Phoenix Broken (36 page)

His eyebrows raised. "And you said demons didn't know love."

Guido's laugh was harsh. "Haven't you learned by now, bestia? Demons may not be able to lie, but we
never
tell the truth."

He stood abruptly. “We are not like you. We were first. You humans are the beasts, the nightmares that overtook our world. And we let you.” His voice was deep with disgust.

“Why?”

“Because you were many. Like rats. Locusts. And we grew tired of fighting. So we withdrew; to the bowels of the earth, to the deeps, to the stones. We were patient, hoping you would destroy yourselves. Helping you along whenever we could. Many times you came close. So tantalizingly close. Perhaps you will get there yet.” A ghost of a smile traced Guido’s lips. “But we grew bored waiting. With boredom, as happens, came industry. We integrated ourselves into your society. Into the very foundations. Demons can shake your world now, human. Even bring it all crashing down, especially with a bit of help."

"Then Miles was right? The Society
are seeking an alliance?"

Guido shrugged. "They have it already,
dem
. My people have agreed. Together, they will be unstoppable. The deal has been struck. This bill you fear will go through. And it is only the beginning. The first domino. The world as you know it soon will be no more. War is coming,
bestia.
Apokálypsis." The demon stared at the glass on the table as Scott leaned back, trying to take the words in, but unable. The beginning of the end?

He swallowed, his eyes finding the demon's. “Is that what
you
want?”

The wisp of amusement on the demon’s face deepened into a grin.
“No.
I like my life, bestia. I like it just fine. Humans amuse me as much as they irritate me. I would not see you destroyed. At least not utterly.” Teeth flashed impossibly white in that dark face and Scott felt a chill bite into his bones. “Cowed, broken…enslaved? Perhaps." He waved a lazy hand. "Eradicated? I think not.”

“So, I'm here because you want to help us?"

Guido leaned back. His eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing for endless seconds as Scott waited, trying his damnedest to be patient. The demon's large, but elegant fingers tapped the bare stone of the table, the noise muffled weirdly in the cramped room. The movement stilled as he finally raised his black eyes to Scott’s. Again that marrow-deep chill seized him as he faced the chaos within that gaze. A chaos that might soon destroy everything he knew. Only with supreme effort did Scott manage to suppress a shiver. “That would be quite the favor, don't you think? An enormous one.”

What was the demon getting at?
“It would.”

“Such a thing, it demands a price.”

“What do you want from me, Calimente?”

The demon laughed, the sound like nails in a blender. “What a simple mind you have! You think I can choose this price? Or you?” He laughed again, softer this time. “No. Think again,
bestia.
No man knows the cost until the payment is due.”

Scott took a breath, but there seemed to be no oxygen in the air between him and the demon. His heart started to pound painfully. “I can’t agree to that.”

Guido stood. “Then I can’t help you. Prepare to watch your world burn.” He was halfway through the door when Scott spoke, the effort twisting his guts into cold, slippery knots. No good would come of this. But they needed the demon. If what he were saying was true …

If war was coming…

They needed him really, really bad.

“Calimente….
wait.”

A half hour later, Scott sat in his car, talking to Miles via cell. He'd pulled several blocks away from the bar. Calimente had made him promise to contact the French vamp as soon as possible, even though he'd refused to actually say the vampire's name. He seemed unable to twist his lips around the words, but it was one of his 'conditions'. The demon had a lot of them.

Calimente also had a lot of knowledge to share.

Such as the fact they'd been right about him being the logical first point of contact for the Society to reach out to the Convenīre. Guido
had
arranged the first meeting—out of pure curiosity, he claimed—never dreaming things would proceed so far, so quickly.

He'd confirmed Docie May had been a hostage, but one more in name than duty. Her status was part of a trap laid to capture Scott, the demons playing along as a favor to Cross. Tit for tat. Calimente swore he'd never been privy to the details of that plot, or that he had any idea what Preshea or Cross might've offered in return for the demon's cooperation. 

Calimente said he'd started refusing Docie May entrance to the club for the past few weeks to delay that attack—not only because he had begun to think of Scott as a possible contact point to reach out to Phoenix Inc.—but also to try and throw a wench into the negotiations that'd begun to make him nervous. It hadn't worked. Cross had been furious at his lack of cooperation, but Preshea had prevailed, swaying the Convenīre leaders to go ahead with the pact. Calimente seemed rather impressed by the Victorian vampire, though he shrugged this off when Scott pressed him.

Scott knew, as he relayed all this to Miles, that at least half of what the demon said was—if not total bullshit—then facts twisted carefully to present the picture the demon wanted them to have. Either way, the picture was pretty fucking scary.

Miles agreed. The vampire seemed eerily calm about the whole thing. It surprised the hell out of Scott. But not nearly as much as Miles' reaction to the knowledge Des had 'double-crossed' them. Or his utter lack of one.

Scott straightened in his seat as it hit him.
Son of a bitch.
"You knew. You
knew
she would fucking tell him!"

"Not knew, suspected. Strongly." There was a hint of smugness in the cool French tones. "She is a good deal like her mother, after all. She'd never betray a friend."

"You sneaky bastard! How did you know Calimente would be receptive to helping us?"

"A hunch?"

"God fucking damnit! Who was Des' mother to you, Miles?"

"Don't go there, Davidson." The vampire's voice took on an icy edge.

That made Scott think of something else. "You never intended Des to use her powers on Calimente, did you? It was all an act!"

"I confess myself disappointed you fell for that one." Rousseau sighed.

Scott leaned his head back, closing his eyes. "You never really pulled your men off her, did you?" He'd been so stupid. Buying into Miles' ruthless reputation and forgetting what he'd learned of the man himself.

"Oh, I pulled them back,
after
Calimente joined the party."

Scott threw up a hand, ready to throw the phone through the window. "How do you keep all the balls you got dancing in the air from crashing down on your fucking head, Rousseau?"

"Centuries of practice? Focus.
I didn’t know Desdemona already told him everything when we had that meeting. I was afraid I'd misjudged the strength of their connection, so I decided to give her a push—a hard one—to send her running to him. I was furious you ruined that, by the way. She wasn't supposed to stay."

"Fuck you."

He could hear the smile in the vamp's voice…and the relief. "This is a good thing, Davidson. Better even than I'd hoped. We need Calimente if we expect to fight what's coming." Had Miles suspected war all along, too? Scott pressed back against the headrest, his temples throbbing. "Yeah, it's awesome I just promised a fucking demon an open-ended favor."

"You must get that demon to speak to me, face to face."

Scott stared down at the phone in his hand. "Sorry to prick your ego, dude, but I don't think that's ever gonna happen. He's thought seriously about killing me—
twice
, knocked me out cold and tricked me into drinking what amounts to hallucinogenic mind poison. And Calimente says he
likes
me. You, he hates. See where I'm going with this?"

"Calimente doesn't hate me."

"You sure he knows that?"

Miles chuckled. "Just run it by him. It's almost sunrise here, I have to go."

Scott hit end call. Then his phone beeped.

Scott started the car, noticing he had three missed calls and a voice message. All from Mags.
What the—

Someone darted out in front of him. He slammed on the brakes, catching a glimpse of big brown eyes before the figure spun across the alley.

Docie May?

He got out of the car, leaving it running, his phone in his hand. The yellow sodium lights were dim, but he could make out a thin figure leaning against a dumpster. A tangled mass of blond hair. "Davidson?"

The voice was weak, but he recognized that Georgia drawl. He stepped around the hood, feeling uneasy.

She took a step toward him and staggered. "Docie May? What's going on?"

"Get the fuck out of here.
They're coming."

He looked around at her words, a chill skating down his spine but the alley was silent. The vampire had gone to her knees when he turned back.

He stepped forward, but she waved him away. "Run, you idiot. They only brought me here to finish me off. I was always a trap—"

There was the crack of an old-fashioned rifle. The reverberation rolling and bouncing down the alley walls like thunder. Years of training had him ducking and weaving as he ran forward.

Docie May had pitched forward, face first. He grabbed the back of her shirt and dragged her behind the dumpster. No fucking weapon. Nothing but his damn knife. His Sig was in the car, where he'd left it for the meeting with the demon. There was a shotgun and some other things in the trunk as always, but he couldn't get to any of it.

Damn.

There was a broken pallet next to Docie May, who wasn't moving. Scott kicked the already splintered wood until a good-sized chunk cracked off. There was no movement or sound around them. He squinted in the general direction the shot must've come from. Given the angle it struck her, it was likely to be that abandoned apartment building at the head of the alley.

There could be a killer behind any one of a dozen windows that gleamed in the night like cracked teeth in an evil smile.

Scott put a hand on the back of Docie May's neck. She whispered something he couldn't make out. After a second's hesitation, he turned her. Gorge rose in him at the sight of her face. The bullet must have hit her in the throat, entering just behind her left ear, then likely hitting her collarbone and shattering.

The devastation had turned everything from her chin down the swell of her breasts into a greyish-red ooze of meat and sparkling white bone and mush. The damage seemed to be spreading…to be
eating
through her tissue…

What the hell had she been shot with? His eyes met hers.

She choked. Blood sprayed from the open mass that was her throat and chest, Scott flinched back, but forced himself to steady when she started talking. How she managed to form words with the wounds she had, Scott didn't know, but they came out. Wet and heavy with death.

"It's the quicksilver. They shot me with it."

Scott froze. The Society had guns with that shit? They'd beaten him to the mark
. Shades gearing up to kill shades ...

"I see you stupid human brain working. Stop thinking and get out of here!" She coughed again. A reflex only, a response to the fluid flooding her throat. A vampire couldn’t be drowned, but Docie May wasn't going to drown. Blood no longer sprayed from her lungs, but flowed in thick rivulets down her chest with every word she spoke. "'I'm a distraction,
para.
Get out of here.
He's after your friend; that blue-"

There was a fleshy crumpling sound. Docie May stopped speaking. Her whole torso was caving in. Scott couldn't take his eyes from the horrendous sight as the vampire disintegrated in front of him. Then his fingers tightened on the phone still in his hand.
"…after your friend…"

Mags.

He hit the voicemail icon again and lifted it to his ear.

There was static, then the screech of abused metal. A loud pop he recognized as a tire blowing.

"Scott, it's me." Not Mags' voice. Desdemona's. Something inside him went taut.

"There are people following us, trying to run us off the road. They keep ramming…."She gasped as the car was struck again. There was an awful grinding noise. The tire that had blown was riding on the rim now. "We're on ahh, on…

"North Paulina! Heading to North. Tell him to shift ass!"

"It went to voicemail. Mags…watch out!"

There was a scream. A thud as the phone went flying from Des' hand.

Then came a few words from the women he couldn’t make out, along with the lower, rougher voices of men.

More shrieks from protesting metal as the doors were forced open. Then all went quiet, except a few faint yells, bystanders perhaps. For a moment, Scott stood, numb with shock, then a voice cut through the cottony haze.

A sweet voice, light, musical and cultured.

"Heard enough,
para?"

He lifted his head. A woman stood in front of him. Small, blond and soft. He couldn't place her for a minute, then he remembered seeing her in research footage.

Preshea Abbey.

Scott took a step forward, then noticed the shadows lurking behind her.
At least five.

She smiled, a beautiful woman in a powder blue dress that played up big eyes she hid coyly behind a silver fan. Eyes that held an avid curiosity as she stepped closer.

"Daimen has your friend now. Two of them, I believe. He only wanted the blue-eyed telepath, but I'm sure he'll find something amusing for the extra. Did you get to hear them scream? I assume they got a message to you by the look on your face. He'll be pleased. But no matter. He's planning on making you a tape. He'll send it on to Phoenix when he's done showing it to you. You get a private screening. I imagine it will be crude." She sighed and plucked at her sleeve. "A man's vices must be indulged now and then, if you're to control him."

"You think you control him?" Scott laughed. Eying the men behind her, he sent tendrils of his power questing into the broken asphalt beneath them. There was earth and life there, and a huge maple very close. If he could distract her from setting those goons on him for just a bit longer…

"Lady, you're delusional. Cross isn't someone you control."

She frowned, and then pouted prettily. "Don't I? Typical man; like all men, you overestimate your own strength." She raised her voice and lowered her fan.

"Take him, but try not to kill. Daimen wants that pleasure for himself, after the
para
has seen the tape and their bodies." The flash of her eyes was cruel. "But do go ahead and
hurt
him. I want to hear this one scream. He's far too arrogant."

The shadows rushed him, but they didn't know who he was.

Not only a
para,
but a man lethal enough with his own two hands. Scott stomped on the broken piece of wood he'd torn from the pallet, sending it arcing into the air. Snatching it, he dove left, catching one of the fastest, and therefore lightest, of the men in the throat. It wasn't sufficient to stab the asshole. These were vamps. Scott shoved the wood clean through flesh and cartilage until it bumped up against spinal cord. With all his strength, Scott wrenched the makeshift stake right, then left again. It was a bit like cutting through really tough steak, but finally the vamp's head fell off,—just as the other four closed behind him. Scott ran for the alley mouth, pulling power from the earth beneath him. Like an extremely localized earthquake, bricks and asphalt rolled in his wake. The low roar rose into a shriek as the earth tore itself apart. Roots emerged, curling and snapping like striking snakes. The vampires behind him cursed and tripped. Two more were pulled into the ground and vanished from sight, limbs flailing. But the ones left were closing fast.

Too fast.

The goons that'd ripped them out of the wreck shoved her at an open car door. Fingers like steel dug at Des' arms, pulling her down. Mags was looking into a vampire's face. Those eyes couldn't belong to anything else. They were old and empty and cruel. Pale blond hair the color of moonlight swept over high cheekbones.

“Hello, blue-eyed girl. Remember me?”

“I remember putting a bullet in you. Pity it wasn’t big enough to take off your damn head.” Mags snapped, but Des could hear the slight tremble in the telepath's voice.

“Careful. You’ll hurt my feelings.”

Des was pulled to the door. "Ahh, yes. The wild card." As those eyes trailed over her, Des knew who she was dealing with. Daimen Cross.
Omno.
This was the creature who'd killed Scott's wife. Toby and Tish's mother. Des' lips tightened in fury and disgust. Cross raised his eyebrows.

“What'd we do with her, boss?” Desdemona didn't struggle in the goon’s arms, she was looking at Mags in Damien's lap. Her beautiful face deathly white and pinched. She'd never seen her friend look so utterly blank. Daimen tapped Mags' forehead lightly. “Who’s your friend?”

“Nobody.
Just leave her alone.
Let her go and I’ll come quietly.”

"You'll do that anyway, sweeting. You can leave off trying to blast my men with your
para
silliness.
But just to be safe," the vampire pulled something from his jacket pocket and before Des could blink he'd stabbed it into Mags' thigh. Her spine snapped straight and she gasped as Des tried to break free.

They both stared down at the needle in her thigh, then back up to the smile on Cross’s face. “I decided a large stock of Psych Out would be prudent if I wanted to deal properly with you freaks. I got a helluva deal on it, too. Just a mild dose for now,
cher.
After all, where’s the fun in quietly? Bring the blonde, too.” He tossed this over his shoulder. “And call Preshea. Tell her we got the one we wanted and an extra.”

“Got it, boss.”

“Ask if they took Docie May out with the rifle yet? I thought I would feel something, but…” The vampire shrugged, the shadow of a frown crossing face before vanishing.

“You're having Docie May killed?” Des inhaled sharply.

Mags gave her a warning look. Daimen glanced at her before turning back to Mags.

“Sacrifice,” Daimen tapped the telepath's nose. “I’m a big believer in it. When it’s not coming from
me,
of course.” He laughed softly. ”Besides, she was getting dangerous ideas. I dislike women who think too much.”

Something slithered coldly in the vampire's pale green eyes. “This way I can remember her as she was. Loyal and serving her purpose to the very end.”

“And what was her purpose?”

“To amuse me, of course. You’re going to amuse me so much, Magdalena. Wait and see.”

Des found herself tossed into the front seat, trapped between two vampires. Her powers useless and fear crawling its icy way up her back at the way Daimen Cross was looking at her friend as the city streaked past the windows in waves of neon.

Scott could hear Preshea yelling at her goons, something about darts. The back of his neck tingled and instinctively he dove, almost cracking his skull in two on the trunk of the tree planted at the intersection, the maple he'd sensed earlier. He glanced up to see three small darts, bristling with bright yellow flights embedded in the weathered bark above him.

The maple sat in the front of an apartment complex, far grander than the tired looking façade it screened on warmer days. Almost bare of leaves, its massive trunk split three ways, spreading thick arms above him. Curling his own arms into himself, Scott rolled as the vamps dove for him.

Closing his eyes, he merged with the tree's consciousness. Calm seeped over him; green and deep and cool. He had to fight it to get what he wanted, just as he always did. Coax and focus. Remember his purpose.

Bend the tree to his will.

Old trees were stubborn. Maples some of the worst, but his power was strong. Above him the tree began to stir, then branches started to groan.

Scott smiled without opening his eyes. There was the sound of wood striking flesh, over and over. The thick wet pop of something being impaled.

Screams, gurgles. Warm blood falling on his face. The vampires must've recently fed. Well, they'd never get the chance again.

He opened his eyes. Preshea stood in front of him, gaping at what was left of the men in the branches. She backed away, her cornflower blue eyes wide. Without a word, she turned and fled.

Scott stumbled to his feet, his palm flat on the old maple, patting it in wordless thanks. People were starting to poke their heads out of windows. He reached for his phone, only to face a cracked and broken screen that flickered and died as he looked at it.

He threw the phone and ran back to the idling SUV, jumping over chunks of asphalt and now lifeless roots.
That was strange.
As keyed up as he was, they should still be jumping like live wires. Scott frowned, but slid into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him.

Something brushed his hand as he reached for the gear shift. Scott yanked the tiny dart from his thigh with a sick, sinking feeling.
No.

He knew what it was. What it had to be. No time to think of that now. North and Paulina was very close, it he hurried…

His head pounded, echoing with the memory of Des and Mags’ screams as he forced himself to drive carefully out of the ruined alley, holding his breath as the vehicle nearly bottomed out several times. Finally, he was clear.