Magick Rising (5 page)

But as long as his goal remained in this place, he would set himself

between Miko and the forces rising for The Gathering. With luck she’d

remain unaware of anything unusual.

TRACKING DOWN someone with no known address wasn’t easy. Miko

headed to the last place she’d seen him. St. Michael’s Church. While the sun

was still up—she’d never had a death wish in her life.

At four o’clock, the steeple bells rang a call to worship, scattering the

birds. Miko rubbed her hands together to warm them while hanging out

behind the bushes at St. Mike’s. Or she was until Father Dan came to the

door to greet his parishioners and spied her.

“Will you be joining us, Ms. Jones?” he asked with that precise mix of

invitation and condemnation perfected by Catholic priests. And nuns. “Or

will you continue lurking there in the bushes like a lost soul?”

Twelve years of parochial school made Miko sidle out of the bushes.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, Father.”

“Little scares me but the thought of one lost to God.”

“I’m not lost, Father. Just a little sidetracked.”

His chuckle warmed her and reminded her of how safe St. Michael’s

felt.

He turned to acknowledge a couple of elderly ladies helping each other

up the steps, then said, “Try to get sidetracked inside more often, will you,

Miko? Sometimes it helps.”

“Can’t argue with that, but right now I’m looking for someone. Got a

deadline.” She backed a few feet and prepared to leave. But . . .

“Hey, Father,” she called.

After greeting more parishioners, he glanced at her with one eyebrow

quirked.

Miko pulled out a picture of Hadrian Hawken that she lifted from her

video. “Have you seen this man?”

Father Dan descended a few steps to nip the picture from her hand. “I

see him almost every day. Mostly toward dusk but sometimes when I’m

opening the church for morning mass. But he’s not a member here. I know

all of them . . . even the infrequent ones.”

Score one for the padre. “Anything else?”

“He never enters the chapel, just stands outside the door.” He returned

the photo.

Miko stuffed the picture in her coat pocket. “Well, thanks anyway.”

“A rather strange man,” Father Dan said in a bewildered tone. Miko

grasped the stair rail beside the priest’s hand. She wasn’t the only one to

sense something different about Hawken? “Strange? In what way?”

“Perhaps strange isn’t the right word.” Father Dan fingered his crucifix.

“He reminds me of soldiers who’ve seen too much, done too much to fit

into society anymore. Oh, he’s obviously coping better than many. Judging

by his clothes, he’s quite successful. But his expression sometimes is so full

of remorse. I can only imagine the reason.”

Before Miko could probe further, he shook his head and glanced at his

watch. “My goodness, look at the time.” He squeezed her hand. “Sure I

can’t interest you in mass today?”

“Still busy, Father, but keep me in your prayers.”

“Always.” He sketched the sign of the cross in her direction then

jogged up the steps.

Miko paused as if the sign he’d blessed her with needed time to settle

onto her. As if she needed the protection it promised.

Overhead, the bells hushed. Dusk was less than an hour off. She

rubbed the place on her chest where her crucifix used to rest years ago when

she wore it. Maybe she would dig it out.

A snort escaped her.
Yeah, like a piece of jewelry is going to stop a murderer.

STAKE-OUTS MADE Miko hungry, so she made a run for coffee and

snacks before parking in the rear of the church lot just as the sun touched

the horizon. From here she could scope out the church’s front entrance with

the river noise masking the engine she left running for heat. If Hawken

made an appearance, she’d see him. What she was going to do if she spotted

him, she wasn’t sure.

Unfortunately, he made an appearance before she’d come up with a

good plan.

He strode toward the front steps only to pull up short at the bottom, his

long black coat swirling around his legs. The sun winked out, and the street

lamps clicked on, casting his face into stark relief—strong nose and chin,

sharp cheekbones, shadowed eyes. And an intensity that radiated strongly

enough that Miko felt it like a blow even at a distance.

She considered reaching for the ignition and bugging out, but this was

her chance. She could follow him and find out where he lived. Whether he

was the Skid Row Butcher. Or whether she should transfer to the Features

beat.

Hand on the door, she reminded herself that she didn’t have a death

wish and to follow carefully. Discreetly. She flipped off the dome light and

eased open her door, watching Hawken all the while. He remained

unmoving at the edge of the church steps.

She was latching the door as quietly as possible when he suddenly

whirled and stalked away.

Go time.

His rapid stride carried him to the intersection before she reached the

sidewalk. Not even glancing to the side for traffic, he continued straight

across the four-lane street into the heart of downtown.

“Dude, slow down,” Miko muttered, texting where she was and what

she doing to Kelly.

Other pedestrians intermittently blocked her view, but she easily picked

up his distinctive figure. He entered a swanky brewpub she knew only by

reputation. She hesitated only a moment before following Hawken in.

Throbbing guitars and pounding drums nearly deafened her as she slid

past the band, focused on the tall dark figure in the black coat a scant six feet

in front of her. He sank onto the only empty barstool as the bartender

greeted him like a well-liked regular. Not exactly serial murder material.

Maybe. Maybe not.

She looked around for an empty seat from which to observe him, but

people stood shoulder to shoulder—or maybe that was crotch to crotch,

judging by their suggestive motions in time with the driving beat. One such

groin seemed to have attached itself to her butt. Without so much as a

glance, Miko shot an elbow into his gut while her fist connected lower. The

creep retreated into the gyrating mass.

To her right, a couple seemed to have hooked up and rose from their

booth. Miko slid under the man’s arm and into the vacated seat a second

ahead of a pair draped tightly around each other. She turned her attention

back to Hawken.

Or where he had been before she’d made her lunge at the seat. A junior

executive type occupied his stool. Miko slewed around to check farther back

in the bar. Maybe he’d gone to the men’s room.

Rising up on one knee on the bench seat, she tried to see over packed

bodies. No use. If he’d slipped out the back, she’d never find him. If he’d

merely stepped into the men’s room, he’d have to exit past her. So she

flagged a waitress for a light beer.

“I have never seen the logic in a brew with so little flavor,” a voice, rich

with British fog, said behind her.

Miko landed with a thump on the seat. Hawken cradled a glass of dark

liquid between his palms on the table. He studied her from beneath dark

lashes that cast interesting shadows.

Shit
.

“I—I . . . Hi.” Her heart raced between her chest and her throat.

“A Guinness on the other hand,” he lifted his glass and sipped

appreciatively, “has flavor and . . . body.”

His glance skimmed from her face to her waist and back, lending a

nuance to the last word that sent a flush of heat to her face. A hint of a smile

flickered across his lips.

Damn it, he was teasing her. And enjoying it. He took another sip of the

brew that was the same chocolaty brown as his eyes.

Miko vacillated between being drawn into them and wanting nothing

more than to flee the aura of power and sorrow that emanated from him.

Now that Father Dan had called her attention to that particular idea—him

having seen too much and done things he regretted—she felt a flicker of

empathy for him. By sheer willpower, she pushed both empathy and urges

to the back of her mind.

She needed to remember why she was investigating him and to be on

guard. Not only was it possible he could be dangerous, even deadly, but he’d

just proved his observation skills by spotting her when she
knew
she’d

remained behind him the whole time.

Fortunately, her beer arrived, and she took a sip. Damned if Hawken

wasn’t right. Bland as white bread.

“I’m right about the beer.”

She snorted into her beer. Did he read minds?

“You have a very expressive face, Miko.”

Okay, he read body language.
Much better than reading my mind
.

He sipped his Guinness, watching her over the rim. “You were you

following me.”

Damn it, investigative reporters shouldn’t get caught. She swallowed a

mouthful of beer. “I wasn’t.”

He lifted one black eyebrow.

“Okay, I saw you come in here and followed. On impulse.” Maybe

she’d be less transparent with a half-lie.

His eyebrow dropped to join its mate in a scowl. “Beware your

impulses don’t lead you into danger.”

A chill chased down her spine at the ice that clouded his eyes. From one

breath to the next, he had changed from charming to giving what almost felt

like a warning.

Or maybe not so
almost
.

She thrust up her chin. “I can take care of myself.”

“You’re the Miko Jones who’s reporting on the Skid Row Murders,

aren’t you? So you must frequent dangerous places like murder scenes.”

“Would I have been at any murder scene if I wasn’t? What kind of

morbid weirdo do you think I am?”

“Not morbid.” He sipped his Guinness, drawing her attention to his

mouth. “Compassionate. You light candles for the victims at St. Michael’s.”

“Someone has to stand up for those poor old men.”

He toyed with the rim of his glass, smoothing one finger back and forth

while a trace of sweet incense teased her nose, triggering sensations that had

nothing to do with churches and everything to do with sins needing

confession.

“Perhaps they’re unworthy of your compassion?”

“Everyone deserves compassion. No matter how poor or homeless or

deformed. Everyone deserves to be mourned by someone. Every victim

deserves justice.” She shrugged a little defensively. “Turns out for the Skid

Row victims, I’m that someone.”

Hadrian Hawken contemplated his glass for several long seconds.

Finally, he seemed to reach a decision and looked up at her. “You should

consider the possibility that you’re wrong.”

“Wrong?” About what? That she was the one to mourn them?

“Yes, wrong.” He leaned forward, fixing her with the intensity of his

gaze. “There are some who don’t deserve your compassion.”

“Everyone deserves some compassion, some mercy.”

Hadrian’s flat, pitiless glare chilled her blood. He drained his Guinness

and slapped the glass on the wood with force enough to turn over Miko’s

beer. Both ignored the liquid spilling onto the floor.

“Beware how far you go with your compassion, for there are those for

whom even God has no compassion. No mercy.”

BEFORE MIKO COULD react, Hadrian Hawken rose and strode toward

the door. The crowd parted like a bow wave. But when she attempted to

follow, the crowd had already merged into an undulating cross current.

She glanced toward the back of the bar where only a few couples

loitered, waiting for a seat. Past them, an exit sign beaconed dimly.
Bingo
.

She bee-lined for it. Fortunately, the door wasn’t rigged to alarm, and

she reached the alleyway without causing a riot. Her breath ghosted out in

the chill air, and she wrapped her coat closer as she sprinted toward the

front of the building. With any luck, she still might be able to catch up to

Hawken. No time to text Kelly again.

Sure enough, a streetlight illuminated his head like a dark halo as he

turned the corner a couple of blocks away. Her canvas messenger bag

banged her hip with every step she gained.

She reached the corner in time to see him place some folding money in

the cup held out by a homeless panhandler and make another turn. Even

with that pause, he covered a lot of ground. She added a little speed.
What is

this guy, an Olympic runner?
Any minute he could make a turn that she wouldn’t

see, and she’d lose him. Sure enough, at the next block, he turned west.

Her breath chugged, but she powered through, ignoring the stitch in

her side. At the corner, she grabbed the lamp pole and swung herself around

without breaking stride then stopped cold. The only people were a couple

strolling hand in hand at the far end of the block.

Dammit. She couldn’t lose him.

A few dark doorways lured her forward. Maybe he had turned in one of