted you, so I must do the same. He’s my brother and I trust his perceptions.” Douma leaned down over him and his expression was anything but chummy. “But if I must kill you to save one of my brethren I will do it.”

Voro winced backwards, and the tall man with skin as black as night stood up straight again, still smiling at him in a way that hid whatever his intentions were.

“Douma,” Jehoel warned, but Douma didn’t change his expression, just faced forward like the rest of them.

Voro looked around him. Everyone was pointedly ignoring him now, though Voro wasn’t entirely sure Anael wasn’t laughing. But then his ankles were tingling and his stomach lurched in that riding-a-rough-elevator way that made you feel weightless for half a second. Quite abruptly he was back on gritty pavement, traffic whizzing by the mouth of the alley to his right. The smell of the city brought him back, made him feel back in his element.

That panic in his chest was stronger here, as though proximity intensified the feeling. It drew him to the right, to the road. He knew where they were now.

“The hospital,” he said, more commanding than he felt. “Whatever the fuck this is, it’s at the hospital.”

“Where Michael is,” Anael reminded them, and another look was passed from angel to angel, Voro left out. That telepathic bullshit was starting to get to him.

“He’s at work tonight,” Gazardiel vocalized, probably for his benefit. “But his light hasn’t gone out. We’re not too late.”

“Keep in mind that if this thing gets its hooks in Michael, he may very well die before his time. And if that happens he’ll be so pissy …” Jehoel let that hang there while they all gave a tension-relieving chuckle.

“Lead the way,” Anael instructed, squaring her shoulders and sparing Voro a glance that wasn’t entirely hatred.

Great, he was on point. Surprised that his knees weren’t knocking each other loudly he led his leather-bound posse of heavenly beings out onto the sidewalk.

Angels would never manipulate human’s minds. The looks they got as they strode across the street towards City General made Voro nervous. Way too many people were staring. They likely looked like a walking movie bank heist about to go down. Bows and arrows, thigh sheaths for all sizes of knives, and boots that looked meant for kicking in skulls. All looked beautiful and deadly.

He yanked open the lobby door, and as he did so, something happened. He couldn’t describe it, but it felt a lot like a jolt of caffeine hitting the bloodstream. He looked over his shoulder, holding the door open for everyone else as they passed. They all looked alert as well.

“What is this?” h
e whispered to Gazardiel.

“What do you feel here?”

He licked his lips, a buzz crawling over his skin, making him twitchy. “It has nothing to do with here,” he whispered back, “It’s like something else … happened.”

“I thought it was just adrenaline,” she said softly. “You feel like there’s bees under your skin?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She was staring at him, but he could see the wheels spinning in her head. Suddenly Jehoel was there.

“You can feel that too?” He asked, taking in Voro’s face and posture.

“What is it?”

Jehoel ignored him, turning to Gazardiel. “This is impossible. When’s the last time this happened?”

“When’s the last time there was a Psionic Vampire?” She came back at him like he’d asked a stupid question, and Jehoel nodded.

“Well, we’re going to need all the help we can get.’

Voro was more confused than ever. “What? What’s going on here?”

Gazardiel smiled at him in a scary way, eyes flashing. “Reinforcements.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sirens, loud, piercing and shrill led Patrice down the hospital corridor. Footsteps of doctors, nurses and orderlies followed her. She already knew which patient they were headed to, and even though Charles Goodwin had been declared a homicidal maniac she was worried about him.

A cursory glance showed her that his room was undisturbed, no signs of violence.  The body on the bed, however, was not movin
g. A code team was being called as the orderlies were securing the other psych patients in their quarters. She headed for the rotunda at the far end of the hall. She could see that the door to the courtyard was open, the air already chilled from that breach.

“I’m calling the police,” a voice shouted, one of the orderlies.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she turned. It was Doctor Aubericus, and he was clearly concerned. She had no idea why he was even in this end of the hospital.

“Stay here,” he said. “I’ll check outside.”

She let herself be stopped from charging out into the cold, standing in the doorway instead with her arms crossed across her chest. She watched Vinnie as he circled the courtyard, checking every possible hiding spot behind each shrub and under every bench. He came back shaking his head.

The code team was rushing into Goodwin’s room. Patrice could have gone to help, but her skin was prickled with cold that had nothing to do with the open courtyard door. Patrice turned back inside as a door creaked in the corridor, and the cold air rushing around her into the hall suddenly seemed warm.

A door was opening, the door to the employee lounge. A man walked out, clothed in dark colors, hood from his sweatshirt pulled up, and he looked right at her.

Patrice’s breathing stopped as his face turned to her. She could distinguish no characteristics, couldn’t see his eyes at all, and that fact made her glad.  She opened her mouth to shout, but the man in front of him just shook his head back and forth at her.

Time slowed noticeably, a strange feeling really. It was like when the bus stops if you’re standing on it and not anticipating it – she half-expected to stumble.  But she was frozen in place.

The dark figure was studying her, she would have bet money on it. Cold fingers trailed her neck as he looked her over, lighting down her body, concentrating on her heart, her abdomen, then back to her heart.

A voice she didn’t know ran through her head, sinister and echoing. 
Interesting. Her light is … enticing.

Another man exited the lounge behind the first and this one had a cold look, too. He was in a hoodie and jeans which he was zipping up, a knitted cap on his head. When he turned to her she could see his eyes, and they were cold ice-gray.

“S … s-s-top,” she finally found her voice, but it was raspy and thin. She tried again. “You two – stop!” Much louder, much better. The other orderlies in the hall noticed them.

Doctor Aubericus was behind her, shutting the door. She didn’t know what happened next. The man all dark and scary turned his focus from her to the doctor. If time had slowed before, now it literally stopped and collapsed in on itself.

She knew he had no interest in her. Vinnie was what he was there for.

Patrice felt an odd flood of fear, like cold water running from her shoulders to her feet. The protective flare she felt for Doctor Aubericus overrode all reason.

She stepped in front of him.

She heard him say her name, then try to push her to the side. The man in shadow had begun to stalk towards him, and the moment Vinnie saw him, she felt his hand tighten on her shoulder.

“Patrice, Get out of the way, get somewhere safe.”

She was an immoveable object, however. Adrenaline, or maybe even courage, kept her rooted, staring at what should have been a man’s face as that form of menace came at her. She’d do whatever she could to stop him from getting at Vinnie.

The man with icy eyes was following the other man towards her, but how she knew it was a mystery. Patrice turned her attentions to this other less-scary guy, and he stopped where he was, too.

Heat bloomed on her skin. She felt herself blush. Did she know him from somewhere? His eyes fixing on hers was like the look of a past lover you might not have gotten over.

Focus.

Footsteps pounded the vinyl tiles. The security guards were running up behind this duo, but when the dark man stopped and turned to them, they both slammed on the brakes, soles squeaking on the floor the only sound in the corridor she was aware of. The first guard dropped where he was, falling over like a felled tree, head cracking the floor with a sickening thud. She moved to run to him, but Vinnie grabbed her by the arm.

The second guard was screaming, trying to run. The dark man caught him by the back of his shirt, and as Patrice watched the man fell limp. When the dark man let go of his collar he slumped to the floor, not so much as breathing.

Jesus, she knew they were dead. They were too still, too unmoving.

Goodwin’s door slammed shut, which was a relief. The code team could concentrate at least, try to bring him back. She felt better for that.

But now the dark man’s attention was back on her end of the hallway. The courage slipped, her heart began pounding. He was going to kill her, Patrice knew it. But if it saved Doctor Aubericus -

“Patrice!”

The voice was like a dousing of caffeine. She turned to the connecting corridor as Ralph skidded to a stop, taking in the scene. The bodies on the floor, her and Doctor Aubericus. Then the dark man turned to look at Ralph, his menace changing slightly to something else.

“I remember you.” The voice was cold. She wanted to throw up, unsure of why. Her poor heart was hammering out a suicide beat; she didn’t know how long it could keep it up.

Patrice craned her neck to the side, speaking to Vinnie over her shoulder. “Get outside. Get through the gate on the west wall.”

His jaw was set. But she could tell right then he had the same inclination she did: this thing in the hallway wanted him and it wasn’t for conversation. If he got his tendrils on Vinnie the doc was as good as dead.

“I’ll find help,” he whispered, backing away from her, his butt hitting the push bar as he turned faster than she could track and made for the walkway, heading west as she indicated. The alarm had started up again, the first time she’d noticed that it had fallen silent. She yanked the door closed, watching the doc sprint across the grass. He had a key. The gate was locked. He’d need time to open it.

She turned as the dark man was heading for her again, moving so much faster this time, almost gliding more than walking. Her mouth was dry, hands slick with panic. She pressed her back to the door, arms out in front of her.

He wasn’t human, she knew it as he got closer. The smell of evil from him was thick enough to taste. Sulfur and fire and burning flesh.

Patrice was sobbing from it. Her brain couldn’t even process everything that was happening.

“No!” Ralph was running after this thing.

Patrice wanted to tell him to stop, but when she opened her mouth the strangest thing came out instead. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee …”

The being stopped, cocking his head.

She licked her lips. “Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”

The being took a step back.

Patrice straightened, back coming off the glass of the door. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners …” It wasn’t just her voice now. Ralph’s deep tone joined hers. “… now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

The hallway froze and the two men pickled with evil stared at each other. The one that made her blood flame was looking at the other as though to say,
What the fuck’s wrong with you?

“You have to make them stop saying that.” There was that ice-cold voice again, but as she and Ralph started up again Patrice felt her back stiffen with resolve.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

“Make it stop!” The dark one was screaming now. The shaved-head man was completely shocked, but recovered as the second prayer was ending. Ralph was still with her, staring at her, shouting the words like his life depended on it.

The bald man hit him. Hard. Ralph’s nose exploded with a shower of blood and a loud crack, making Patrice nearly scream, but she kept talking anyway, brain on autopilot, tongue just saying the words she’d grown up with.

The bald man was walking towards her. Her body wanted to betray her, some desire barely rising up in her core under all the fear and panic, but seeing Ralph bleeding on the floor kept her focused. As the one with those cold, cold eyes drew nearer her temperature rose, her breath came harder. Not from fear; from the illogical and ill-timed want of him.

His eyes ran over her from feet to face, making her pulse skip. She licked her lips, determined to keep talking. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”

He was close enough that his bunny hug brushed against the front of her scrubs, the contact enough to make her insides clench. She swallowed, pausing the prayer.

His eyes were on hers. It was like falling into a pool of heat, carnal sensations rushing over every inch of her skin. If he were to touch her in the slightest way she had the feeling it would be enough to send her straight to climax, and her skin felt damp all over. Patrice was light-headed. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” It was whispered, too soft and hoarse.

He brushed her hair behind her ear, and she shuddered, eyes falling closed. “Shit,” came his voice, the sound alone making a second tremor flow through her. “Not this again.”

Patrice felt her shoulders lean forward, her lids lowering as though going in for a kiss. He hissed, stepped back from her, breaking the momentary haze that had come over her.

Right. She was in danger. This was bad. Her voice was stronger now as she started again. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women …”

“I can’t get into her head, and I can’t touch her. She’s a
frustro
.”

Patrice didn’t know what he was talking about. He was still staring at her, but talking to the dark man. “ … and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”

“Just hit her. Take her out.”

And he did. His arm flashed forward, catching her jaw. Pain exploded as white stars in her eyes once, twice. Her head instantly ached from the brightness. Not knowing how he’d done it, she was on her hands and knees, watching blood drip on to the vinyl floor from her face. Had he caught her nose, too? She tried to replay what she’d actually seen. He’d hit her twice, she realized. Jaw with the right, then nose with the left. Her eyes had watered. Her face throbbed but she was going to be fine.

Patrice sat back on her heels, blinking to see clearly. She looked to the left, down the hall. Charles Goodwin’s door stood open now, the code team watching, scared to leave the perceived safety of the room. The two guards were still dead on the floor. And Ralph was unconscious and bleeding, but as she watched she noted his chest rising and falling.

She crawled on hands and knees to him, looking for the dark man to come at her again, but both he and the bald man had left.

Patrice placed a quaking hand on the centre of Ralph’s chest. His nose was broken badly; already bruising and coloring the side of his face that was tilted down to the floor. When more footsteps came she wasn’t even sure if they were real. That is, until hands gently pulled her up from Ralph, sitting warm on her shoulders. Someone was checking his eyes as she stared, then another form in a white jacket was doing the same to her.

Her body was numb. Her brain seemed to be stalled. When she passed out it was a glorious relief.

Voro was out the door after the doctor as soon as the nurse had hit the floor. She didn’t even see him. The others stayed with the Vampire and Essum. Jehoel had shouted at Voro to follow the doctor, make sure he was safe. Voro hadn’t even questioned it – he’d hotfooted through the courtyard before anyone opened their mouths. The open gate was still swinging, and soon he was in the alleyway that ran behind the walled garden.

The doc was gone but there are only two directions to take when in an alley. Voro knew which way he would have gone, and eventually he’d hear something –

The two-by-four came straight out from behind the dumpster, catching him clear across the face. The next thing he knew he was on his back, seeing his own boots up in the air before they hit the ground like the rest of him.

He was winded, and it felt like what he imagined a heart attack might feel like. The doctor’s face appeared above him.

“What are you doing here?”

Shit.

Voro struggled to sit up, leaning against the greasy dumpster. “I’m making sure you’re okay.”

The doctor stood over him, hands on hips, glowing bright white from the lights spilling over the courtyard wall. There was no “blending” for him if he kept that lab coat on.