Reckoning: A Fallen Siren Novel (18 page)

Zack took care of getting the DNA sample from Craig’s hairbrush. It’s tucked safely into an evidence bag in my pants pocket. We’re on Highway 8 heading west and an accident ahead has slowed us to a crawl. I’m a bundle of nervous energy, body taut from the frustration of having to leave the vampire trapped and in agony.

My fingers drum the dash as I crane my neck trying to see around the long line of cars.

“Damn it! Of all the times to be stuck in traffic.”

“It’s opening up,” Zack replies, calmly.

He’s right. I can see the cars beginning to move in the distance. The bottleneck has cleared. As we take the West Mission Bay Drive exit, I see three cars pulled over to the side of the road. It looks like a minor fender bender. No one injured. No need to stop to render assistance, thankfully.

Not so thankfully, I recognize where we’re going.

“We’re heading to your place?”

Zack nods.

“To pick up . . . ?”

“Body armor. Night-vision gear. Ammo. And Betty.”

“Betty?”

“Sweetest custom tactical you’ll ever see.”

“You named your rifle Betty?” I can’t help myself, laughter breaks through my shell of anxiety and bubbles out. “Why do men insist on naming things—cars, guns, their junk?”

Zack shakes his head. “Couldn’t tell you. Although I can say that Mr. Peebles objects mightily to the term
junk
.”

“Mr. Peebles?” Now I’m laughing so hard I can hardly breathe and barely see. “Mr. Peebles?”

“I’m pretty sure laughing at a guy’s . . . junk . . . constitutes harassment.” He’s grinning from ear to ear.

I try to catch my breath. As soon as I can manage it I say, “It’s just I would have thought you’d pick something more, I don’t know, manly—like Conan, Thor . . . Hugh Jackman.”

“Wolverine? Seriously?”

By the time we pull into Zack’s driveway, we’re still both in hysterics. Our moods much lighter. His sobers instantly, however, when a man dressed in low-riding black jeans and a dark hoodie emerges from the tropical landscape to the right of the driveway.

“Wait here,” he says.

My hand moves to my gun. I unsnap the holster.

“He’s friend, not foe,” Zack assures me before popping open the door.

I sit in the car. The guy’s back is to me. I can’t see his face. I can’t see Zack’s either, for that matter. The man in the hoodie is blocking my view. He’s as tall as Zack, maybe a bit taller. The conversation is brief. They shake hands. Then the stranger disappears, melting back once
again into the lush landscape of the tropical garden. A large black duffel bag is tossed out onto the drive. It lands at Zack’s feet.

“What the—?”

Zack gives me the thumbs-up.

I bolt from the car.

He picks up the duffel and hoists it over one shoulder. “Come on, you’ve got some early Christmas presents to unwrap.”

I follow him into the house.

“So, Santa’s gone gangsta? Who the hell was that?”

“A ghost.” He drops the bag onto the dining room table and unzips it. “Take off your shirt.”

“Huh?”

He pulls out a black vest and holds it up.

“You bought me body armor?”

“We need to make sure it fits.”

I remove my jacket and hang it over the back of one of his dining room chairs. Next I pull my blouse free of my slacks, unfasten the cuffs, and start on the buttons.

“This is the best,” he begins to explain as he pulls apart the various Velcro fasteners. “It weighs less than our FBI-issue Kevlar. Provides almost sixty percent more coverage than the traditional ten-by-twelve hard plate. Plus, it’s flexible. So you’ll be able to move easier. Best of all, it’s kick-ass effective. I unloaded a magazine from an AK-47 into it from under twenty feet. Not a dent.”

I slip off my blouse and turn around. He helps me slide on the vest, then spends a minute adjusting the straps. The neckline is higher than normal, the coverage between neck and shoulder more substantial. He runs his hands across my back, down the sides.

“Turn around?”

I do, then hold out my arms. “How do I look?”

Zack reaches back into the bag and pulls out a black knit turtleneck sweater and watch cap. “To complete the ensemble. Does the size for the sweater look right?”

“Yeah.” I slip it on over my head. It gets hung up on a hairpin. “Crap. Help?”

“Be still,” he says, sliding his hand in through the neck opening.

Zack finds the offending hairpin and removes it. The sweater slides on smoothly. It fits perfectly. My hair, however, is now a disaster.

I fish out the remaining pins, pocket them, run my fingers through my hair to smooth out the tangles, then draw it into a knot at the top of my head.

Zack picks up the duffel. “The other stuff we need is upstairs.”

“There’s more?” Curious, I follow him up the stairs, running my hands over the breastplate of my new body armor through the thin sweater. “Can a vamp’s fangs penetrate this?”

He doesn’t bother to look back. “In a combat situation, you don’t want to let a vamp close enough to find out. Fangs are the least of our worry. A vampire can pull either one of us limb from limb.”

We’re in his bedroom now. Or, more accurately, he’s in the bedroom. I seem to be stuck at the threshold. It hasn’t changed a bit. On the far side is a set of double French doors. Hanging over them are cream dupioni curtains. They’re closed now, but I know from prior experience that just on the other side is a balcony that offers a
breathtaking view of the ocean—a balcony we’d once made love on.

Zack’s disappeared into the closet. I can hear him rummaging around. “Can you hold this bag?” he asks after a moment.

I walk around the dark walnut king-sized sleigh bed and past the fireplace. I try not to remember how smooth and cool the sheets felt. How sublime the warmth from Zack’s body. I pause to examine the candles on the mantel. A layer of dust covers them, but I can still smell the vanilla and orange, cinnamon and ginger. I can still remember how the glow from the flames filled the room and danced across our naked bodies as we’d writhed in pleasure.

“Emma?”

I shake loose the image. “On my way.”

I step into the closet. It’s bigger than my dining room. “Holy shit.” But it’s not the size that takes my breath away. It’s what he’s got inside. He’s pushed his suits to one side. A portion of the wall has opened up to reveal a metal door. It’s a room, about four by five I’d say, behind the fireplace and accessed from inside the closet. It’s an arms room. Stacked floor to ceiling with racks of guns and shelves stacked with assorted magazines.

“Can you put those in the duffel?” he asks, pointing to the magazines he’s piled on the floor.

“Well, when the zombie apocalypse comes, I know where to take cover,” I say before kneeling down. I examine one of the magazines. “I take it these aren’t standard issue?”

He tosses out a vest that looks just like mine, only
much larger. “Not hardly. Hollow point, wooden nose. Upon impact it expands into a six-petal configuration releasing the silver inside. One shot to the heart. Poof.”

“Poof?”

He points. “These four smaller magazines will fit our Glocks. The others are for my rifle.”

Then he leans out, hands me a pair of what looks like strap-on night goggles.

I put them on, adjusting the head strap. “Resistance is futile.”

Zack pulls the goggles off and tosses them into the duffel. “Personally, I find you more irresistible without the combat gear.”

I frown. “It was a
Star Trek
reference.”

“I know. Emma, meet Betty.”

It’s only then that I notice the rifle in his hand.

I reach out and run my fingertips over the long smooth barrel. “Sniper rifle?”

“McMillan TAC-50.”

Once again, the enormity of the situation begins to weigh on me. “If they have ten girls, we can bet there’ll be at least ten bidders. Plus Lamont, a few guards. Zack, we could be up against at least a dozen vampires.”

He pulls a metal case out of the room, then closes its door and begins to put everything in the closet back into place. “That’s about what I’m figuring. We won’t know for sure until Owen gets in there.”

I nod. I think about the odds. I think about Zack. He’s strong. He’s a warrior. A supernatural warrior. But he’s mortal. I step forward and place my hand on his chest. The heat from his flesh is warm. I can feel it along with
the pounding of his heart through the cotton of his shirt. I search his eyes.

“Tell me we’re going to succeed.”

“We’re going to succeed.” He says it with conviction. “We’re going to get those girls out safely.”

His reassurance isn’t enough. I want to know he’s going to be safe, too. For months I’ve sacrificed in order to ensure his safety, yet here we are.

“You weren’t wrong,” I say.

He looks confused. “About?”

“What we have. It isn’t meaningless, and it does scare me.”

For a long moment, neither of us moves.

Finally Zack nods. “Well, that’s a start.”

I nod, too. “If we’re going to take it any further, we both need to come back from this. You hear me?”

Zack smiles. “Don’t die. Check.”

Kallistos is waiting at Liz’s condo when Zack and I get back. He doesn’t look pleased to see the two of us together, even though he knew we would be. Perhaps he senses residual feelings from an emotional afternoon.

Zack pays him no mind. Rather, he heads straight for Simon, handing him the metal case he retrieved from his closet. “I trust you can handle communications?”

“Easily from my office.” Simon throws open the latches and peers inside. He pulls out the earpieces and begins to examine them. “Awesome! Can I keep these?”

Zack takes them back. “No. My toys.”

Simon smiles, snaps the case closed, and hands it back to Zack. “Can’t blame a geek for trying.” He heads for the door. “I’ll call you once I’m in my office and we can run some tests.”

Simon’s enthusiasm doesn’t surprise me. The fact that Kallistos didn’t return alone does. A woman is with him. Human, thirtyish, brown hair and eyes, tanned skin. She’s dressed in the beige uniform of a zoo worker. On the floor at her feet is a cage. Inside the cage is a crouching chameleon, tail twitching nervously. It’s a big thing,
about twenty inches long, each eye rotating independently as it takes in its surroundings.

I peer at the woman, see her eyes are veiled. She’s in thrall.

How like Kallistos. No breaking and entering for him.

“So what did you do?” I ask Kallistos. “Walk into the zoo and ask the first keeper you came across to fetch you a chameleon?”

“Of course not,” he answers peevishly. “This is Joan Arden. Head of the Reptilia Department. Did you honestly think I was going to try to steal a creature like this?”

Joan stirs at the mention of her name, but says nothing.

I shake my head. “So why does she think you needed a chameleon?”

“I told her it’s for an educational program. Then I merely suggested she get me one and come along for a ride. Naturally, she complied. When this is over, she and the chameleon will be brought back to the zoo. Neither will remember a thing.”

His last words are said with a hint of humor. I find myself smiling. Kallistos is nothing if not enterprising.

I look around. “Where’s Liz?”

“Right here.” She enters from the dining room. “Did you get the hair?”

The image of the coffin in Craig’s apartment quickly erases the smile from my face. “From Craig’s brush.” I toss Liz the evidence bag before turning to Kallistos. “You’ll be pleased to know he’s suffering.”

Kallistos doesn’t flinch. “It pleases me to know with assurance he won’t be draining another co-ed tonight.
You may not like it or understand it, but a sire chooses his children and is responsible for them, as well as their actions.” His eyes drift to Owen and Rose. “And not merely for a decade or two. Doling out discipline isn’t only a sire’s right, it’s his or her obligation.”

“What’s happening to Craig isn’t discipline. It’s torture.” I expect him to rise to my ire, but he doesn’t.

“We aren’t human, Emma, we’re vampire—capable of great violence, able to bring unspeakable death. Do you have any idea how many young women Craig has attacked? If he can’t be controlled, well . . .”

The rest goes unsaid, but I understand the implication.

Rose is glaring at me. She warned me to leave this alone. Said that Kallistos wouldn’t intervene. But I didn’t want to believe her. I’d been picking at this scab long enough. It’s an argument I can’t win and maybe one I have no right to insert myself into the middle of. I don’t know what my relationship with Kallistos will be like when this is over, but I know it will be changed. I knew it the moment I allowed Zack to remove Kallistos’ mark. The way he’s looking at me now, he feels it, too.

Finally, to break the long moment of silence between us, I turn to Liz. “What now?”

Liz gestures to the woman to bring the chameleon and to the rest of us to follow her. I hurry to catch up with Liz. She’s crossed through the dining room and out a side door. I know the layout of her condo—in addition to a large patio in front, there’s this smaller, more private flagstone patio in back. Usually it holds plants and a couple of comfortable reading chairs. Today, a table and a small daybed have been placed side by side.

“What will you do with the chameleon?” I ask when she’s had the woman place the cage on the ground. “I trust she won’t be bringing a dead reptile back to the zoo.”

Liz laughs. “No. It will be returned completely intact, horns and all. The chameleon will act as a channeler between Craig and Owen. It is its nature, after all, to adapt its coloration to whatever message it receives from its brain. The spell will modify the message.”

She asks Kallistos to take the woman back to the living room. When he returns, she shuts the door. Seven of us gather around the table: Kallistos, Zack, Rose, Evan, Owen, Liz, and I.

Owen looks at the items arrayed on the table. “What is all this?”

Liz touches each item in turn: “Incense to purify. Vervain weakens your natural resistance so that you can accept the spell. Mandrake root is a hypnotic. It will allow you to relax. Almond oil is an anti-hepatotoxicity, prevents organ damage. The poplar leaves and frankincense offer healing abilities.”

Owen doesn’t look assured. He picks up the vervain, a dense cluster of small purple petals. “Seems like a lot of things to prevent damage. How sure are you that I’ll come out of this in one piece?”

Liz raises her eyebrows. “I’ll be frank. I’ve worked this spell just once before.” She looks at me. “But it’s the same one I would have used on Sarah and Emma if our plan to trap Asa had worked. You know I would never do anything to put Emma in danger.”

Owen nods, then brightens. “This sounds like something out of an episode of
Charmed
.”

Liz waves him off. “Puh-lease.
Charmed
. Honey, stand back. You’re about to see some
real
magic.”

Owen takes Rose’s hand and lifts it to his lips before sighing. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Liz tells Owen to lie down on the daybed. Rose starts to sit beside him, but Liz waves her off.

“You cannot touch him,” she says kindly. “It might interfere with the transference. You must join the others near the door.”

Owen gives her a reassuring smile and Rose moves with a swish of long skirts to stand beside me.

I’ve seen many spells cast over my long existence—magic both black and white. I trust Liz with every fiber of my being. Still, something about using powerful magic makes me uneasy. We’re about to reorder nature. Change Owen at the very core of his being.

Liz has a small hot plate on the table. Steam rises from an iron pan. She lights an incense stick, waves it around the area, and places it still burning in a holder. She takes the beeswax candles, the five red ones, and places them around the daybed. The black one she puts near the chameleon’s cage. She anoints Owen’s forehead with the almond oil, drips a drop onto the chameleon’s back. The lizard snaps up at her through the wire of the cage. Its tongue springing with lightning speed.

One by one she adds bits of the herbs and leaves into the simmering pan. She’s murmuring in a language I recognize as early Greek. This is truly an ancient spell. With a start, I realize it may even be one of Demeter’s. She was a chthonic deity in whose shrine people often hid tablets appealing for aid. But she was also capable of working powerful magic. My presence here proves that.
At the same time these thoughts wash over me, I’m hit by the fragrance of jasmine. Demeter’s favorite. I look around to see whether anyone else is affected. All eyes are still on Owen and Liz. Is this a message to me? Is Demeter granting her blessing? Is she pleased that her magic is still being used and for this purpose?

I don’t know whether to be reassured or frightened but it’s too late to stop the spell now.

Liz is stirring the mixture in the pan with the poplar twig. The last ingredient she adds is the bit of Craig’s hair.

A hiss emanates from the simmering brew. Steam rises, becoming a dense fog that seeps over the pan and onto the floor. It surrounds Owen and the chameleon. Owen’s eyes are closed, his body relaxed. The chameleon becomes agitated, twitching in the cage, its tail whipping from side to side. It turns bright red, from snout to tail. Then the fog encloses it and it’s hidden from view. Owen, too, as the fog seems to solidify, encasing him in a rigid cocoon.

I gasp. We all do, but Liz continues to intone her ritual, still stirring, still focused on the fog as it settles over both Owen and the chameleon. It seems like an eternity before slowly, the haze melts away. First from the chameleon, whose color has returned to normal. Once again, he snaps at his cage.

Then, gradually, the image of the daybed and the still figure on it becomes clearer.

Liz is silent now. We press forward.

I hear Zack’s breath hitch.

No longer is it Owen lying motionless before us. It’s another man, red haired and thin mouthed. The jeans
he’s dressed in, Owen’s jeans, ride up his ankles. They are short by a good three inches.

We are looking at the young man we left in a casket at Craig’s apartment. We are looking at Craig. At first I think something must have gone terribly wrong. The prone figure before us displays no evidence of life. But maybe it’s not supposed to just yet. I think about what Kallistos is like when he goes into stasis, or sleep. He’s still, unmoving. I wait for Owen to wake, to stir. He doesn’t. I look up at Liz, her lips pressed together in a thin line. She’s concentrating. Worried.

“Liz? Is he—?” I ask haltingly.

Rose beats me to Owen’s side. She takes his hand. “Why isn’t he waking up?”

But before Liz can answer, Owen’s chest heaves. He sits straight up. “Did it work?” He looks around at us. “I guess from the looks on your faces, it did.”

Rose flings her arms around his neck. “This is a good look for you,” she says, laughing. “I like you as a redhead.”

Owen grins. “Anybody got a mirror? I’d like to check myself out.”

Kallistos steps between them. “Okay. Enough. We’ve got work to do. Owen, we need to get you to Craig’s apartment in time for the car to pick you up.”

“I can drive him,” Rose says.

“No.”

Both Kallistos and Owen answer in unison.

“Zack can take him,” Kallistos continues in a tone that brooks no argument.

I register the fleeting look of surprise on Zack’s face. He checks the time, palms his keys. “Actually, that’s a
good idea. We should get going,” says Zack. “Especially if we’re going to get back here in time to suit up and test the communication setup. We still have a lot to do yet.”

“I could go tonight, too,” says Rose. “With you, Zack, and Emma.”

Kallistos softens when he sees the concern on her face. He reaches for her hand. “Don’t worry. We will be fine, and in constant contact. You are my eldest living child, my Queen Regent. You must be kept safe. You’ll stay here with Liz and Evan.”

Owen stands, takes Rose in his arms, and kisses her. A deep kiss full of promise. “I’ll be back.” He glances down. “Maybe we can try out this new body.”

Rose grins. “I’ll be waiting.”