Enticed (2 page)

„And who"s going to go with him? Magda isn"t back for another couple of days and everyone that can be active is already out doing something."

Lincoln dropped his head. I nudged his shoulder as we walked on. „I"l be okay. And anyway, practice makes perfect, right?"

He took a steadying breath, stood a little taller and ran a hand through his golden-streaked brown hair. He knew there was no talking me out of it and at some point he had to get on board. It wouldn"t help either one of us if we didn"t work together.

„Right," he said, with a finality that made me smile. With that, he segued into a tactical pep talk to which I listened intently. I was leaning to be Grigori, to be a warrior, but Lincoln had already travelled well down that road. Under his nice-guy façade was a mighty champion.

„… What? Shal we receive good at the hand of Good and
shal we not accept evil?"

Job 2:10

The streets around the bridge were dodgy. Homeless people congregate around the massive stone pylons, using them as buttresses for their provisional squats.

The area is fairly sheltered and since it"s well known as a homeless hang-out, residents are pretty much left in peace to haul out their shopping trolleys and tarpaulins at night. Most of them clear away during the day. A fact that confounds Steph. She struggles with the concept of anyone fitting all their belongings into one lone shopping trolley. Last time we"d gotten stuck down this end of town she"d speculated no end as to where al the shopping trolleys and their loot are hidden away during the day. I mean, she has a point. You don"t see dozens of homeless people walking around during the day pushing trolleys. They must go somewhere.

By the time we turned into a small side street, the last of the daylight was gone and there were no street-lamps. The evening was clear and there was a bit in the air but the absence of light always unnerves me and, of course, exiles, whether once of light or dark, prefer to play in the lee of night.

Entertaining themselves with the pain of humans was high on the to-do list for exiles.

They have the power to infiltrate imagination and pretty much put whatever horror movie takes their fancy inside someone"s head. Some of them use it just to taunt and frighten, while others use it as a kind of strategy. Over time, according to Griffin, they"ve used this ability to throw humans off their tracks entirely.

Apparently, that"s where the myths of vampires, werewolves and other things creepy come from, even fairies and elves. If exiles sense that their supernatural power has been detected and they are not able to eliminate the problem using their preferred method of slaughter, they simply reveal themselves as something other than human, anything but what they really are.

It makes sense. People, I was learning, were, on the whole, more at ease with the virtual reality of vampires and intergalactic visitors than the troubling prospect of a biblical Armageddon of one-time angels, equally once of light and dark, who were now exiles driven by vengeance and power living among us. Yes, we are naïve by choice.

I looked down the narrow street as far as my eyes would allow. It was littered with homeless people lying on flattened cardboard, the lucky ones wrapped in torn sleeping bags, the rest burrowed in piles of old newspapers. I scanned the dark red brick walls, which ran at least five storeys high on each side. The protection they offered was part of what made this strip so popular.

Or Lincoln walked slowly beside me, his hand going to my elbow for a moment – a silent reminder that I needed to be alert. I tried to move myself quickly through the flush of heat that came whenever I felt his touch.

I stopped walking and he looked at me, a question within his features. I smiled into his emerald-green eyes before I could stop myself.

„I think I can sense them," I said.

I didn"t
think
, I knew. I"d been tasting apple for the past couple of blocks and the sound of birds flying, smashing through trees, was not one shared by others nearby. These were my angelic senses. Most Grigori had one. Some, like Lincoln, had two. Lucky me, I had all five senses and I seemed to feel them more acutely than any other Grigori I had met. Great to be special and all, but having an extra five senses can be, well, overwhelming.

„How long have you been sensing them?"

I hesitated. He saw. „Violet … how long?"

I was worried Lincoln would judge me – that the fact I could sense them from so much further away would be a form of supernatural condescension and alienate me. „Not long.

Maybe one street back," I said, awkwardly.

Lincoln raised his eyebrows at me.

„Three streets back."

The corners of his mouth curled. He was holding back his Cheshire. I was a fool – he was proud of me.

I rolled my eyes at his twinkling expression. „They"re in the street. There are two of them,"

I said.

He nodded, now refocused. „I can smell them." His primary angelic sense was smell, though he could also hear.

I returned his nod. Morning and evening or, more accurately, the power that created them, flashed before my eyes at the fragrance or sickly sweet flowers flooded the area so strongly it even overpowered the stench of the street.

He took half a step in front of me and I let him. I might be able to sense them from further away but Lincoln could size them up and pick the strongest much faster than I could.

They emerged from the darkness, looking human, but not at the same time. Both were dressed casually, although one had blood stains all the way up his right arm like an abattoir worker at the end of a long day. I had an awful feeling I knew what that meant. Exiles had a habit of indulging in the internal physical torture of their victims. It prompted me to again take in my surroundings.

While still keeping sight of the approaching engagement I cast my eyes quickly over the sleeping bodies lining the street. Why hadn"t anyone said anything to us, stopped us, when we clearly didn"t belong here, from entering into their indisputable territory? I took in one, then two, then three figures tucked into their sleeping bags, unmoving. Energy hummed through my body and a cruel worked its way up into the base of my ribs.

I had let it once before – had allowed the energy to take over my body, forcing me to the ground, paralysing me in the pain of others. I grabbed Lincoln"s arm. He didn"t look back but I had his attention.

„They"re all dead. They"ve kil ed them all," I said, all too aware that the exiles were moving closer by the second. Agents of death.

„Linc, should I … you know?" I whispered shakily. He knew what I was suggesting. Just after becoming a Grigori I had found myself in the unpleasant position of being surrounded by exiles while mortally wounded. It was then that I discovered that I could do more than strip an exile"s powers or return them to the angel realm for judgement. Grigori rely on physical contact with an exile, through which they can incapacitate the exile for long enough to return them. It appeared I didn"t need that contact and in fact could extend my power to include multiple exiles at the same time.

„No. your power"s spiking all over the place. Are you okay?" Lincoln replied quickly under his breath. They were getting closer.

The senses were on edge but I had them under control … just.

„I"m okay. I could try."

„Stay focused. Stick to the plan," he whispered back. But his tone left little room for discussion.

Great. The plan. The one that has me all dagger happy.

Except I"m not.

Lincoln and Griffin had insisted that I still had to enter combat the same way as all other Grigori. That is wasn"t enough for me to rely on my power to get me out of everything. In theory I agreed. But at this very moment – standing smack bang in the middle of a slaughter zone while two over-stimulated, decidedly unhinged exiles moved in on us – it seemed extreme.

The exiles stopped in front of us, smiling. They were assessing us the way only otherworldly creatures can. A flick of the eyes, showing a defensive mechanism, and hunger at the same time. Exiles, whether light or dark, hated Grigori and loved killing us above all others. We were their greatest – their
only
– threat. If exiles were successful in eliminating us, there would be no hope for anyone else.

„You are a little late," said the shorter of the two, the one with the bloodied arm, like he"d been waiting for us.

Lincoln had already positioned himself level with him, not that I needed the heads-up that this one was more derailed of the two.

„It"s a pity. We would have liked to have kept a few to tear apart in front of you. I prefer an audience. But we got bored." He smiled, perfectly white teeth, pink full lips. Had I not been so sure of the senses I would have sworn he was a sixteen-year-old jock. That was the thing about exiles – they all looked healthy and strong, all in their prime.

„You knew we were coming?" Lincoln asked, twisting his body a little more, shielding me.

The exile laughed. „I have a message for you."

„And I thought your days as messengers were over."

The jock-looking exile licked his lips, barely restraining himself. „The reward of getting to kil you," he glanced at me," and her, is sufficient incentive."

„Well?" Lincoln said, showing no concern.

The exile"s smile broadened and he spoke softly. „Nahilius said to tell you he"s coming for what"s yours."

Lincoln stiffened. The exile cackled loudly.

„Make your choice," Lincoln growled. There was no denying that when he went into fighter mode, he was lethal. But so were they.

„Choice?" The jock-looking exile licked his lips, barely restraining himself. „So kind of you to offer. I think I will choose decapitation for you and something a bit more … fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants for her." He looked to me, his buddy laughing away. Then I saw it. It was gone as quickly as it had come, but it was definitely there. Recognition.

He could sense me, could sense my power. Of course, given what he could sense and what he"d probably heard I could do to him, he should have run. Instead, true to exile form, he lunged towards me, relishing the challenge.

Lincoln was ready, his arm out intercepting the exile, coat-hangering his forearm into his opponent"s neck, breaking his speed and redirecting his attention. That was all I had time to see before my own creepy once-was-angel started throwing punches in my direction.

Why is it that they all know how to fight?

Exiles seemed to come to Earth, take human forms and although none of them had great technique, they all knew how to hit. Hard. Luckily for me, thanks to many hours of training and some angelic augmentation, so did I.

We exchanged blow for blow. I"m not short for a girl, he was tall for a man, so he had that over me. He got in a few good knocks to my face, but he really favoured his right side I just kept moving towards it, getting nice and close so he couldn"t gain any leverage against me. I was getting on top of things, a series of kicks in his legs had him shaky. I hadn"t landed one in that magic spot that would blow out his knee, but he was stumbling.

A glow of colours lit up to my right. I knew what it was, but I looked anyway. Lincoln had the jock in a headlock and as I turned, I saw him plunge his dagger into the exile, returning him. What
I failed
to see was the tall exile"s fist heading straight for my ear. It was a sucker punch, but then these guys had no morals let alone fighting ethics. I was caught off-balance and could feel the warm wetness that could only be blood seeping down the side of my neck as I fell, now completely aware of the exile coming down on top of me.

My hand went instinctively to my dagger, my fingers wrapped fiercely around the hilt.

There was an opening I was going down, he had launched himself over me, but I had time. If I hadn"t hesitated I could have got it out, I
could
have returned him.

Instead, my shoulder smashed into the gravel road and I rolled onto my back quickly in an attempt to evade him. He collided into me so hard I felt the top of my spine being ground into the road and screamed. I punched him in the face twice, but he was too close now and had taken the advantage. He drove his knee into my stomach and drew back a clenched fist for what I knew was going to hurt, a lot.

But it didn"t. He never got his chance.

Al I saw was Lincoln"s dagger coming through the exile"s chest, the glory of his power"s colourful mist and then, the exile was gone.

Lincoln stood above me, strong and ready for anything. I looked into his fighter eyes and they took a moment to soften. He put his hand out and helped me up. It was warm and real, and he pulled me into him and wrapped an arm around me to help me walk.

„I couldn"t." I wanted to explain, to give an acceptable excuse. I was letting him down by not stepping up. I wasn"t just putting myself in danger but everyone else as well.

We walked away from the scene. The bodies of the exiles had disappeared but we were still surrounded by a killing field of homeless, dead people no one would claim and barely any would even notice gone. It had been too easy for the exiles to torture them. I felt bad walking away, like I was being disrespectful, but there was no option. We"d inform the police anonymously later. We couldn"t risk getting pulled into murder investigations we could never explain.

„You did great. I can"t sense any more of them," he said, looking around. „Can you?" He sounded unusually anxious.

„No," I said, looking down. „Do you know they were talking about? Who"s Nahilius?"

Lincoln hesitated. „Just a troublemaker. No one for you to worry about."

„Oh," I said, keeping my on him as he looked away.

Lincoln tightened the arm he had around me, supporting me. „It"s just going to take some time. What you went through … in the desert. It"s okay that you need some time."

„You"re upset with me, I can see it," I said, wincing at the pain in both my ear and at the back of my neck.

„What"s the first rule in combat Violet?" He spoke in his training voice. This time my cringe wasn"t at the pain, but at the stupidity that I was about to have to admit to.