House of Ash & Brimstone Page 10

  Teeth gritted, she pushed onward, desperate to find a way back to the upper floors. There was a whole ward of special agents upstairs, likely on their way to neutralize the threat at that very moment. If they were, she needed to warn them not to shoot Shade. And if they weren’t, she needed to drag them down here to help him.

  A screech and a blast from the room behind her made her jump, and she almost discharged her weapon into the floor. A wave of nausea swept over her, the elghoul’s power encasing her like a net cast from the other room. She waded against the spreading terror, pressing forward as if sloshing through a murky bog, breaking free as she escaped into the adjoining hallway.

  Her muscles trembled, weak from the effort to stay standing. She needed to find the stairs; she needed to flee. But the sublevel she was on felt like a maze, and after looping back several times, she worried she was running out of time. How long could Shade hold out against such a nightmare? If she couldn’t find help, would he be okay?

  Several rooms down the hall, she stumbled into a cooling facility that housed stacks of corpses on shelves. It was like a meat locker that just kept going back—if meat lockers housed dead demons covered with white sheets.

  A red exit sign glowed, far back in the room. The stairwell. She sprinted, slamming into the solid metal door when it turned out to be locked. Her cracked collarbone screamed. She ignored it, jiggling the handle to no avail and shrieking as she kicked at the door.

  Calm down. She had her bag—she could pick the lock with the jackknife set on her keychain.

  She dropped to her knees, chest heaving—and then she heard it. Approaching footsteps. Slow and heavy, from the other side of the room.

  It was here.

  She bolted up, hunting for an escape. Two ways out, but both were blocked. If she couldn’t fight and she couldn’t flee…she could cower amongst the bodies, trying not to quiver under the scant cover of a thin bed sheet. It was a terrible idea, but there was no time to come up with anything better. She wedged herself into the bottom corner of a metal storage locker, praying the thing would pass her by. If she killed herself in the corpse locker at the Office of the Paranormal, it’d be terribly humiliating.

  Crouched, alone, and shivering in the dark, Gisele cursed having given her cell phone to Beast. Her shoulder and left arm ached, but she could already feel her collarbone mending back together. Assuming the elghoul didn’t find her, she’d be sore but fine in a few hours.

  Cold dread filled her at the thought. Could she say the same for Shade? If the elghoul was here, what had happened to him?

  The steps rang louder, closer. Plodding.

  Her pulse tried to claw its way out of her throat. Run, you idiot, she thought. Bolt for it. It’s going to kill you and then Warrick’ll have to pay for your funeral.

  But there was nowhere to go, and she had no real way to fight against the thing once caught.

  The footfall stopped. It was right in front of her. She wondered if it could hear her heartbeat hammering in her chest. The moment stretched. She imagined the thing crouching down to strike.

  And then it wrenched open the metal door.

  Her body reacted out of habit, muscles moving before a thought could form in her head. The hand gripping her gun thrust up, jabbing the hard metal barrel into the side of the man’s throat in front of her. Her other hand fisted a tight grip on his bloodstained shirt, holding him in place as she shifted forward, preparing to catapult into him.

  “Don’t,” Shade gasped, raising a hand to placate her. “It’s just me.”

  He moved his hand toward the gun pressed to his throat, but she shook her head in harsh warning, and he froze, hand hovering awkwardly in the air.

  “It’s me. Just calm down, okay?” His gray eyes searched hers.

  She wanted to sag with relief, but her body was locked rigid, her muscles unwilling to let go of her fear.

  “How did you get rid of it?” She wanted everything to be all right. But she was on edge, too keyed up to feel safe. “How did you kill it?”

  “Not easily.” Shade grimaced, and she realized he was still in pain. “Now you’re going to shoot me? Come on, Gigi. Are you really afraid of me?”

  “Yes,” she said, and the way he flinched made her regret it. “Tell me something only you would know.”

  He scoffed. “Like what? That you mix too much sugar into your coffee? I’m not bleeding for the fun of it. So can’t you just trust me? Please.”

  Could she?

  “Yes,” she admitted. Her hand wavered and she started to lower the gun. It was just Shade.

  “You must not know who he is then.” He pinned her with a wicked grin, eyes bleeding pitch black. “You stupid girl. When the Master gets his clutches on you, you’ll wish you had never existed—fallen-born or not.”

  A high-pitched peal of laughter ricocheted around the room, emanating from a source she couldn’t see. It sounded terrifying, the kind of noise she heard only in her nightmares, right before a monster crawled out from under her bed. The room grew darker, swallowed by shadows. And then a freezing wave of terror crashed into her, tearing down her throat and lungs.

  She couldn’t scream, couldn’t gasp for air. She was drowning in fear.

  The thing—Shade that wasn’t Shade—grabbed her, gripping her battered shoulder with a palm pressed to her chest as it poured its otherworldly power into her.

  Her heart stuttered and stopped. She blacked out, and for the span of a minute, she was well and truly dead.

  Satisfied, the thing withdrew its hand, a smug smile splitting Shade’s handsome face.

  Then her heart flopped back to life in her chest. She opened her eyes and shakily shot the bastard in the neck.

  It was a sloppy shot—she could barely keep a grip on the pistol, let alone aim it, but it still ripped a hole in the side of not-Shade’s throat large enough that the elghoul reared back, tearing out a howl that could rival a banshee’s death-wail. She fired four more shots into its chest, all of them lead, and then to be safe, painfully drew her left thigh pistol with her injured arm and popped off three in silver. The last two went wild, her aim shot. She dropped the gun, fingers numb, and tried to crawl from the metal locker. But she couldn’t run, she was trembling too much to move.

  Shots fired—from the left. They tore into the creature that was masquerading as Shade, and howling, the elghoul fled. Shouts followed as two men and a woman in dark business suits pursued it, guns in hand.

  A familiar face popped into view as the special agent examined the inside of the locker.

  “Jesus,” Gisele cursed.

  “Bet you never thought you’d be happy to see me.” Special Agent Lysander Cove raised his ocean-blue eyebrows high, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. Gills flapped in his cheeks. “Damn, Walker. You look like death warmed over—no, make that served cold.”

  Cold. That’s right; Gisele was so cold, she couldn’t even feel it any longer.

  “What the hell took you so long?” She’d always disliked Lysander. He was a half-demon like her and apparently had something to prove. But right now she was actually thankful he was here.

  Lysander offered Gisele an arm and hauled her out of the locker, shooting her a condescending look when she swayed on her feet. “We got held up dealing with your boyfriend. He wasn’t exactly in a reasonable state of mind when we came across multiple versions of him.”

  “Only one of them was Shade, I don’t know what in Lucifer’s name that other thing was. Is he okay? If you killed him, I swear—”

  A wet-sounding laugh broke from the special agent, too pleasant for the disturbing room they were standing in. It took him a while to settle himself, but at last, he sobered, smoothing a hand through his slicked-back, sea-green hair. “Detained but alive. I do hope you were serious.”

  She got his meaning loud and clear—you could try. He didn’t view her as a threat, which was probably the only reason she wasn’t sporting a pair of cuffs. But she didn’t care if he u
nderestimated her. It only made it easier to slide a knife through the back of his ribs.

  “Take me to him,” she said.

  He gripped her arm hard enough to bruise. “Gladly.”

  9

  “Gisele, my favorite half-demon. What did you bring me this time? I’m quite curious, you see, as it’s done a rather expensive number on my lab.”

  “Brought you?” Gisele replied, the perfect picture of incredulousness. “What the hell did your lab let loose? I thought you kept a tighter leash on your experiments, Maisie.”

  The medical examiner smiled, flashing a thicket of silvery, barbed teeth. She was a balvelgr—a flesh eater from Hew, the Second Gate, the realm of never-ending punishment—and she had a twisted sense of humor.

  “The tightest. In fact, I keep them caged.” Her russet eyes glinted with amusement in the sunken hollows of her sockets. She ruffled her thinning, dirt-brown curls with one hand and canted her peaky chin forward, a clear indicator for Gisele to continue.

  “It could’ve killed us,” Gisele complained, trying to sound as convincing as possible. If she accepted the blame for what had happened, there’d be no end to the world of trouble she’d find herself in. Attacking a government agency was risky even for someone with human rights. In her case, she didn’t think she’d be facing jail time.

  The doctor chewed a long, thin, razor-sharp and gleaming fingernail. “Yes, it did seem to be interested in you. Of course, we can’t know for sure, as it’s managed to wriggle from the premises.” She flicked her needle-like nails toward the special agents at her side, and Gisele could swear they withered and shrank in on themselves—a startling Pavlovian response, considering the agents, demons themselves, were each armed to the teeth and at least a foot taller than the petite, rawboned woman. Then the doctor returned her attention to Gisele, offering another spine-shivering smile. “We were able to ask your partner about it, though.”

  “He’s not my partner,” Gisele said. “He’s my…” She hesitated, not really knowing what Shade was to her. He was her coworker, but he was also much more than that—an enigma and a thorn in her side, and maybe a friend if she was feeling stupid and risky enough. But he wasn’t her partner—even in a business sense. Beast had earned that spot in her heart, and that was exactly why she hadn’t brought him here. She’d never subject a loved one to the filth and corruption that was this place. “Shade’s my associate through Warrick Investigations, but you knew that. Why are you holding him illegally?”

  “Don’t play dim with me, Gisele. You know what I’m allowed to do. Now ask me what you want to ask me.”

  Gisele went cold all over. Legally, there was very little Maisie couldn’t do under the circumstances they’d found themselves in. She’d come to verify the identity of a certain demon’s corpse—she never imagined it might end up being Shade’s. The thought scared her more than she wanted to admit. It tightened her chest in a way she wasn’t ready to confront.

  “Did you hurt him?”

  “Oh, yes, very much so. But that’s an obvious conclusion. I’m afraid I may grow bored—and so hungry—if you continue in that line of questioning.”

  The doctor skittered her fingernails over the stainless steel lip of an instruments tray—one of the few that hadn’t been toppled during the fracas with the elghoul. She reached for a twisted, pronged metal tool whose surgical use Gisele neither knew nor wanted to find out, but then curled her gaunt hand back at the last moment to rest beside an electric bone saw on the sterile tray top.

  “He wouldn’t tell you what you wanted to know.” It was a statement more than a question. One she should’ve kept to herself.

  “Watch your tone, Walker,” Lysander cautioned. His cheeks sheened, not with sweat but something slimier.

  Gisele hummed her understanding but had to work to keep a shot of smugness from quirking the corners of her mouth. It was dangerous to provoke the medical examiner, but she felt proud of Shade’s resolve. Keeping his secrets, even in the clutches of the Office of the Paranormal—he never ceased to amaze her. Of course, she would like him more if he didn’t also guard those secrets from her.

  “I am confident he will crack in time,” Maisie said, scraping her nails over the blade of the bone saw in a clear threat.

  She was making things worse and instantly sobered.

  “What do you want for him, Maisie? What do I have to give you? And don’t forget, I still need to see who you’ve got on file for Samuel the Stump.”

  “Ah, now we’re getting to the gristle of it. Getting down to business.” Maisie circled her fingers in the air to signal her agents. One of them, the woman with pointy elven ears, tilted her head and spoke into the mic of an earset hidden behind her shoulder-length blond hair.

  A moment later, the door behind her rocked open and two attendants in bloodied medical scrubs dragged Shade into the room. They forced him to his knees, and he went down without so much as a fight. Gisele’s stomach dropped.

  “Let’s talk shop,” Maisie said.

  They’d battered him ’til he was drooling blood. One eye was swollen shut and he’d been shot more than once in the chest—lead, she would guess, based on the fact that he was still breathing. The front of his shirt was soaked red, and they’d clasped a sleek silver collar around his neck. But they hadn’t gone to town on him yet, hadn’t gotten serious with their interrogation, as he still had all his appendages. They hadn’t damaged him beyond repair, which meant there was something the doctor wanted from her—badly.

  “Gisele,” he mumbled. Relief flooded his face but was short-lived. He glanced around the room with his one good eye, took in the agents, Gisele, and the doctor, and fell silent with understanding, jaw clenched. He stared down at the white tile floor.

  If he was plotting a daring escape, Gisele hoped he’d come up with something quick.

  As impassive as the agents tried to keep their faces—good little soldiers who followed orders without question—she could tell they were judging her, looking down on both of them. Protected and well paid, revered too, the government’s precious pets, demons turned demon hunters had every right to feel superior. Lysander could barely keep the smirk from his stupid, fishy lips.

  “State your price and let’s get on with it,” Gisele said, feeling caged. There wasn’t going to be an easy way out of this. “If it’s cash you want, I’ll have to go and get it.”

  She knew it wasn’t money the corpse eater wanted. Her department was in no way hurting for funding. But considering that Gisele had recently come into a small fortune, it was an option she had to try. If she could pay Shade’s price for the mess she’d caused, she’d do it, no matter the cost. Fake memories or not, he’d risked his life for her.

  The medical examiner picked a stray fleck of lint off her bloodstained lab coat. It hung on her cadaverous body. “Sweetmeat, you already know money cannot pique my interest. Besides, even if you weren’t so incredibly lacking in funds, I wouldn’t want to hurt you that way. No, I require my payment in blood.”

  Gisele nodded, having expected as much. “Name it.”

  “A kidney.”

  “Maisie.”

  “Fine. Two fingers and an eye, that is my price.”

  “A handful of teeth and three of my horns,” Gisele said, hoping the doctor might further lower the cost. Mutilation was a steep asking price, even for her, one with the rare talent to regenerate. Her muscle, sinew, and bone might regrow over time, but that didn’t mean organ extraction wouldn’t be a traumatizing experience or hurt like the dickens to heal through.

  “I want living tissue—a skin graft at least. Maybe a piece of tongue.”

  Gisele thought it over, her stomach churning. It wouldn’t be the worst thing she’d ever undergone, but the thought of the Office of the Paranormal keeping bits of her on file, floating in jars of formaldehyde, in little bottles behind the doctor’s desk, ready snack-packs for Maisie—it made her sick.

  The medical examiner had been after a specimen sa
mple from her for the last two years: nail clippings, hair follicles, spit. She’d refused it all, but now she didn’t have much choice.

  “Why don’t you just take a bite out of my arm? It’d be faster.”

  Maisie gnawed at the air, cackling. “No, no. It’s not for that, though I am sure you’re very delicious. My interest is purely scientific. I’ve an idea about you I’ve been dying to test.”

  “And that would be…?”

  “Classified,” said Maisie.

  Of course it was.

  “Two vials of blood instead.” As soon as she said the words, it felt like a mistake, like she was a hare trapped in the rending maw of a wolf.

  “Don’t,” Shade interrupted. “Don’t give it to her. No organs, no blood.”

  “Why not?”

  Muscles tightened in his face, turning his expression bleak. “What do you think she’ll do with it?”

  He was right, giving a government agency created to control demons vials of her blood for study—nothing good could come from that. But it seemed an asinine thing to balk at, considering the amount of blood dripping from his chin alone. She was sure they’d taken a sample of his DNA for record. Why should it matter if they took hers as well?

  One of his guards, an attendant in blue medical scrubs, nicked a scalpel from a nearby tray and stabbed it between Shade’s ribs. “You’re not a part of this negotiation,” the guard said as Shade gasped from the pain.

  The accompanying special agents didn’t even flinch. Gisele did, hands fisting at her sides. She couldn’t stand to see him like this, bound and taking a hit for her.

  “No living cells,” Shade breathed, wincing.

  “Are you stupid? She’s not going to settle for hair and nail clippings. You want to be left here?” She expected Shade to pale and cave at the threat—maybe for once he would admit that he needed her—but instead he tensed, steeling himself, and she realized he’d already resigned himself to the prospect. Why, she didn’t understand.