Magic Rising (31 page)

While staring at the blood on the glass, Sabrine touched it once more just to prove to herself that it was real. Another odd thing occurred to her. The blood was warm, even with chilly night air, as if still connected to the owner.

“What happened to you Tech? Why are you bleeding?”

Chapter Twenty-One

Ryan Farmer went to the lobby of the hospital and phoned a taxi. He limped badly, every muscle in his body hurt as if slowly being ripped from the bone. His release from the hospital had been unofficial, with him stealing a set of scrubs from the closet in the hallway and making his way to the elevator. The police hadn’t posted a watch outside of his room. That had to mean no one had spoken with Deirdre yet. Once she told her story, Ryan knew he would face many years in prison and cops never did well in prison.

He might’ve stayed in the hospital, enjoying the attention of the nurses. There were many wonderful nurses on his floor, in all shapes and sizes, each one perfect in her own way, each eager to make him comfortable. He’d been enjoying the heavyset nurse the most, admiring her round posterior as she bent over, delighting him while she adjusted the pillow beneath his leg.

That’s when Noah Smythe, his old partner, had entered the room.

Smythe had been keeping an ear out and rumor had it that an arrest warrant would be issued soon. He passed on the info along with a tidbit that he expected to see Deirdre at the station in the morning. With that, he’d gone, leaving Ryan with a timetable.

The only thing that could save Ryan would be to eliminate Deirdre before she could give a formal statement in the morning. His word couldn’t be disputed and the whole ugly incident could be put behind him. It was just another smudge on his record, another blemish caused by Deirdre Flye. The fact would please her. She always seemed happiest when he suffered and played the fool.

The taxi pulled in front of the hospital and Ryan got in without a single person questioning him. There had been few people on his floor this late at night. The ones he’d noticed were preoccupied with other things, giggling and eating like work was nothing more important than a sleepover.

Ryan gave the driver his home address. He needed regular clothes and wheels to track down Deirdre. There was also one more pistol hidden in a lockbox at the top of his closet. It had never been registered, making it the perfect weapon to finish off Deirdre. With her gone, they had only his story.

The thought made him giddy and he laughed in the back of the taxi causing the driver to eye him warily. Everyone had admitted to a third person attacking Deirdre. The last attack was while he was in the hospital. It would be easy to assume that Deirdre had died at the hands of some desperate criminal.

She was dangerous though. He wouldn’t make the same mistake he had last time. He would shoot her in the head before she had a chance to speak, move, or hurt him. A single shot between the eyes and all his worries would be over.

The taxi pulled up in front of his house and he took out his wallet. It had been left with the pile of his ruined clothes. The hospital had cut away his shirt and pants to save his life. Even after turning his things to shreds, they had folded the cloth and left his wallet and keys in the middle.

He got out of the taxi and walked slowly to his home. The wind turned bitter suddenly, stealing his breath as he made his way to the door. The anger in him eased away replaced by a prickly sensation, an uncomfortable feeling that he wasn’t alone. His little ranch house looked too dark, even in these late hours of night. Somewhere behind him he heard hard steps echoing on the sidewalk and he trembled. There wasn’t a reason for his trepidation but there it was, fear creeping up behind him along with those footsteps. In the primal parts of his mind, he knew something sinister lurked just beyond his vision. For another reason he couldn’t explain, the evil felt familiar.

Ryan shoved his key into the lock opening the door and then locking it behind him. He was safely inside, a sturdy door separating him from whatever lurked on the street. It had probably been a teenager out late or a man walking a dog. Something simple, normal, and he tried to ignore the feeling of the hairs standing on end like evil had come too close.

He leaned back against the door, and caught his breath. The injury to his leg throbbed and he hoped he hadn’t torn open the artery again. The shakes, the weakness after the brief adrenaline rush, left him propped against that door. He tried to relax.

Then from the couch came movement, shadowy and slow. He blinked hard, hoping an officer would greet him, wishing the smell of women’s perfume didn’t tinge the air. If this was Deirdre, she might kill him before he ever had the chance to return the favor.

“Hello Mr. Farmer. Feeling better?”

He froze. The voice didn’t belong to Deirdre. Some new vixen had infiltrated his home and when she turned on the lights exposing her face, the long black hair and lips too red, he didn’t feel any better. Darkness seeped from her body like some consuming aura, filling him with fear at whatever new trial he was about to endure.

“My name is Tamara Haas. Have you heard of me?”

Ryan nodded, not able to speak yet. She looked different than she had on television and since her forte was stage, he hadn’t seen any of her productions. Saying so would be rude, then again, she had broken into his home.

“I believe we have a mutual friend, Deirdre.” She smiled, showing perfect white teeth behind her red lips.

“I wouldn’t call her a friend.” Ryan tried to regain control, make his body work again. “Why are you here?”

“Won’t you sit down?”

She motioned to the couch, patting the cushion next to her. For whatever reason, Ryan felt like the intruder, the uninvited guest in his own home. Still, he crept forward. The actress was breathtaking, a natural beauty but terrifying all the same. Her eyes stirred his dread, the blackness in them too complete, the irises too large.

“Why are you here?” He repeated his question, hoping she wouldn’t ignore it a second time.

Tamara laughed and it held a deliciously female edge, relaxing him with her charms. All at once he became aware of his clothing, the scrubs, green, horrible, confessing his theft and hasty exit from the hospital.

“As you know, I employed Deirdre briefly to stop a stalker who was giving me difficulty. I wanted her because I knew of her reputation. I’d also hoped she’d become more of a permanent asset.” Tamara shrugged and the cowl neck of her top fell a little, exposing a lean white shoulder. “I need you to help me set a trap for our Miss Flye. Something to guarantee her cooperation. I need her.”

“You’ve got the wrong man.” He was not going to convince Deirdre to take a job with Tamara Haas. “I’m not one of those headhunters.”

“Interesting term. I like it.” She laughed again.

“So glad, now why don’t you leave?”

Tamara had basically insulted him, first by employing the vigilante then by acting as if the world would end without help from Deirdre Flye. The woman wasn’t such a treasure and he wouldn’t act as if she were.

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

Money, as if his respect could be bought. That bitch had trouble coming and he was going to deliver it. Deirdre shouldn’t be employed, she should be run out of town. Famous actress or not, it was time for her to leave.

“No amount of money would make me trick Deirdre Flye into accepting a position from you. Sorry. Now please leave.”

He tried to bring in the sound of command, the hint of respectability that he’d held as an officer. It had only been a couple of days since he’d lost that shield but the sensation of rock bottom clung to him.

Then Ryan Farmer looked at Tamara Haas and he nearly screamed. The beauty that had been there faded and her eyes reminded him of the insane, or worse, a vulture ready to take her prey. They were more than dark but had grown to some evil portal, too black to be human. Bags clung beneath her eyes and her face appeared thinner than moments before. Her skin was sallow, hanging from her bones like a poor fitting dress. He scooted away a few inches.

“Please leave,” he whispered.

“I need Deirdre by the next full moon. In two days.” Her hands shook, skeletal structures, reaching out to him and he wondered how he could’ve thought her beautiful moments before. “She doesn’t have to be there voluntarily. Trick her. Frame her. Anything. She has something I need.” She laughed and the delicious female tone changed to maniacal. “I hired her to protect me, now they want her. It’s an honor. I promise that it’s an honor for the leaders to desire someone so strongly.”

“If you need security, call the police.” His words were too quiet to be effective.

“It was possible to let her go before. I might’ve let working for me be her choice until the shift in power. It happened only an hour ago. That’s why I came here, because she won’t suspect you’re working for me and neither will he.”

“He who?”

“The one she carries is powerful. She is powerful. Both combined, I have to have her. I would be unstoppable. They would be a sweet addition, such a sweet addition.”

“They? I thought you wanted Deirdre?”

“Bring her to me.” Her voice nearly shrieked, unable to contain the need within. “I have to have her.”

This actress, this starlet sounded more like a mental patient than a rich and powerful lady. Ryan eased toward the end table, and the telephone sitting on its cradle. He was in no shape to wrestle a lady to the floor, and although confessing that he’d fled the hospital was bad, bleeding to death because Tamara Haas had gone insane, was much worse.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” She leaned closer to him, putting one claw-like hand on his shoulder. “I might lose my temper with you.”

Ryan hoped she’d stop, would back away or something but she kept coming closer. Her face nearing his and when less than a foot separated them, she started talking, exhausting breath that smelled of dead flesh.

“We’ve been watching Deirdre for a while now. Do you really think your hatred, your information came of your own choosing? No. The leaders were trying to manipulate her, hurt her life out here so that one day she’d come back to the flock. There was only one problem. She’s very good at her job and many officers aren’t as easy to convince as you.” For a moment Tamara’s eyes grew glassy, some other thought interfering. “I hired her because Father visited me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her tongue ran over her lips, wetting the red to a glistening shine. He scooted back until the arm of the couch was in his back, then he tried to stand but that clawed hand was much stronger than it appeared. Then he realized what she was after, and the thought made his skin crawl.

“No. Please leave. Don’t do this.”

The black eyes held him and he was trapped. He wanted to scream, wanted to punch her, anything to make her get away from him but all he could do was sit there as those too-red lips came closer. Eyes open, he watched as Tamara Haas kissed him and his last thought was that death had touched him.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Darkness seemed to swallow the world, leaving not a single outline to guide Deirdre from the awful room where she woke. Stone lay beneath her hand. She felt its texture, found it slightly damp. Grogginess held her a moment and she fought to clear her head.

The last thing she remembered was the fight and that awful smoke coming toward her. That couldn’t be right though. If she’d passed out in the middle of Niam’s men, they would’ve killed her, unless this was death. Sabrine often spoke of purgatory. This could be that place, awful smelling, and void of light from either the divine creator or fiery pits of hell.

No, that couldn’t be. Her head hurt and her face felt swollen. Everything smelled like old blood and dirt, then she remembered what had come up from the floor. The thought of that stuff coating her forced her to move, standing slowly, unsure of the space around her.

The weight of her weapons felt good. Her gun was holstered, her knives in place. She needed to find her swords but couldn’t stand reaching down near that horrible liquid. Deirdre started walking, scooting her feet in wide patterns until she found one sword, then another. She sheathed both without cleaning them.

Deirdre started walking, finding nothing to guide her or even an idea of where she stood in the room. The nasty scent pressed into her, taking on physical weight, filling every pore. She kept walking, desperate to get out of this place, to find some light, fresh air, something. She went faster, nearly running into a wall. From there, she felt along until she found the metal chains stuck into the stones where so many had died. She shook the thought away. At least now she had a point of reference.

She pressed her back against the wall, trying to ignore the clinking of metal behind her. This was the back of the room. If she went forward, she’d come to the front and a few feet to the right would bring her to the large oak door and the stairs leading out.

One step at a time, steady long strides, she crossed the floor. She expected to find Niam’s body. Deirdre worried she might step on it, or worse, fall over it and land back in the remnants of mire coating the floor. The thought made the room that much more dank. She kept going, and finally found the far wall.

Her hands in front, feet side-stepping, she found the door and tugged. It opened and she nearly screamed for joy. The stairs were equally dark, but she took them, moving carefully until she rounded a corner and a small bit of light came through another door at the top.