Soul Stealer (38 page)

Voro was picking the crossbow up off the floor by the strap, each move smooth and cautious, like watching a jungle cat preparing to spring.

Jehoel was tensing next to him, drawing himself up to kneeling, sword glinting.  Raphael slid back and out of the way, realizing he was completely unarmed and more likely to trip someone and get one of his friends killed than actually be of any use.

When Voro took a step backwards, the temperature in the apartment abruptly dropped about fifteen or twenty degrees. Raphael’s heart stopped.

He was scared, mortal, and watching his formerly-a-Sin Eater friend come face to face with ninety-nine percent of the most undiluted evil he’d ever encountered. He said a soft prayer then squeezed his eyes shut.

Chapter Thirty-Six

As the air around her cooled and everyone else tensed against the onslaught of the freak show staring down Damien, Claudia’s head cleared as though she’d taken a deep drag of cold winter air. The knife in her hand hummed. It wanted to do its job, which was plant itself in that thing’s chest right up to the hilt, tearing a hole in his evil and barely-beating heart.

If she died in the effort it would be worth it as long as she took him with her.

She looked to Saleem, and in unison they got to their feet. She watched Damien bring the crossbow up, but of course this thing called Praesul wasn’t just going to stand there. He knocked Damien to the side right off his feet, slamming him into the wall about twelve feet away.

Shit. She had her first moment of doubt.

The scarred man flew at him next, the twins flanking him and whirring swords around. They struck at the form all in black, and he deflected their blows but they were intent on continuing. It was to distract him, Claudia realized. She knew this thing could work on another level than strictly the physical plane. These attacks were nothing but an annoyance.

The apartment was too small, Claudia realized immediately. Too many people maneuvering in one place; no one would be able to swing a weapon with enough juice to actually do anything.

She surveyed the room. Those beautiful friends of theirs looked ready to kick ass, to be sure. But they were scared of this Praesul. They hung back even as Damien – Voro, whatever - was hitting the floor and the scarred man was shoved back to his friends without much effort.

Moved by an alien and unfamiliar instinct Claudia stepped in front of them, placing herself between Praesul and the GQ swat team. Saleem fell into place next to her and it felt perfect.

The being turned its face to her and she swallowed. His pale, opaque skin was starting to knit together, but in a few places the raw muscle was visible, moving as he clenched his jaw and leveled topaz eyes on her. He had eyelids, though. She could hear them moving as he blinked.

The feeling of euphoria was fading. But it wasn’t being replaced with fear; instead she felt cool resolve and calm washing through her, filling the cracks and crevices of her resolve, strengthening her backbone, steadying her breath and hand.

The being leaned towards her, inhaling. He smelled damp, stale and old. She didn’t cringe, she was just watching him with fascination. He was becoming more like a man. She wondered if this developing would make him weaker than he was now; trapped in physical form and unable to simply mist himself around. He’d have to travel like the rest of them.

That’s interesting.

“
Jinn
,” he growled, bringing her back to her senses.

“Praesul,” she returned, surprised at how the word rolled out from her with a very strange accent. His eyes held her and she was whisked back to a land of parched earth, blood, burning men, and mud.

She’d helped defeat this fucker before, she’d bet money on it. She could do it again.

Her grip tightened on the knife, still humming with power. His eyes slid down her arm, clever to her intention. His partial lip curled as he saw the knife.

“Hmmm … the janbiya,” his voice dripped with disdain. “I’ve tasted that many times.”

She narrowed her eyes, remembering being bathed in warm blood of those who would serve the likes of this man. “It’s tasted you many times,” she corrected, watching those strange, cat-like irises grow larger, as they did so she felt as though she stumbled forward.

She was caught, back in her dream of battle and death. But this time she saw herself, from his point of view. She wore fur pelts belted in all the important areas, a boiled leather breast plate covering her vitals. Claudia couldn’t be sure she truly looked the same for she was feral. Her hair matted, filthy, and now dripping blood. Her face was crazed and she was flying towards herself, the janbiya held in an inward grip, slicing towards the throat of the point of view she currently held. It caught, air was hard to find, and she was above herself now, the knife slashing and piercing painfully.

In a flash she was back in Iola’s apartment, a warm hand on her shoulder blade, anchoring her to right now. It was Saleem, studying her with concern.

She turned back to Praesul, her back straight again. “I’m here to kill you again,” she whispered, not without some wonderment.

Patrice found Doctor Aubericus’ girlfriend at the information desk. The petite woman was agitated, and she looked to Patrice for some kind of answer. But Patrice hadn’t heard the question yet; she was too exhausted, too emotionally drained.

“Iola? What are you doing here?”

“I came here to see Vinnie. I saw the video tape. What the hell happened?” She wasn’t angry, she was terrified.

Patrice shrugged. “I have no idea. This man was here, but he was not like any other man I’ve ever seen. He just struck down these people. They were dead. Ralph was assaulted, and then he …” she stopped as the sound of a sob broke its way in to her narrative. She waved a hand when Iola tried to put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. It was so upsetting. I feel like I might have been imagining things all night.”

Iola frowned. “What things?”

Patrice motioned her over to a bench, one of those vinyl-coated monstrosities of design that was found in all outpatients departments. They settled, sharing lowered voices, and Patrice held her tears this time.

“I’m putting in for some stress leave. I’m worried about my mental health right now. But this man that killed these people? He wasn’t human. Or whole. I don’t think he had skin. But he was wearing large dark clothes, one of those hooded sweatshirts pulled up over his head, hiding his face. It was the second man that made me really question what I thought I saw. He was bald. Darker skin, dark olive-toned. His eyes were so light gray, almost the same as the white of his eyes. But as soon as he saw me everything stopped. His eyes on me were like hands. They were all over me. And it was thrilling.” She closed her eyes, shaking visibly. “I was … attracted to him immediately.” Now the tears broke in. “I’m not like that. I swear. I’ve had four lovers in my entire life but the second I saw him I just wanted him. Like any animal in the street, no thought.”

Iola didn’t seem as uncomfortable as she might otherwise be around someone she didn’t know very well. It surprised Patrice, but she took comfort in the fact that Iola wasn’t running. Then again, Patrice was so clearly upset, and Iola was so obviously kind. And she appeared to be stuck in the same surreal fog Patrice was: like her whole atmosphere of the evening was developing an anxious and urgent disposition.

Patrice felt herself blush at the next memory. “He seemed to want me, too, and he was scared of me at the same time. Then he struck me, I blacked out. He was gone, along with the thing in the sweatshirt. There was another man who was familiar, he’d been to the hospital before and visited Ralph. Told Ralph what his name was, or so I thought he had. And these other people who just couldn’t be human. They were too beautiful. It almost hurt to look at them.” She stopped, eyes growing wide as she connected a couple of ridiculous dots, then worried that her brain was trying to force this all to make sense. “They were gorgeous – just like Ralph. Too painfully perfect.” She covered her face. “Oh God, help me, I’m starting to believe him.”

“Who?”

“Jesus, what’s wrong with me?”

Patrice felt Iola’s thin arm slide around her shoulder, pulling her closer to comfort her. “Patrice, what’s going on? Where did Vinnie go? Where’s Ralph?”

She sniffled, straightening up suddenly. “He told me he’s an angel.”

That made the woman pause. “What?”

“Ralph insists he’s an archangel, named Raphael. The man that had visited him in the hospital was his ward. When he broke into my apartment there was something there with me. It attacked him, he said. And that’s how he ended up human.”

Iola rubbed her arm. “Do you think he’s crazy?”

Patrice shook her head. “I think I’m crazy,” she insisted, “because I want to believe him.”

Iola looked completely lost, and Patrice suddenly regretted unloading like this. She had clearly been distraught when she’d arrived and Patrice wasn’t helping things.

Patrice stood up. “We should go somewhere safe,” she decided. “Those people had been after Doctor Aubericus.”

Iola looked very startled. “What?”

“We should go wherever Vinnie isn’t.” She took Iola’s hand, pulling her to her feet. “I can’t go to my apartment. I don’t want to risk seeing Ralph. Do you have an apartment?”

“I need to find Vinnie -”

“Iola, you know how he’d worry. He’d much rather have you in a safe place.”

She chewed her lip. “Then he went home. And so should I. I’ll keep trying to get him on the phone, he’s not answering his cell. Do you have a car?”

Patrice nodded, squeezing her arm. “I do. Let’s go. This place is giving me a terrible feeling.”

Voro shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. Praesul’s strength surprised him, but that wouldn’t happen again. When he got to his feet he saw the fucker staring down Claudia and some wild prehistoric urge to kill the bastard just for that came over him. But all he had was a fucking cross bow he’d never fired before and Claudia was on the other side of the guy.

There was some weird hypnotism shit going on, and as he’d started over the Saleem guy put his hand on Claudia, seeming to rouse her back to herself. So Voro stopped and took stock of what was happening.

The angels wanted in the fight, but Raphael curled up on the floor was like a reminder of what could happen.

Angels didn’t usually grapple with Psionic Vampires, clearly. They were armed and fierce, absolutely. But the unknown was keeping them in check.

Voro had never been hindered by that level of caution, had he?

He strode forward, grabbed Praesul by the arm and swung him around, ignoring the wet sliding of the sweatshirt on the developing skin underneath. He reared back and delivered a punch, horribly curious as to what would happen.

It connected. Praesul barely recoiled, but he did smile.

“Ah, Sin Eater. You’ve got some balls after all.”

“Deal with me,” he growled. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Praesul chuckled, almost like a rumbling. “I like you. I don’t think I’ll dispose of you yet. I’m going to have some fun with these two first.”

He meant Claudia and Saleem. Another time Voro would have written them off as dead, but when he saw how their postures fell into a fighting stance he had a moment of real pride.

Then, like all things, all hell broke loose.

There was suddenly gunfire. Just as Voro was wondering who the hell brought a gun he felt hot pain in his arm, spinning him away from the action, and taking him down to his knees. Shit, that really hurt.

He looked up and there was a policeman in uniform and another man in a cheap suit who screamed cop entering the room, guns drawn.

Voro wanted to yell. There were too many flipping people in here now. This was getting fucking ridiculous.

“You!” the one in plainclothes shouted, “Drop the knives!”

Claudia was shaking her head. “Vance, what the hell is this? You really shouldn’t be here.”

The uniformed officer looked confused. “Claudia? What the hell’s going on here?”

“Is everyone here? Should we all get name tags?” Voro shouted over the din. “Is anyone else going to fucking show up?”

“Voro!” Douma shouted. “You’re hardly helping keep this quiet.”

“He’s right,” Praesul said. “This is a ridiculous spot for a war.”

“So let’s meet in a parking lot and have a fucking rumble.” They all looked at Voro. He shrugged. “Somewhere open. He’ll show up,” he spat, nodding at Praesul. “You’re all full up of angel juice. He’ll show up, you know he will.”

“There’s a place where they park cars. Underground. A block away,” Praesul said slowly. “I’ll be there.”

It sounded perfect. No one to wander by on foot or in vehicles, noise could be muffled by the concrete enclosure somewhat.

“Just make sure you bring more souls,” the voice was thick and delighted. Then Praesul vanished, taking a real feeling of terror out of the room with him. Once he was gone Voro could feel that same, positive humming, more like a residual now than it had been before, but it came back.

Voro looked to the angels, then to the cops, dismissed them, then Claudia and Saleem. “I’m taking you two with me.” He pointed to Raphael. “You’re coming too. You’re all out of angel, buddy. Grab a weapon.”

Next he turned to the cops. “You two should really go on your way. Your guns won’t help here.”

The two were looking a bit shell-shocked, it was true. The one who had shot him was staring at Voro’s arm then looking to him to see why the hell he wasn’t screaming in pain.

Mind control would have been very helpful, but the angels took it away from him. Dammit. Voro whistled, bringing them back to him. “Hey. Guys, trust me. Leave this to us, we’ll call you for clean up.”

The one in plainclothes was the first to really hear what he was saying. “Now hold on a minute -”