Archangel's Shadows (31 page)

The door slammed shut.

Pushing up to her feet, hands over her ears as she rocked, she tried the same thing at the next warehouse, this time more furtively, giving the appearance that she was afraid of being caught again. No response this time, and she picked up not even a hint of sound.

Going with her gut, she said, “First warehouse,” into the tiny microphone attached to the collar of her coat. “Two vampire guards that I saw, armed with guns and possibly knives.” Retrieving her gun from a coat pocket, the silencer already on, she held it in one hand; the coat’s sleeves were long enough to conceal the weapon. “I didn’t hear or see anything to suggest a bigger contingent, but there could be more toward the back.”

Naasir’s voice came through the receiver in her ear. “I will listen.” A minute later. “I hear male laughter, movement, but it is small. No more than two or three.”

Another voice followed Naasir’s. “Giorgio,” Dmitri said, “is not at his home or at any of his known haunts. His cattle are accounted for except for the one named Brooke. She left with him around three a.m.”

Ashwini’s blood ran hot. There was a good chance the bastard was inside the warehouse and he probably had Brooke with him. Not only had she tarnished his name, but her actions had drawn Tower attention; it may have been enough to make Giorgio break pattern and attack a woman who could be linked back to him.

“Give us a minute,” she said to Dmitri and Illium both, then she signaled to Janvier and Naasir.

Quiet as ghosts, the two men whispered across the roof to jump down behind the target warehouse, while she shuffled her way back to the front. Hesitating and mumbling to give them enough time to get in position, she surreptitiously undid her coat to expose the thin T-shirt she wore underneath before knocking on the door.

I
t was pulled open by the same vampire who’d shoved her to the ground.

“You still here?” he snarled. “I told you to git!” Fangs glinted in the sunlight. “Or do you want me to get nasty?”

A vicious guard dog, she decided, one who’d do anything for money. “I was just wondering,” she said, imitating the jerky, scratchy movements of a junkie. No one to worry about. No one important. No one who’d be missed. “Do you have, like, a dollar?” A jerk that made her coat half fall off her shoulder, drawing his attention to her body. “For coffee?”

His eyes gleamed red, dropping to her breasts. “I think we can work out a deal.”

He was reaching to maul her breasts when there was a shout from inside the warehouse. As he turned, Ashwini shot him straight through the temple. He dropped to the floor with a bone-cracking slam, but didn’t die, his shoulders and legs twitching and bloody froth gathering at the corners of his mouth.

Before she put in another bullet at the precise point in his spine that would paralyze him long enough to get this done, she looked inside to find Naasir and Janvier only a few feet away. It appeared the guards had been playing poker around a table close to the entrance. Naasir had ripped out the throat of a second guard with unusual care. The male was seriously damaged, but would survive to face Tower justice. Janvier, on the other hand, had a sweating vampire on his knees, one of his kukris held to the dark-skinned male’s throat.

Since they needed only one conscious and able to talk, she put the bullet in the first vampire’s spine, then contacted Illium. “We have this under control,” she said, stepping over the guard’s body to head to Janvier. “I think your squadron should clear the second warehouse before joining us.”

“Consider it done.”

In front of her, Janvier hauled his captive to his feet and slid away his blade. “See Naasir over there? He’s hungry. Don’t run unless you want him to chase you.”

Naasir obligingly smiled his most feral smile.

The whites of his eyes showing, the guard nodded.

Together, the three of them and their captive moved deeper into the warehouse via the clear aisle in the center, shelving and boxes on either side. Normal enough. Until they reached the center.

On the left were more goods, including several large crates situated a short distance from where the shelving ended. On the right, however, the shelving continued uninterrupted, but the goods went in only a few feet deep. Beyond floated gauzy hangings Naasir tore down to reveal a plush black carpet.

On the carpet sat a four-poster bed with rumpled satin sheets. It was fitted with leather restraints as well as heavy black-on-black damask curtains that had been tied to the sides with glossy gold ropes that ended in tassels. Two large armchairs upholstered in a deep red fabric sat nearby, at an angle that would provide the occupants with an uninterrupted view of the bed.

One of those armchairs had a back meant to accommodate wings.

Beside each was a beautifully crafted round wooden table etched with designs in gold, its feet curved.

Fury a burn in her blood, Ashwini strode to the bed, touched the sheets. Cold. But though she couldn’t see it against the black satin, she could smell the blood, feel the slight stickiness of it against her fingertips. Spinning to face the guard, she said, “Where are the women?”

When the man refused to speak, Janvier shoved him back to his knees and had the kukri at his throat before the guard had time to even draw breath.

“Oops,” Janvier said, beads of dark red beginning to form on the sweating vampire’s neck. “I’m a little shaky today.” His smile was so chilly, she would’ve been surprised it came from him if she hadn’t known how much he hated men who hurt women.

Ashwini knew the victims had to be here, but the warehouse was massive. Thick with shadows, it had shelving large enough to hold human-sized cages and could take considerable time to search. To judge from the bloodstained sheets on the bed, a woman could die in the interim.

“Where are they, you piece of shit?” She strode over to slam the muzzle of her gun to the guard’s temple as wings of silver-blue appeared in her peripheral vision.
“Talk.”

“I would do as she says,” Janvier drawled without removing the blade from the man’s throat. “She can be trigger-happy.”

“I’m more scared of him than of you,” the guard said through his cowardly quivering.

Ashwini thought they could change that, her current mood without mercy, but Naasir suddenly froze, his nostrils flaring. “I have them.” He took off in the direction where she’d noted the large wooden crates.

No,
she thought and ran.

Janvier ran right beside her, leaving the gibbering guard to Illium. “Ash!”

Half turning without lessening her speed, she caught the crowbar Janvier looked to have picked up from the final—and mostly empty—shelves on the left. He grabbed a hammer that was lying there after throwing her the crowbar.

Naasir was already using his claws to wrench the slats off one box, his strength ferocious. She went to a second, while Janvier took a third. Three of the Legion arrived two seconds later and joined in.

Ashwini hoped with her every breath that Naasir was wrong, that they’d find nothing more interesting than schmaltzy souvenirs, but she could smell what Lilli had, understood now why the scent had made such a strong impression on the tortured woman. “These crates used to hold peanuts,” she said, using the crowbar to wrench up a slat.

Naasir growled loud enough to raise every tiny hair on her body and, throwing aside a slat, picked up an emaciated woman from the crate he’d demolished. Thrusting her into the arms of one of the Legion, he said, “Fly!” Every member of the team had been briefed as to where to take any injured they might find.

Ashwini could see that her crate wasn’t empty now and she renewed her efforts, Naasir coming over to help. It took another excruciating half second to get the slats off enough that she could see the woman. Pressing her fingers against the victim’s throat, Ashwini prayed for a beat. Nothing. No, wait. There it was. A faint flutter. “She’s alive!” she yelled at the same time that Janvier yelled the same.

Naasir lifted out the woman just as the victim Janvier had discovered began to scream, high-pitched and piercing. Ashwini ran over, guessing it was seeing a male that had set her off. Janvier backed out of view at the same time.

The shock of recognition was instant. “It’s all right,” she said to Brooke. “You’re safe.” Nude body bruised and bloodied, one of her eyes swollen half-shut and her lip split open, the auburn-haired woman was nonetheless still whole. “We’re taking you to a hospital.”

Brooke was already fading, eyes glazed by shock and face pale, but she struggled to speak. “Giorgio . . . hurt . . .”

“We’ll get him,” Ashwini promised. “Conserve your strength.”

Ignoring the words, Brooke forced out, “M-monster w-watched . . .”

Lights, sirens on the doorstep.

“Janvier!” Ashwini called out. “Help me carry her to the ambulance.” She could’ve done it in a fireman’s carry but that might aggravate any internal injuries Brooke had sustained, and with the wounded woman having lost her battle with unconsciousness, she wouldn’t be traumatized by the contact with a male.

Janvier lifted Brooke into his arms with utmost gentleness. “I have her,
cher
.”

Knowing he’d be careful with her, Ashwini turned to make sure all the crates had been opened and there were no more victims.

When Janvier returned, he, Ashwini, Naasir, and Illium compared notes. Brooke wasn’t the only one who’d been conscious. The girl Naasir had rescued first had also managed to speak.

“‘Monster,’” Naasir repeated, his eyes gleaming so violently in the semidark of the warehouse that Ashwini realized they were actually reflective . . . like a tiger’s. “She kept saying ‘monster.’ I thought she was confused, talking about me.”

“The second armchair,” Ashwini pointed out, “it had a back modified for wings.”

“An angelic partner may explain the desiccation,” Illium said, features grim. “The emergence of new abilities among our kind isn’t always telegraphed ahead of time.”

“We go over this warehouse inch by inch.” Janvier’s voice had lost its languid rhythm, become hard, ruthless. “Feathers at Giorgio’s home could belong to innocent angelic guests, but anything here is near certain to belong to his partner.”

Not wasting time, they walked to one end of the warehouse to form a horizontal line across the huge space with others of the squadron. Not the Legion fighters, however—according to what Ashwini had picked up from talking to Tower personnel, while the Legion were skilled in the air, they weren’t very good at delicate tasks. Not yet.

Using high-powered torches flown in by the Legion to light shadowy areas and illuminate aisles between the shelving, the line was almost to the other end of the warehouse when Janvier called for them to stop.

Positioned only a couple of feet to his left, Ashwini watched him crouch down and pick up something from the ground. “Feather,” he said, fierce exultation in his tone. “Red.”

Red?

As far as she knew, there were no red-winged angels in the city, but she was no expert. Many angels also had delicate markings—one could have tiny red feathers on the inner curve of a wing, for example. “Do you recognize it?” Angelic colors tended to be highly distinctive. No one in New York would ever mistake one of Illium’s for one of Raphael’s, or one of Jason’s for one of Aodhan’s.

“No.” Janvier rose to his feet, handed the feather to Illium. “You know who this is?”

A chill iced Illium’s expression. “There are two options that make sense.”

“Red,” Naasir said, a growl in his voice, “is unusual among angels.” His eyes met Illium’s. “Xi and Cornelius.”

Ashwini’s mind filled with an image of wings of gray streaked by vivid red, her skin pebbling. “Wasn’t Xi—”

“—one of Lijuan’s generals?” Illium completed. “Yes.”

Naasir spoke again. “Not the oldest or the most powerful, but favored because of his intelligence.”

“Cornelius,” Illium added, “is a lower-ranked general. His wings are a heavy cream for the most part except for a scattering of red across the top arches.”

“Illium!”

Turning toward the doorway, Ashwini saw a slender black-haired vampire with a scarf around his neck walking toward them. He must’ve arrived in the area after them, she realized when Janvier introduced him as Trace.

His voice was hoarse as he said, “I had a hunch, with Giorgio being scientifically trained. Dug around in the other warehouse.” Trace opened his palm. On it sat a tiny ziplock bag with a few crystalline granules colored a reddish brown.

Ashwini recognized it from Janvier’s description of the new designer vampire drug that was the reason for Lacey’s horrific murder.

“Supply or creation?” Illium asked after taking the bag.

“Creation. There are tools. Nothing elaborate, but enough.” Trace glanced around. “Giorgio must’ve separated out his drug operation from his sadistic games”—utter distaste in his voice—“because the other warehouse already had the right setup for it.”

“See if you can discover anything else about the origins of the drug,” Illium said, his glance taking in all four of them. “I’ll alert Raphael that it appears either Cornelius or Xi somehow managed to remain behind in the city, or return to it after the rest of Lijuan’s forces retreated.”

The angel couldn’t technically give Ashwini an order, but this was one order with which she had no argument. First, however, they finished going over the warehouse. Ashwini found another tiny red feather, this one with a tip of rich cream. Xi, she remembered, had no cream in his wings. Still, she double-checked with Naasir and Janvier, received the same answer.

That narrowed their target down to a single angel:
Cornelius.

“They were careful,” Janvier said, his hand touching her lower back. “Must’ve picked up any larger feathers.”

“No.” She stared at the tiny feather as Naasir contacted Illium with the updated information. “They had no reason to be careful—Giorgio was so sure he couldn’t be tracked that he used a warehouse held under his own name. There’s something
wrong
with this feather.” Holding it cupped carefully in the palm of her hand, she walked outside into the light. “Do you see it?”

First Janvier, then Naasir examined the feather. Even Trace. None could see anything wrong, and when she looked at it in their hands, she couldn’t, either. But as soon as she took it, she felt it again, the wrongness. “There’s something wrong with Cornelius, then,” she said, skin crawling. “Very, very wrong.”

Sliding the disturbing thing into her pocket, after rooting around in there for something to act as a bag and finding a crushed plastic sleeve that had once held tissues, she walked with the men across to the other warehouse.

It was identical to the first one in size and shape, but the lighting was much better, most of the space filled with what appeared to be normal goods. They opened a few boxes to be sure, found the kinds of things a man who served the luxury market might acquire—exotic spices, antiques, rich bolts of silk.

The back right of the warehouse, however, was sectioned off into its own room with a single small window. It said
Office
on the door, and at first glance that was what it appeared to be. Tall filing cabinets, a desk, invoices, a phone. There was even a tiny sink behind the filing cabinets, as well as a camp stove.

It was under that sink that Trace had found a clear plastic box that held a steel bowl, a dirty syringe, a tiny spoon, and what looked like a bunch of ordinary sugar crystals alongside more ziplock bags. Putting everything on the sink, Trace said, “Either the foreman who ran this warehouse was oblivious to his master’s activities or he was the cook.

“The bag I found was crushed under the bowl, must’ve been missed when they made the last batch.” He held the syringe up to show them the brownish residue inside before putting it back down. “In all honesty I’m not sure how or what they were doing, but I believe they must’ve needed water and the stove. The actual raw materials are nowhere in evidence.”