Soul Stealer (33 page)

“If we’re getting him out of sight we have to do it now. Praesul is scattered with his attentions but he can still easily find us unless we really get a move on.”

“But where do we go?”

Essum shrugged. “I don’t really have a network of good friends, Voro.”

“Would this guy know to look up known associates?”

Essum was surprised; he’d honestly forgotten that the doc was there until he spoke. “Umm, no. He’s flaky. He prefers to come upon information by chance.”

The Doc inhaled, sizing up Voro. “Iola is always at my place, but I have a key to her apartment. We can go there as long as she stays put at my place.”

Voro was nodding. “That might be our best option. He’s never been around there, right Essum?”

Essum chewed his lip, trying to remember what Praesul really knew about anything. It didn’t take long. Praesul was far too self-absorbed to bother remembering things. That’s what he was keeping Essum around for.

“Go there. I won’t bring him to you, swear it on my own hide, Voro. But I think I’m something he can anchor to, so me being there might just help him find you guys.”

“Fine. I’m trusting you on this, Essum. Don’t fuck me over.”

“I won’t. Be safe.”

The other two men turned to leave, and Essum called Voro back. “What about your friends, Voro? Should I tell them where you went?”

Voro shook his head. “They can just find me. And they might not believe you anyway.”

The two figures disappeared around the corner to the sidewalk, and Essum leaned against the brick wall for a moment, letting his brain clear a moment longer. The concussion would alleviate shortly – Sin Eaters were fast healers.

Torn didn’t really begin to explain how he felt. Praesul gaining power was incredibly intoxicating, but Essum knew once he was transformed Praesul would have no more need of him than he would an adult diaper. And he was pretty sure Psionic Vampires weren’t the kind to share the spoils of their human enslavement. They kinda preferred to be the only show in town.

He had to trust Voro. Better the devil you know.

Chapter Thirty-One

Raphael came to just as tape was being applied to his face, apparently holding a plastic mold in place over the bridge of his nose. It throbbed painfully, but it wasn’t his first concern.

Patrice? Where’s Patrice?

He didn’t want to move his head with someone’s hands so close to the part of his face that was hurting like nothing he’d ever felt before. So his eyes rolled left and right rapidly until he found her, on a hospital bed next to him. She was sitting up, patiently still while a woman in scrubs with her back to him dabbed at a cut along Patrice’s lip with a swab.

She caught him looking and offered him a thin smile that likely stung. Relief flooded through him that she was okay, but a building rage followed quickly.

Something had dared to hurt her. That could not stand.

“Are you okay?” He asked anyway.

She nodded. “I’ll be fine. Just bruised.”

He had to look away. She wasn’t going to ask what was going on, she trusted him to tell her what the hell had happened if he could.

Raphael struggled to sit up, but the man next to him pressed his shoulders back gently but firmly. “You might want to take it a little slower. You were knocked out, remember?”

Raphael studied the man now, taking in his dark skin, close-cut hair, wide brown eyes and professionally-friendly smile. Beautiful, really. Humans really were glorious, he realized. He smiled back, nodding a bit, and then relaxed against the bed.

A human for less than a week and he was in the hospital a second time already.

“You don’t need stitches at least,” the woman taking care of Patrice said. “Just make sure it heals clean and you’ll be fine.”

Patrice nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears with jerky movements. She was still jacked on fear, Raphael noticed. Her hands were shaking a bit.

“Patty, you okay?”

Her eyes darted back to him, and she nodded and shuddered, looking away again.

“You should be fine now,” his nurse said, fussing about with empty packaging from whatever he’d used to fix Raphael’s mug. “No concussion, so that’s good. But that nose is going to hurt for quite a while.”

Raphael nodded absently as the male nurse got up to leave, conferencing with his colleague and Patrice before leaving. Raphael was fixated on Patrice, but she wasn’t meeting his gaze. His stomach was twisted from trying to determine if she was angry with him.

When they finally were alone, she kept her eyes on her hands, clasped in her lap. Raphael sat up slowly, turning so his legs dangled over the edge of the bed.

“Patrice?”

She sighed, looking up at him. “What’s going on here? Why do I feel like I might be losing my mind?”

He tried to assure himself that this wasn’t his effect on her. That she was seeing things she didn’t understand, that she was confused and scared at the metaphysical crap raining down around them both.

He failed convincing himself.

“Patrice, I don’t know what I can even tell you.”

She looked up at him, startled. “You mean … this has something to do with you? I thought you couldn’t remember anything.”

It was his turn to expel breath loudly. “Shit.”

“What is it? Just say it.”

“I can’t. It’s too nuts. You’ll think I’m out of my mind.”

“With what I’ve seen lately, I could use some company on the crazy side of the world. It’s feeling lonely so far.”

Raphael found himself wanting real honest-to-God amnesia because when she was looking at him with complete trust to tell her the truth, he found himself wanting to tell her everything.

“It’s my fault,” was all he had. “It’s all my fault and I’m so sorry.”

“One of my patients died while this was going on,” she said, almost talking over him. “He was in his room, dead when they found him, not a single mark on him. Those … those two men did something to him. Security saw them leaving his room. His name was Charles Goodwin.”

Raphael’s eyes snapped back to her. “Charles Goodwin?”

She gave a dry laugh. “You remember that name, too? Has anything you’ve said been true at all?”

Raphael hung his head. “Almost all about me has been an avoidance of the truth, except for everything related to you, Patrice. I am in love with you, and it is killing me that I can’t tell you what is going on.”

“So that’s the part I should believe. Fine. You’ll forgive me if I don’t return the sentiment.”

Such acid in her tone. It stung.

“You’ll have me committed if I tell you what’s going on, and you might sign yourself up, too. You don’t have to trust me to stay with you, but I will be watching you to make sure you’re okay. If anything happened to you I could never forgive myself.”

She burst out hysterically, nearly in tears. “Not knowing what’s going on is hurting me. How can I know what’s a danger and what’s not?”

He took a shuddering breath. “You want to hear this?”

She shrunk back in on herself, back curling. “Yes.”

He kept his eyes on the floor. “You’re not going to believe me, like I said.”

“Tell me,” her voice was so strong yet still soft.

Raphael closed his eyes, said a short prayer for forgiveness, and began to speak.

Voro didn’t need his Sin Eater talents to know that the doc trusted him about as much as a beaten dog at this point. He opened the door to Iola’s apartment and walked ahead, planting himself firmly in the side hallway so Voro could only walk straight in to the living room and not into the “private” rooms in the place.

Iola’s smell was all over everything here – the sweetness of vanilla with the delicate fragrance of jasmine as a chaser. To Voro’s delight his body did not completely wig out under the assault. It was a lovely smell but no longer biologically engineered to make him a complete idiot.

He strolled across the lino tile of the kitchen and hall into the sitting room, stopping in the middle of the furniture arrangement and looking around, thumbs hooked on his belt loops. He turned to face the doc, who was on the threshold of carpet and lino, studying him closely while fiddling with his keys.

Voro raised his eyebrows, an invite to talk which the doc acted on. “Can you tell me what’s going on here? Because there were a lot of words I heard back there that really don’t make any sense. And as much as I want to write you and that other guy off as complete whack jobs … I don’t get that feeling from you. So what’s going on?”

Voro thought long and hard. “You can either just go along with us, assuming that we’re the good guys, and we’ll make sure you’re okay. Or I can tell you everything in full detail, possibly scramble your brain, and we’ll still make sure you’re okay. You’ll just know the why of it.” He settled his weight back on the arm of the sofa, facing outward. “Just think on it because it’s one of those moments that could really alter the course you’ve set for yourself, if you feel me.”

Doctor Aubericus was working his jaw back and forth while he literally chewed that over. “I’ll trust you. I’ll go along and help you. But just keep Iola out of it.”

Voro raised both hands. “Understood, absolutely. There’s no reason she needs to be a part of it at all. It’s you that guy is after.”

The doc nodded, satisfied. “Good. As long as she’s okay.”

“She will be.”

The doc disappeared and Voro heard the keys hit the kitchen table. The doc totally shocked him by shouting, “You want a beer?”

Voro frowned for a moment. Could he drink? He couldn’t see why not. “Yeah. Sure.”

Vinnie returned with a bottle in each hand, one of them extended to Voro. He motioned to the main furniture formation that outlined the living room, so Voro straightened, freed his neck from the strap of the crossbow, leaning it against the end of the sofa. Then he circled around it to take a seat. Vinnie settled opposite in an armchair covered with a handmade blanket. They each mirrored the other’s posture; leaning forward, elbows on knees, taking a swig in unison.

Voro wanted to weep it tasted so good. He’d been missing many earthly distractions, apparently.

He brought the bottle down, Vinnie’s eyes still on him. He cleared his throat. “So … how’s things at the hospital?”

Vinnie shrugged. “Busy. Different day to day.”

Nice. This is so loose and easy.
Voro took another pull on the beer, taking as long with it as he could without appearing to be a functional alcoholic.

“I should likely call Iola so she doesn’t worry,” Vinnie said after the longest awkward moment Voro had known in a long time.

“Good idea,” Voro was inclined to agree as Vinnie carried the cordless phone in to the kitchen for some privacy. He tried unsuccessfully not to listen, but there wasn’t a lot of ambient sound going on to mask the convo.

“Hey baby,” the doc was trying to keep his voice light and soft. “In case you’re looking for me I don’t want to scare you babe. But I’m going to stay at your place. I need you to stay away from here, okay? Don’t ask why. When you get this call my cell, honey. I love you Iola. Take care, okay?”

The call was disconnected with a beep, and when the doc joined him again he parked himself on the sofa next to Voro, picking up a remote control.

“She must be on air. Not answering. May as well see what’s on TV,” Vinnie muttered, grabbing his beer, too.

Oh thank God.

He channel surfed for a while, finally deciding on a UFC rerun. Before long they had both relaxed a bit, and when a gentle tapping came on the sliding patio door everything seemed almost normal.

Until the doc opened the door and let in four angels armed with divine armaments, that is.

Jehoel nodded his greeting to Vinnie, entering the room tense and ready to kill something. Douma examined every piece of furniture as if capturing a crime scene. Anael looked blank and still refused to meet his eye. Gazardiel shared a small smile before sliding the door closed.

“Where’s the other two?” Fucked if he could remember their names.

“Tzaphqiel and Lazai went after the Psionic Vampire,” Jehoel filled them in. “We thought a few could try following and the rest of us could wait in one spot to see if he can find us.”

There was a moment while they all quietly regarded the doc to see how he was taking this. He was looking at all of them like the only guy that didn’t speak English. Plus, even Voro had to admit that the assembled group was imposing. Douma with his hulking size, piercing eyes, intimidation factor like you read about, just to confirm the fact that yes, he was dangerous.

Jehoel was smaller, but had the wily look of an outdoorsman. His dark, tilted eyes could make you feel like your skin was too tight suddenly. His scruff of beard cut off any “pretty” reference, as did the scar across the eyebrow and cheek. He was still plenty handsome and otherworldly; a man’s man that you might not be comfortable inviting to the poker table.

Anael was ethereal and lovely, her pale skin glowing with a pink pulse that lit from underneath. Not a blemish to her anywhere, but those eyes were far too shrewd for her to be taken lightly. Gazardiel gave off a much more lethal air, but death by her still promised to be a hell of a ride. She was the most dangerous-looking beauty Voro had certainly ever laid eyes on. You watched your back with that one, he could attest to that.

“So,” Jehoel began, circling the outside of the room like a caged feline at a zoo. “How much can we tell you, Doctor Aubericus?”

Vinnie look startled but recovered quickly. “Only enough to keep me alive, please and thank you. I have very little interest in really understanding everything that’s going on.”

Jehoel nodded. “That’s the best survivalist answer I’ve ever heard.”

Vinnie nodded, an agreement reached.

“We are going to protect you,” Jehoel continued. “That man in the hospital, the one that felt like all your nightmares wrapped up in a street thug’s wardrobe? He’s going to come after you. And kill you. All to complete a mis
sion he’s set out for himself.”

“We’re going to stop him from getting to you,” Gazardiel piped up. “We’ll keep you safe.”

Vinnie sat in the armchair again, rubbing hands up and down his arms as though he was cold. Everyone else took a cue and sat, the women and Jehoel on the sofa. There was a beaten ottoman next to the patio doors and Douma sat sentry next to all those windows, hardly “at ease.” Voro hooked a foot around the leg of a kitchen chair, pulling it closer to the carpet of the living room and planting himself somewhat outside the circle of trust.

“How will he kill me?” Vinnie asked, his eyes blank as he stared at a spot on the opposite wall.

“Painlessly,” Jehoel offered, almost as comfort. “But he will reach down deep inside and tear your soul out by the roots. And that will cause your death.”

So much for not giving the info that will be too much to process,
Voro thought wryly, watching the doc to see his reaction to this.

Vinnie nodded. “I’ve heard weirder things in the emergency room.”