Reckoning: A Fallen Siren Novel (16 page)

“Trust me?” he asks, his voice a low, intoxicating rumble.

I do trust him. “Completely.”

His fangs graze my skin. His cock, long and hard, presses against my back.

My breasts ache. My knees feel weak.

The familiar feel of him. It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

I brace my hand against the frame of the bathroom door and push back, offering him the friction I so desperately want for myself.

For a fleeting moment, his hand finds my breast. Then it slides down to my hip, stilling my movement. “Christ, Emma. I want you. You know I do. But not like this, with him between us. Just . . . let me do this. Hold steady. It will be over in a minute. Once it is, we’ll never speak of it again,” he says. Then he covers the mark with his mouth.

The feel of his lips at my neck makes my breath catch. His hands never stray from their steadying grip. He doesn’t press his body against me. He doesn’t allow me to press my body back against him. And yet when his fangs pierce my flesh, I start to tremble. Desire, violent, white-hot, threatens my control. I want him, over me, in me, loving me.

I can’t have what I want.

I clench my teeth to keep from crying out. It takes every bit of strength I have to remain still, to keep my traitorous body from responding to this touch.

In a minute, it’s over. Zack steps back. His hands fall away. He leaves me without a word, softly closing the bathroom door behind him.

I sink to the floor, breathless, heart pounding.

We came so close.

I rest my head against the cool porcelain of the bathtub, remaining still until I can breathe normally, until my heartbeat slows. Zack, intending to heal one wound, opened up so many others.

The ride to Liz’s is quiet. Zack is driving. The package from Denver sits on the car seat between us. Evidence bags containing personal items from the three missing girls are in the backseat. We’ve barely spoken a dozen words to each other since leaving my apartment. I pop down the visor, pull back the collar of my black silk blouse as I check the mirror. My skin is pristine. No sign of Kallistos’ mark. More miraculously, no sign of Zack’s.

From the corner of my eye, I catch Zack watching me. Finally, he says, “This silence is unnerving.”

I flip the visor back up. “You’re the one who said we couldn’t talk about it.”

“We could talk about a million other things,” Zack says.

“Yeah. Name one.”

I drum my fingers on the FedEx box and wait. But his silence speaks volumes. I’m sure he’s thinking the same thing I am.

“You know how when someone tells you not to think about an elephant and the
only
thing you can think about is the damned elephant?” I ask him.

He nods.

“Well, this is one huge mammoth of an elephant, and what happened in my bathroom—what
could
have happened in my bathroom—has my stomach in knots.”

Zack doesn’t answer. His eyes remain studiously on the road but his hands clench and unclench on the steering wheel as if expecting a reply to be telegraphed to him through the leather. Finally he whispers, “Did you want something to happen?”

Yes. No. “We’re partners. We agreed that’s all it could be.”

Something as cold as an arctic breeze brushes the back of my neck. Demeter. Reminding me we’re navigating into dangerous waters, Zack and I, and of the consequences I risk. I straighten in my seat, pinch my shoulders back, put steel in my voice. “Partners, Zack, that’s all.”

His turns his face from the road. His eyes, when they meet mine, are as hard as my tone. “I remember. I thought for a minute
you
might have forgotten.”

I feel color burn my face. He’s right. I let him touch me under the pretense of removing Kallistos’ mark, but I wanted more. He felt it. How could he not?

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“What won’t happen again?” The words are sharp as a rapier. “Your letting Kallistos feed from you? Or taking pleasure from allowing me to remove evidence of it?”

How can I answer that? Before he pushes it, we’ve arrived at Liz’s condo. I’ve never been so happy to drop a subject. “Pull into that visitor’s space,” I say, nodding toward a vacant spot.

“I’ve been here before.”

Zack’s tone hasn’t softened. Liz is going to pick up on the tension between us the moment she opens her door.

“Look, Zack. Let’s not drag Liz into our drama. We’re here because Liz has offered to help us find the girls. That’s all we should be thinking about right now.”

Zack has already pushed open his door. He doesn’t so much as glance at me, but reaches into the back to pull out the evidence bags. I grab the FedEx box and meet him at the driver’s side of the Suburban. “Are we okay?”

He won’t meet my eyes. But he does release a breath and tension seems to drain from his shoulders. “I know we have a job to do. Let’s hope Liz can help.”

Liz has an uncanny ability to sense my presence. We approach and she’s swung open the door before my hand touches the bell. Her eyes dart from my face to Zack’s and narrow when her gaze meets mine. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

She grabs my hand and pulls me inside, motioning for Zack to come in with a flutter of her free hand. “Zack, excuse us for a minute, will you? I have to speak with Emma. Go on into the dining room. We’ll be right back.”

I don’t bother to argue. Zack looks surprised but takes the FedEx box from my hand and moves toward the dining room. Liz pulls me into the kitchen and closes the door behind us.

“What on earth—”

She turns her back to me. Her arms are outstretched. The kitchen hums with power. I know what she’s doing. I wait, patiently, while she erects a shield to prevent Zack from hearing our conversation.

“Something happened between you and Zack,” she
says as soon as she’s finished. It sounds like an accusation. It is an accusation. “You slept together again, didn’t you? You know how much danger that puts him in. You don’t want to awaken—”

I rub the back of my neck where I still feel the chill of Demeter’s cold breath. “No, Liz. We didn’t sleep together.”

My words come out much harsher than I intend.

“But you came close.” It’s not a question.

I close my eyes, nod. “We came close.”

“Damn it, Emma.” Liz grabs my shoulders. “You know what will happen to Zack if you give in. I thought you were smarter than this. I can only do so much to help.”

“I know, Liz. I know.” Tears burn my eyes. I brush them away. “It would be so much easier if I could tell Zack about Demeter, make him understand.”

“But you know he won’t understand. That’s why you didn’t tell him about Demeter in the first place. You know what his reaction will be. You said it yourself. He’s a fighter and he loves you. He won’t walk away. Give him a target and he’ll go after it. Demeter will crush him. You know that, Emma. You’ve seen it happen before. If you care about him, you won’t risk this.”

“I know.” I draw a ragged breath. “Nothing can happen. I’ll be more careful.”

Liz lays a gentle hand against my cheek. “You have an answer, you know. Kallistos. Concentrate on your relationship with him.” She grins. “And I know how good vampire sex is. Like nothing else.”

I return her smile. She does know. But the sad truth is one element is missing in my relationship that is present in hers. She and Evan are in love.

*   *   *

Liz has pushed the dining room table and chairs against a wall to clear a space in the middle of the floor. On the hardwood she’s drawn a chalk circle, and in the circle, a pentagram. On the pentagram she’s placed a map of San Diego County. When Liz and I join Zack, he’s examining the map.

“You think the girls are close?” he asks.

“It seems logical to look close to home first,” Liz says. “If nothing shows up, I can extend the range.”

She’s taken the objects we obtained from the girls’ parents and is placing them on the points of the pentagram: at the top, Julie’s hairbrush; to the right, a toothbrush of Hannah’s; to the left, nail clippings retrieved from Sylvia’s bathroom trash. At the bottom of the pentagram, Ford’s football jersey. When Liz is satisfied that the objects are laid out the way she wants them, she lights five candles, also at the points of the pentagram. She’s already pulled the dining room curtains closed against the bright afternoon sun, and when the candles blaze to life, the room is bathed in a soft, golden glow. The beeswax candles give off a faint odor, church-like and comforting. When I glance at Zack, he’s watching Liz with rapt attention.

Liz is ready to begin. She’s taken a chain from a small velvet bag. At the end of the chain, a crystal sends slivers of reflected light dancing around the room.

“Will you be working a spell?” Zack asks, his tone hushed and reverent.

She smiles. “No spell. No invocations. This is elemental magic. Tied into the physical rather than
metaphysical. You and Emma just stand back and let the crystal do its thing.”

Zack and I take a step back. Liz holds the crystal over the pentagram and lets the chain swing free.

It rotates a couple of times, then stops.

Zack and I lean forward expectantly.

“That was fast,” Zack says. He’s following the point of the crystal to the spot it’s hovering above on the map. “Wait. That looks like the middle of the bay. Are they on a boat?”

Liz frowns. “No. Something’s wrong. Let me try again.”

Zack and I retreat to the edges of the circle while Liz draws the crystal into her palm. She releases it again. The crystal spins from the energy of being released, circles twice, then stops again. Dead stop.

Liz looks over at us.

“What? Ford’s in the middle of the harbor?” Zack asks.

Liz frowns. “No. There was no
pull
on the crystal the way there would have been if Ford or the girls were in the area. I hate to say it, but this is exactly what I experienced when I tried to find Evan while he was being held in Barbara Pierce’s lab. I think the girls are being shielded somehow.”

I give voice to what I know we’re all thinking. “Or they’re dead.”

Liz takes my hand. “Not necessarily. Remember Evan was unconscious, drugged. Maybe the girls are, too. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“Call Kallistos,” Zack adds. “Maybe he found Ford.”

I dial the phone. It’s answered on the first ring.

“Hey, Emma.”

The voice isn’t the one I expected.

“Simon?”

He sighs. “Before you ask, I have no idea where Kallistos is. I was hoping maybe he was with you. He left this damn thing in my office and it’s been ringing off the hook. I’m afraid to answer it and afraid not to.”

“Find Kallistos and have him call me.” I hang up.

I instantly feel the heat from Zack’s glare.

This isn’t my fault, but somehow I feel responsible.

Liz saves me before I have a chance to reply. “I might have an explanation for why the scrying isn’t working.”

“Please, tell us. We could use some good news right about now,” Zack says.

“They may be in a place that naturally interferes with magic. A place with its own spiritual energy. A holy place.”

“You mean like a church?”

“A church. A synagogue. A mosque. Even a cemetery. Any hallowed ground.”

“Great.” Zack releases a breath. “I’d guess San Diego County has a couple thousand churches and cemeteries.”

Liz places the crystal on the dining room table. “Let me make some calls. I know others who are better at scrying than I am. Maybe we can narrow down the options a little.” She shrugs. “Or maybe I’m completely off base. At least we’d know. Do you mind if I keep these things?” She motions to the items on the pentagram. “If I can get some help, we’ll need them.”

Before I agree, Liz’s cell phone chimes. She glances at it. “It’s Evan. Just a sec.” She connects the call. “Hey, you.
Emma? Yes, she’s still here.” Liz listens, her eyes widening. “I’ll tell her.”

She disconnects. “Well. You may not need the scrying, after all. Evan is sending Owen Cooper over. He’s got some information that might shed some light on your case.”

“What did he say, exactly?” I ask Liz.

The question elicits a sigh of frustration. “Just that he was on his way to a meeting and that he was sending Owen here.”

Zack stops pacing long enough to add, “With some information.”

“Yes.” Liz nods. “With some information that might shed light on your case. We’ve been over this.”

“The elevator.” Zack stills. Listens. Then frowns. “Never mind. Sounds like two people. A man and a woman.”

Liz heads for the door anyway, probably just to get away from the two of us. Before she’s reached it, there’s a knock. Liz swings the door open.

“I believe you’re expecting us?”

I recognize the delicate voice at once. “Rose from the Emporium,” I whisper to Zack.

Rose was turned when she was sixteen, but that was more than a hundred and twenty years ago. Her youthful face and form are showcased today in a long gown of dark purple taffeta. I hear the brush of crinoline as she sweeps past.

“Owen needed a lift and I’ve been dying to meet Agent Armstrong.” She approaches him, and then bows ever so slightly. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m pleased to finally make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he replies, turning on the Southern-boy charm and doing his best not to stare.

Although Rose’s attire appears to be straight out of the Victorian era that she came from, her hair and makeup are contemporary Goth. Smudged kohl eyeliner, red-black lipstick, dark hair swept into her signature style of carefully crafted messiness dotted with violets. A spill of escaping tendrils frames her flawless face and cascades down her back. The décolleté of the gown shows off her dramatic tattoo—a tangle of black thorns and bloodred roses emerges from underneath her dress, covering her chest, creeping up her neck. Not for the first time, I wonder if she’s always dressed in the manner she was accustomed to when she was alive.

“Wicked Ink?” Zack asks, reaching for her hand and examining the thorns and roses.

“Of course.” A flash of coquettishness flares in the look she gives him. “You should stop by. I could fix you up.”

“Why on earth would a werewolf get a tatt?” Owen, who followed Rose inside, speaks for the first time. “First full moon it’d be ripped to shreds.” He grins. “You just want to see his chest.” He pulls a sheet of parchment from his back pocket and holds it out for Zack. “This is what
you
want to see.”

So much for preserving the chain of evidence. Whatever it is, or whomever it was from, it now has Owen’s fingerprints all over it, too.

Regardless, Zack pulls a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket. While he slips them on, I fish through my purse for an evidence bag.

“What is it?” I ask, laying the bag on the coffee table.

Zack places the parchment on top. It’s folded in thirds, a broken wax seal on one side.
You are cordially invited
is written in an old-fashioned script on the other. Zack carefully begins to open it.

“Craig, this vamp in my support group, found it under his door,” Owen says. “Just the promise of it sent him off the rails. He relapsed. Big-time. Practically drained some co-ed in the college area last night. He came to me for help this morning. We’re about the same age and, like me, he was an addict before he was turned. Only his drug of choice was a little more highbrow—cocaine. I called Evan. He needs a seasoned sponsor and I’m not ready for that. Thirty days of sobriety and he threw it all away.” He smiles sheepishly. “Of course, I’ve thrown it away hundreds of times.”

“But not this time,” adds Rose, reaching for his hand.

He kisses hers and leads her to the sofa. It’s the first time I’ve seen them together. I’d been under the impression, from references made, that Rose was more than Owen’s boss. She was also his sire. What I hadn’t realized is that they’re obviously also lovers.

Zack and I lean in to examine the invitation. The message reads:

One-time Opportunity Only

Auction of 100% PURE YBV—Ten Units

Drink from the Source

Email: [email protected] for details

The bottom of the message is date-stamped—noon yesterday—and an added note reads:
You have twenty-four hours to respond.

My heart sinks. Ten units. “The ten missing girls.” I check my watch. It’s coming up on noon. We don’t have much time. “Does Kallistos know about this?”

“Simon’s tracking him down. He left earlier in a mood and hasn’t returned.”

Zack and I exchange a glance. My refusal to let Kallistos feed probably didn’t improve his disposition.

Zack points to the email address. “We should try to trace this.”

“We can’t put one of our guys on this. How would we explain what the message means or how it’s connected to the missing girls?” I ask.

Zack’s already typing away. “The registrant information is marked private.”

I dial Simon back.

“He came. I gave him your message.”

“I may need you to trace who owns a privately registered domain,” I say without preamble.

“Why, aren’t you a little minx,” he teases. “My mother warned me about girls like you.”

“We’re hoping it can be traced to Lamont,” I continue. “If we can figure out where their email communications are coming from, all the better—drinkfromthesource .com.”

Simon’s tone turns serious. “Do you have any emails from them?”

Zack hears the question and chimes in, “We need to get Craig to respond to this written invitation. Say he’s interested. It will buy us some time. And when they
respond to his email we’ll have more information to run a trace.”

“Are you kidding?” Owen says. “Craig responded the instant he received the damned message. Evan’s with him, trying to talk him down. I’ll call and see if he’s received a response.” Owen dials, then hangs up. “Straight to voice mail.”

“Meanwhile, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you back when I have something,” Simon says before hanging up.

“Try Evan,” I suggest. “We’re going to need Craig’s cooperation. If we can’t pinpoint where they’re currently holding the girls, then the next best thing would be to find out the time and place of the auction. They’re bound to be present, don’t you think?”

Owen nods. “No one’s going to fork over the kind of money they’re sure to be demanding without testing out the merchandise.” His phone chimes. Owen scans the screen, then starts to type. After a moment, he sends the message and looks up. “That was Evan. Whatever your plan is, it can’t include Craig. Evan says Craig’s sire just showed up. Pissed. He’s placing Craig in restoration. Hopefully he hasn’t taken him yet.”

Everyone in the room falls silent. Restoration is an arcane form of discipline—or torture, depending on one’s perspective. Ironically, the end result is usually far from restorative. Vampires who survive the period of isolation and encasement in silver usually end up irreparably broken.

“Maybe Kallistos can intervene? Surely he can’t condone such measures.” I dial his number.

Rose clears her throat and then ever so slightly shakes her head.

“What?” I ask her.

I get a disapproving look. “You should not ask it of him.”

“Because?”

Her lips press into a thin line. “It pains him to say no to you, but he will have to.”

I dial anyway. The phone rings once. Twice.

This time he answers. “I’m on my way up. Getting into the elevator now.” It’s all he says before disconnecting.

Liz sidles up next to me. “You know. We don’t necessarily need Craig. Any vampire around his same age would do. Owen would work and, hello, he’s right here. A little DNA, a lot of mojo, no one would be the wiser.”

Her suggestion alarms Rose. “No. You’re not sending Owen to that auction.”

Owen looks confused. “How could I go to the auction?” he asks.

But instead of answering, Liz holds her up hands. “I’m just saying it could be an option.”

“We’ll let Kallistos decide.” Rose folds her arms across her chest, her tone conveying confidence he’ll rule in her favor.

Owen looks back and forth from Rose to Liz. “How could I go the auction?” he asks again.

But the doorbell chimes and this time it’s me who heads for the door. Not only do I want to fill Kallistos in, I want to make sure things are okay between the two of us.

The vampire who stands in the doorway looks nothing like the one I saw a couple hours ago. This Kallistos looks like he’s just stepped off the page of the newest
GQ.
His charcoal gray suit is freshly pressed and paired with a cobalt blue shirt and silver-gray tie. The pale cast
to his skin is gone, as is the weariness in his step. He looks strong, steady, powerful. His eyes are once again bright and piercing. His skin is radiant. He’s fed, but not from me. Maybe from a bag. More likely from a willing human donor.

I feel a strange pang of . . . something. Guilt? Sadness? Jealousy?

I close the door behind me. “Are we okay?” I ask.

He reaches for the edge of my blouse, pulls it away enough to expose the place where his mark had been. “You tell me.”

I step back. “How—”

“You thought I wouldn’t feel such a thing? The removal of my mark? I feel all I’m connected to. It’s one of the privileges. Sometimes one of the pains.”

He cups my face in the palms of his hands and sweeps me into a long, slow kiss. I let him not only because Liz’s words—about the wisdom of maintaining a relationship with Kallistos and the benefits of vampire sex—are ringing in my head, but because I can tell he wants it, needs it. So do I.

When he releases me, he steps back. “We have a lot to talk about,” he says. “But not now, later. Now we must attend to other things. Rose is not . . . in favor of your plan. She feels it might endanger Owen. That he might once again become out of control.”

The heat of my desire quickly becomes a flame of resentment. “She’s already communicated with you? So I’m wasting my breath. Is that it? She’s already pleaded her case.” I hold up my cell phone. “It’s really annoying that I have to rely on this and she has a direct line to you anytime she wants.”

A vampire can’t execute thrall outside of someone’s presence. But some of the more powerful are able to communicate with or call out to their progeny. I’ve seen Kallistos do it before with Rose. They’ve had a lot of time to practice. They’ve been together for more than a hundred years.

Kallistos came across her at the Seabrook Sanitarium in Brighton in the late eighteen hundreds. He was meeting with a young doctor who claimed to have isolated the contagion responsible for vampirism. Rose had been a long-term resident and was about to lose a battle with consumption. It wasn’t only her heart-shaped face and hollow green eyes that called to him. It was her refusal to accept death and her unflinching and unapologetic desire for eternal life. As it turned out, the doctor was an idiot who had been experimenting on some of the children—infusing them with the blood of half-starved, half-mad fledgling vampires. Kallistos killed the doctor, released the vampires, then turned Rose. She’s been his most trusted and favored child since.

“You get other special privileges.” His hands fall to my waist. He takes a step closer, lowers his voice. “Besides, I haven’t made up my mind. I intend to hear you out and that has Rose worried. She knows you can be . . . persuasive.” Kallistos reaches for the doorknob behind me. “And we need to see how Owen feels.”

I stay his hand. “Do you think he can do it?”

The door opens. It’s Rose. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to continue this conversation inside? It’s getting a bit tiresome, having to repeat everything the two of you say to Liz.”

Zack’s right behind her. “Evan just sent Craig’s email
log-in, password, and IP address.” He holds up his keys. “I’m going to get my laptop from the car.”

Rose moves to let him pass.

Suddenly I’m stuck in the middle. Zack in front of me, Kallistos at my back. Under other circumstances, perfect fodder for a sexual fantasy—the vampire, the Siren, and the werewolf.

I swipe the keys from Zack’s hand. “I’ll get it.” I don’t have the time to indulge in foolishness. A happily-ever-after isn’t in my future. And more important, if we don’t pinpoint the location of these girls soon, they’ll have no future at all.

*   *   *

I close the door to the Suburban, turn around, and run smack into Kallistos. The laptop slips from my hands. He manages to catch it just before it hits the ground.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, handing it back to me. “I decided it would be best to clear the air. Why’d you let him do it?”

I shrug. “What is your objection? That the mark is gone or that I let Zack remove it?”

“Must I pick one?”

“Letting you that close to me is not a good idea. Not for either one of us, and you know it.”

His eyes dart away. “Would it have made a difference if I’d asked permission?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

After a moment of awkward silence, I sigh. “We’ll have time to work through this later. Right now, I need to know if you’re going to support our plan to use Owen. He’s the best chance we have to rescue these girls.”

“I know this is important to you. What matters to you, matters to me.”

I lean against the SUV and search his eyes. “Don’t you want to try to save them just because it’s the right thing to do?”

He leans against the red Mustang in the adjacent spot, mimicking my posture. “Of course, but I must weigh the potential consequences. Like Rose, I’m not anxious to place Owen in this situation. He’s mine to protect.”

It’s a sentiment he’s expressed before, but this time the tone is different. Understanding dawns. “
You’re
his sire. I always thought he belonged to Rose.”

“It would probably be more accurate to say they belong to each other.” He shakes his head. “Rose asks for so little. They fell in love. It was the eighties. Before they met, he’d had a heroin habit. He was a talented artist. Functional, when he wasn’t fucked-up. When he was diagnosed with AIDS she came to me, asking for permission to turn him. I said no.”

“And Rose respected that?” It was tradition for a vampire to request the sire’s permission before taking on the responsibility of a progeny. But the custom, like so many other things in the supernatural world, was changing.