Flameout (29 page)

“It has nothing to do with Sam, and everything to do with wanting to wipe the stain of your existence from our world.”

“A commendable goal, but one I understandably cannot condone.” Amusement touched his tone. “Shall we cut the crap, Emberly, and get down to business?”

“Please, let's.” If the inspector's people hadn't had enough time to track Luke, then that was just too bad.

“Fine. I want you—and you alone—to come to the intersection where this all started. Be there by six, or Sam pays the price.”

“He's going to pay the price whether or not I show up.”

“Oh, true, but if you
do
fail to show, my remaining men and women will swarm into the nearby suburbs and infect as many people as possible. We both know neither you nor the inspector would want that.” He
paused, and a dark edge touched his tone as he added, “Do what I want, Emberly, or the world will pay the price.”

I sucked in a breath and released it slowly. I was always going to meet the bastard; all his threat did was make me all the more determined to kill him.

Especially since I had no doubt that he fully intended to order the swarm and allow his people to infect as many as possible anyway.

“I'll be there,” I said, voice flat.

“Good.” He sounded positively jovial. He really
wasn't
playing with a full deck of cards these days. “Oh, and don't bother placing sharpshooters on high ground again. My tame witch has conjured a little spell or two to counter that sort of thing.”

With that, he hung up. I blew out a breath and glanced at the inspector. “You'd better call out the military—I don't believe that threat to swarm was an idle one. It'll happen when we're meeting.”

“We've already cut access to and from Brooklyn, and are monitoring all major sewer outlets. However . . .” She paused and glanced over her shoulder. “Frank, contact the brigadier immediately.”

A tall, thin man with a shock of white hair spun around and headed outside. The inspector's gaze returned to mine. “What do you intend to do?”

“Meet him, obviously.”

Her gaze narrowed. “And how to you intend to avoid the trap that undoubtedly awaits?”

“I don't. But I don't intend to let the bastard win, either.” One of us wasn't going to walk away from this confrontation, and that person
wasn't
going to be me.
I glanced at my watch. We had two hours before I had to be in Brooklyn and a whole lot to organize in that brief time. “What I need from you, Inspector, is a map of the sewers, especially in Brooklyn. Jackson, could you call Adán and Dmitri and ask them to come here? And then call Rory, and ask him to come prepared for a firefight and magic?”

I might not want Rory near any sort of danger, but that didn't mean he couldn't help. Luke might have protected himself against any sort of rooftop attack, but I doubted he'd have afforded the sewers the same sort of protection—especially given his people were using them to move about.

Jackson left to make the calls. The inspector motioned me to follow her, but rather than heading outside, as I'd half expected, she turned into the small study. Up on the wall, above the old oak desk, was a rather detailed map of the main grid system under Brooklyn and the nearby suburbs. Beside it was a smaller map showing secondary grid systems. There were notes, comments, and various-colored circles all over both; Sam had obviously been using the sewers to get in and out of the place. No wonder he'd been so peeved that I'd simply walked in unseen the night I'd rescued him.

“What do you plan?” the inspector said.

“I once warned Luke that I'd burn Brooklyn to the ground if he didn't back off.” My gaze met the inspector's. “And that's exactly what I intend to do.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. “I don't think I could condone such destruction—”

“I'm not asking you to. I'm simply telling you what I'm intending.” My voice was grim. “This has to stop.
If I can kill Luke, then we've at least dealt with one major problem.”

Her gaze narrowed slightly, but not in anger. Her expression was more contemplative than anything else. “It is theorized that the cloaks will swarm without his control.”

“They're going to swarm anyway. As I said, I don't believe Luke's threat was an idle one.” She didn't, either, not if her order to warn the brigadier was any indication. “If we can cut off their underground exits and force them aboveground, then eradicating them before they exit Brooklyn will be easier.”

And both PIT and the military were, after all, already patrolling the perimeter. Destroying all access points in and out of Brooklyn might raise questions from the press and public, but PIT could no doubt handle that.

“And how, exactly, do you intend to force them aboveground?” the inspector asked. “We're already monitoring all major sewer outlets, but there are numerous minor ones for them to use.”

“Which is where having a couple of earth fae on our team will come in handy,” Jackson said as he came into the room. He stopped beside me and studied the map for a second. “A well-planned earth shift around that entire area should take care of the sewer problem, be they major or minor tunnels.”

“A quake. Interesting.” The inspector's gaze swept from me to Jackson and back again. “You two do have a rather unique way of dealing with things. I can't approve of such methods, of course—”

“As I said—”

She held up a hand, halting me midsentence as she added, “But given the nature of the threat, and the fact it falls within national security guidelines, I believe that—in this instance—I cannot disapprove of it, either.”

Well, good, because unless she intended on locking us up, she couldn't exactly stop us. And she'd have a damn hard time getting either of us anywhere near a cell right now.

A fact she was no doubt aware of.

I glanced at Jackson. “How long before Adán and Dmitri get here?”

“Twenty minutes. Rory will be here in fifteen.”

“Good.” But was it?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Ready or not, we were about to go to war, and I could only hope my instinct was wrong about what was coming.

Because if it wasn't, then someone I loved would be dead by the time all this was over.

T
he pink-and-gold fingers of sunset were giving way to night by the time I arrived in Brooklyn. The cold wind held the promise of rain, and tugged heavily at the various bits of loose boarding and metalwork on the nearby buildings, filling the silence with a symphony of creaks and groans. Plastic bags and other bits of rubbish pirouetted down the street, but little else moved.

Nothing had changed since I'd last been here—nothing, perhaps, except me.

I flexed my fingers and moved on, my gaze on the intersection ahead. That was where it had all begun for me, and that was where it would all end.

If
everything went according to plan.

And really, when did anything ever go according to plan?

I ignored the fear that rose with the thought. We were as prepared as we could be for a situation such as this. We'd tried to think of every possible scenario and put countermeasures in place, but I'd learned a long time ago that it was impossible to totally predict the actions of a madman.

While there were no riflemen on high, I'd come equipped with all manner of weaponry. Whether I'd
get to use them didn't really matter; the whole point of carrying was the fact it would be expected.

I glanced at my watch. Three minutes to six. Three minutes before my final meeting with Luke.

Five minutes before Brooklyn became its own little island.

I took a deep breath and tried to relax. For this to work, Luke had to believe I was here alone, that I'd done as ordered and there was no help or hope for me anywhere close. He'd be well aware that PIT and the military had fully barricaded all roads in and out of this place, of course, but hopefully he'd believe
that
was just a natural outcome of the threat he'd made at Sam's.

I continued to walk down the middle of the street. There was little point in doing anything else, because Luke had undoubtedly been aware of my presence from the moment I stepped foot in his kingdom. The buildings to either side of me continued to creak and groan, but I had no sense that anyone was near. I wasn't expecting the cloaks, given it was almost certain they were preparing to swarm, but I'd expected to see Sam. Expected to see—or at least sense—both Luke and his pet witch.

But then, while Luke wasn't playing on the same sane field as the rest of us, he wasn't exactly stupid. He wouldn't reveal himself until he absolutely believed he held all the winning cards.

As I drew closer to the intersection, the wind got stronger, tugging violently at my hair and sending chills down my spine. I thrust cold fingers into my jacket pockets and wished I could call up some heat to
warm them. But I had a very tight leash on my internal fires right now, and I didn't want to waste even the smallest spark. I wasn't really concerned about my control slipping, but I needed to conserve every scrap of energy possible if I was to have any hope of making good on my threat.

Up ahead, on the roof of a building to the right of the intersection, a solitary light flared to life. It cut through the gathering shadows with cold efficiency and puddled brightness in the middle of the crossroad.

Sam stood there, untied and unmoving.

His clothes were little more than filthy rags that barely covered him, and his body was bruised and beaten. Bloody wounds marred the left side of his face and his torso, and his right arm was broken—even from where I stood I could see the sharp edge of a bone sticking out of his skin.

He had to be in a whole world of pain, but little of it showed in his expression.

That he even
had
an expression had relief sweeping through me. Whatever else might be going on—whatever other force was in play and keeping him from moving or speaking—he was at least
himself
and not under his brother's control.

My gaze rose to his. The blue depths of his eyes were filled with fury and desperation, and I knew, without him saying a word, that he wanted nothing more than for me to walk out of here and leave him to his fate. I shook my head slightly, and he closed his eyes. Just for an instant, grief touched his face.

Not the actions of a man who no longer cared.

It would be just like fate to give me a glimpse of
hope then snatch it away. And with the ever-growing certainty that someone w
ould
die tonight, I was beginning to fear that that someone would be Sam.

Tension curled through me, and I had to resist the urge to glance at my watch. Jackson would contact me when everything was in place. Until then, I just had to be patient.

Pinpricks of energy began to dance across my skin. It was an energy that felt dirty—unclean—but also very familiar. It was the same energy that I'd felt in both the cemetery and in the sewers before the hellhounds had attacked.

But it was also much,
much
stronger than either of those. I had no doubt the spell was designed to capture and contain a being of fire, but what else? That I could feel it this far out from the intersection meant the net was very wide indeed. It seemed neither Luke nor his witch were taking any chances this time.

I just had to hope that Grace and her people
hadn't
overstated the powers of the necklaces. If she had, then we were all in serious trouble.

The stinging got stronger. I stopped again, my fists clenched so tight my nails were digging into my palm. Surely to god three minutes had passed since I'd entered this street? Or was it another case of time slowing to a crawl, as had happened the very first time I'd come here to save Sam's life?

Arrived
. Jackson's mental tones ran with excitement.
Ready
.

Dmitri and Adán?

Yes. Give word.

I took a deep breath and released it slowly.
And Rory?

With me.

I briefly closed my eyes. While I knew the two of them were far safer underground than they would be above, the certainty of death was looming ever closer. But there was nothing I could do about it now. The game, as Sherlock had been want to say, was afoot.

Heading into the intersection now.

Say when.

I walked on, my gaze on Sam. One tiny muscle near his cheek ticked, but otherwise he was as still and silent as the rest of this place.

The closer I got to the intersection, the stronger the magic became, until it felt like my whole body burned with the unpleasant sensation. I didn't react, and I kept my flames well hidden. For this to work, Luke had to not only feel in total control of the situation
but
be totally sure I was without my fire and totally at his mercy. I doubted he'd reveal himself until that point.

I stepped into the intersection proper. For a moment, it felt like I was walking through glue—thick, scratchy glue that tore at my skin and seemed to eat into my brain. Then warmth flared around my neck, and in an instant, the sensation was gone. Grace's charm, coming to my aid. Whether it had successfully countered the fire-restricting properties of the net that now surrounded this place I wouldn't actually know until I tried to use my flames—and I couldn't do that right now. Hell, I couldn't even risk a spark.

I stopped several feet away from Sam. “We'll have to stop meeting like this.” I kept my tone light and my attention on our surrounds more than him. “People will begin to think we're an item again.”

He didn't respond, but just for a moment, a glimmer of amusement broke through the anger that burned in his bright eyes.

I glanced around then said, “I don't suppose you have any idea where your bastard brother is, do you?”

That cheek muscle went into overdrive again, but he still didn't move or answer.

“Personally, I'm betting he won't show up. He seems to have gained a preference of late to let others do his dirty work.” I paused, and then added derisively, “But as you said at the cemetery, he always was a coward who hid behind excuses and the strength of others.”

Anger surged across the night, sharp, clear, and
close
. I bit back a smile. Luke might be near enough to hear what I was saying, but he wasn't yet out in the open. Until he was, we couldn't move.

“So how is the little shit keeping you voiceless and unmoving, Sam?” I scanned him critically, my stomach clenching at the severity of some of his wounds. Dear god, he was going to have some major scarring after this.
If
he survived this, that was. “Is it magic, or some form of mental control?”

Again that muscle went into action. Not mental control, obviously, otherwise that muscle and the fury in his eyes would also be still.

I frowned and slowly walked around him. There were no obvious signs of magic etched onto the ground, and no spell stones that I could see. But as I was about to move around to the front of him again, I glimpsed something black and ugly crawling across his spine. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, but
my stomach churned. Skin runes were a particularly nasty type of magic and were generally employed when the survival of the subject was unimportant. Unfortunately, the only way to counteract them was with holy water and silver, and only then within a certain amount of time. The longer the runes were on the skin, the stronger they became, and the more they'd suck the life out of him. Given what I'd glimpsed, it was evident they'd been active for about half an hour already. He probably had that amount of time left before the runes claimed his life.

It was tempting, so damn tempting, to free him, but I couldn't risk using either the water or the knife just yet. Not until we'd brought Luke out into the open.

Frustration surged, but I kept all emotion from my expression as I stopped beside him. I wanted to reach out and squeeze his hand, let him know that it would be okay, that everything was under control. But I didn't, because it wasn't. Not yet.

“I'm here, Luke, as ordered. Are you going to show yourself or not?”

“That would depend.”

His voice was coming from the right side of the road, but the waves of anger from the left. Something weird was going on.

“On what?”

“On whether you have kept your word or not.”

“There are no sharpshooters, Luke. I did as you asked and came here alone.”

“So it would appear—but appearances are often deceiving.”

There was a scuff of sound; then Luke stepped out
from the doorway of the building that held the spotlight. He was wearing a gray cloak that hid his entire body, just as the cowl hid much of his features. Only his blue eyes were visible, so bright and so similar to Sam's and yet also vastly different. There was a spitefulness of spirit and temper evident in Luke's gaze that I'd never seen in Sam's.

“I told you not so long ago I'd burn this place down around your ears if you didn't back off, Luke—”

“Oh, you are welcome to try, dear Emberly, but I do not believe you'll have much success.”

I raised a hand and let sparks dance—then die—across my fingertips. Luke laughed at the sight, the sound high and merciless. “As has proven to be the case.”

A low sound of fury rumbled up my throat and in one swift motion, I reached for the gun resting against my spine and fired. The sound of the gunshot ricocheted across the night as the back of Luke's head exploded across the wall behind him.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. I didn't move, didn't relax, and kept the gun raised. As his body fell to the ground, an odd shimmer began to crawl across it, starting at his extremities then quickly spreading across the rest of his torso, until his entire being was encased. It pulsed for several seconds then disappeared, revealing what lay on the ground was a red cloak, not Luke.

A heartbeat later, Sam screamed.

I jumped and whipped around. The runes I'd glimpsed on his spine had moved to his chest and were tearing into his flesh with tiny black claws. If I
didn't react—didn't stop them—they'd rip out his heart. That half an hour had just dropped to a few minutes—if that.

“Okay, okay!” I threw the gun onto the ground. “Enough. Please.”

“Is that all of your weapons, dear Emberly?” This time, Luke's voice was coming from the left, from the same area as the waves of anger.

“Yes.”

Sam screamed again. Blood was beginning to course down his stomach, and I could see the gleam of bone in his chest.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I hastily pulled a second gun and two knives from their harnesses and threw them on the ground as well. “Stop the runes, Luke, or I swear—”

“What? You'll cinder me? And how might you achieve that when your flames are now ashes and beyond your reach?”

I didn't say anything. I didn't dare. I just clenched my fists against both the fires that burned through my soul and the desire to reduce his ass to ashes. His time was coming; I just had to have a little more patience. And hope like hell that Sam could last that long.

Jackson, tell everyone to get ready.

“And I'm expected to believe that is all you brought with you, Emberly?” Luke's voice held a mocking note. “What kind of fool do you think I am?”

I undid my coat and held it open. “It's hard to acquire an arsenal at short notice.”

“I find that hard to believe. Lift up the ends of your jeans.”

I did so. He'd see no more there than he had on my torso. My two remaining weapons—a small extendable silver blade and the precious vial of holy water—were currently sitting inside my bra, under my breasts. With the coat now undone, I could get to them very easily.

But the scent of pain and blood and desperation was riding the air, and the vicious little runes had their claws deep into Sam's chest. If they weren't stopped soon, they'd reach his heart—and there was nothing I or anyone else could do to help him if that happened.

“Sam has, at best, a couple of heartbeats left, Luke. I thought it was your intent to make him watch me die, not the other way around.”