Summoner of Storms (4 page)

For a moment, Gray stood very still, before
returning the embrace. Etheric energy wrapped around John like a
cocoon. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” John said into Gray’s shoulder. “You
just scared the shit out of me.”

“I am sorry,” Gray said, in his weirdly
formal way. “If it is any consolation, Caleb was also very
concerned for a few moments.”

John laughed. “I bet.” He let go of Gray and
stepped back.

One column of black smoke rose from the
planation house and a second from the burning helicopter. Someone
would surely call the fire department, no matter how far from
civilization they were. Tires and machine gun fire had gouged the
front lawn, and dead bodies, both SPECTR and Vigilant, littered it.
Screams and wails of pain came from the wounded.

John broke into a jog. Tiffany stood near the
gaping hole in the side of the building, one hand up to her mouth,
coughing violently. Soot smudged her skin and her eyes were
bloodshot from the smoke. A pyrokinetic, she was more or less
invulnerable to fire, but smoke inhalation or falling debris would
kill her as easily as anyone else.

“Is anyone still in there?” John asked. Damn
it, rockets hit the place—the whole thing might come down at any
second.

Tiffany nodded, wiping her mouth with the
back of a hand. “M-Mom. A couple of others. I tried to go in, but
the smoke—”

John swore and frantically scanned the
structure for some way in not blocked by smoke and flames. Going
inside would be suicide, but they couldn’t just stand there and let
Renée die without at least trying.

“I will go,” Gray said, although he didn’t
sound entirely pleased about it.

Neither was John. “Are you sure?”

“It is survivable.” Gray’s lips pursed. “And
Caleb says we should.”

The drakul drew a deep breath. Before either
John or Tiffany could say anything, he darted into the smoke.

“Shit, he’s fast.” Tiffany’s voice trembled.
“He’ll get to her
.
”

“Damn right he will,” John said.

An eternity passed. The house groaned
alarmingly as the fire ate at its support beams. What the hell was
taking so long? Had they found her? Had smoke overcome Gray after
all? Or had he fallen through a floor into the heart of the fire?
What if—

The smoke billowed, and Gray reappeared. In
his arms, he held Renée’s limp body.

“Hurry—get her in the back of the transport!”
Tiffany shouted.

“Was there anyone else inside?” called
another of the Vigilant.

“No.” Soot darkened Gray’s skin, and red
rimmed his obsidian eyes, which streamed from the smoke. “All were
dead. And this one is dying.”

“Like hell!” Tiffany’s dark eyes blazed.
“You’re not a fucking medic! Just put her down where we can take
care of her.”

Other wounded were being loaded into the
transports, but everyone made way for Gray to carefully lay Renée
down. One look at her sent John’s heart into the pit of his
stomach. She was soaked in blood, fragments of white bone
protruding from amidst the welter. Her lips and nails had taken on
a bluish tinge, and her breaths came quick but shallow.

Tiffany swore, voice cracking. “Somebody get
a first aid kit over here!”

“This is way past first aid.” John stripped
off his shirt and pressed it against the worst wound, trying to
stem the flow of blood. “She needs a hospital, now!”

Renée moaned when he applied pressure. The
sound made him wince—fuck, she was already in terrible pain, and he
couldn’t help but make it worse. But they needed to get the
bleeding stopped.

She waved one hand weakly. “Tiffany,” she
gasped. Blood specked her lips, which was never a good sign.
Internal bleeding at the very least.

Tiffany grabbed her hand and clutched it.
“I’m here,” she said. “I’m here, Mama. You’re going to be
okay.”

“Forsyth...the demon army...” Renée’s breath
hitched. “It makes sense now. But where? You have to find out
where.”

“Where what?” Tiffany asked. When Renée
didn’t answer, she gripped her mother’s hand even harder. “I don’t
understand. Where what? Mom?”

John let up on the pressure. Renée didn’t
move. No breath stirred her chest, and her pupils slowly blew wider
as even the muscles in her eyes relaxed in death.

“No,” Tiffany whispered.

One of the other Vigilant touched her
shoulder. “We’ve got to go, Tiffany. I mean,
la
capitaine.”

Tiffany blinked rapidly, and for a moment
John thought she hadn’t heard the man through her grief. Then she
gently lowered her mother’s arm to the floor of the transport.
“Yeah. We need to scatter. Take all the vehicles and go—it will
confuse them for a while.”

She scrambled out of the back of the truck
and headed for one of the sedans. “Break up into groups!” she
shouted at the Vigilant still milling around. “Get out and go to
ground! Now!” Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “Starkweather,
Jansen, you’re with me.”

“Where are we going?” Caleb asked; apparently
Gray had lost interest in the proceedings at some point and let
Caleb take over again.

Tiffany flung open the door and leveled a
hard stare at him over the roof of the car. “The fuck away from
here. Now get your skinny ass in the car before the cops show
up.”

* * *

John crossed the enormous parking lot of a
truck stop somewhere along I-95 south, carrying a tray of coffee
and bags of greasy food, and wearing a new “I Heart Georgia”
t-shirt. The sun hovered on the horizon, turning the sky a weird
shade of pinkish-gold. The acrid stink of exhaust and rumble of
engines seemed almost comfortingly normal after everything
else.

Tiffany had parked the sedan in the far
reaches of the nearly empty lot. They’d made one earlier stop, just
before getting on the interstate. Opening the trunks, she’d
revealed an arsenal: several hand guns, a shotgun, and a dozen
silver-plated knives. A hidden compartment yielded a handful of
credit cards, a prepaid cell phone, and a number of driver’s
licenses bearing Renée’s picture paired with different names.

“Let’s not get pulled over for speeding,”
he’d muttered. She’d only glared at him and slammed the trunk
shut.

He balanced the coffee tray on the roof while
opening the door. “Dinner and coffee,” he said, passing one of the
bags to her as he climbed in.

“Thanks.” She hadn’t said much since they’d
left the burning safe house in their rearview mirror. “Where’s your
boyfriend?”

“Still in the shower.” The only drawback to
Caleb’s hair was how long it took to get blood and tangles out.
They’d left him in the car while renting the shower. Having fought
the possessed soldiers hand-to-hand, not to mention drinking their
blood, he’d looked like an ax murderer. Anyone seeing him would
have called the cops for sure.

“Should have just run him through a car
wash,” she muttered. She didn’t touch her food, but took a cautious
sip of the coffee.

John cleared his throat. “Listen, Tiffany.
About your mom. I’m—”

“Stow it, Starkweather.” She stared out the
front windshield.

“I know this can’t be easy—”

“I’m
la capitaine
now. People depend
on me for their lives.” Tiffany took a bigger gulp of coffee, as if
she wished it were booze instead. “I knew I’d have to take over
some day, just like she took over from her mother. I didn’t expect
it to be today, but you don’t get to choose these things. I don’t
need some damn pep talk from you, and I sure as hell don’t need a
hug.”

Caleb opened the back door and slid in behind
them. “What’s this about hugs?”

“I’m giving them out,” John said, passing
coffee back. Caleb’s hair hung damply about his shoulders, and he
smelled like the cheap soap and shampoo they’d bought when renting
the shower. “Normally I charge, but I’ll make an exception for
you.”

Caleb snorted. “Right now I’ll settle for
some food, thanks.”

“They didn’t have much you could eat.” John
passed one of the bags back. “Sorry, babe.”

Caleb peered into the bag. “Fries and a
donut. Good thing I’ve got Gray to keep my arteries from
exploding.”

“There are a couple of power bars, too.”

John dug out his burger, and they ate in
silence for a few minutes. Or at least he and Caleb did. Tiffany
picked at one or two fries and went back to guzzling coffee.

“What now?” Caleb asked after a few
minutes.

John had considered the question throughout
the long drive. “Everyone in SPECTR isn’t involved in this. Hell,
most people aren’t.”

Tiffany snorted. “You aren’t suggesting
taking this to SPECTR.”

“You’re an agent, too,” he shot back. “Or
were. You know—”

“No, I don’t, and neither do you.” She
crumpled her empty coffee cup in her fist. “You don’t have a clue
who’s trustworthy, and who will stab us in the back first chance
they get. If you did, you wouldn’t have taken Caleb straight to
Sean, would you?”

John’s stomach tightened around the food he’d
eaten. He’d tried hard not to think about Sean. About the man he’d
called his best friend, the guy he’d known since they were fifteen
years old, who’d helped him move into his first apartment and
commiserated with him on his love life.

Sean, who’d gone over to Forsyth and put a
bullet through the back of Caleb’s head.

Nausea shook him, and it took all his
self-control just to breathe and wait for the feeling to subside,
instead of throwing open the car door and puking in the parking
lot.

“John?” Caleb’s hand on his shoulder, but his
voice slid into a slightly deeper register, Gray getting in on the
act as well.

“I’m okay.” Maybe if he said it enough times,
he’d start to believe it.

Tiffany shook her head, braids murmuring
against the shoulders of her jacket. “You go to the wrong person on
this, and we’re all dead.”

“She’s right.” Caleb’s voice was entirely his
own again. “I mean...you saw RD. That kind of funding, no way the
director doesn’t know about this. Even if we find somebody
trustworthy to take it to, one of the other district chiefs or
something, they’ll find themselves under the hammer right beside
us.”

“Not to mention, I think the Pentagon is
involved at some level,” Tiffany added. “These poor bastards
they’re stuffing full of demons have to come from somewhere. And it
wouldn’t be the first time the armed forces handed over soldiers
for some dubious experiments.”

“And there’s one other consideration.” Caleb
sat back in the seat again. “I’m a hopeless case now as far as
SPECTR is concerned, right? A lost cause? Past my forty-day
expiration date. They’re either going to want me in a cell or
dead.”

The memory of Caleb sprawled on the filthy
floor of the abandoned house, his long hair soaking in the pool of
blood spreading out from his shattered head...

John flung open the door and staggered out,
before falling to his knees and losing everything in his
stomach.

A car door slammed. A moment later, Caleb’s
warm hands rubbed a comforting circle on his back. “John? You
okay?”

“Not really.” He spat, wishing he’d thought
to grab some mouthwash while inside the truck stop. “It’s
nothing.”

“The hell it isn’t.” Caleb helped him up.

“Later.” John slid back into the car. “Okay,
fine. Turning to SPECTR is out. What are we going to do? Hide?”

“Tonight, yes.” Tiffany started the car.
“I’ve got ways of contacting people, all right? Now shut up so I
can concentrate on driving.”

“Home sweet home,” John said, swinging open
the hotel room door. “At least for tonight.”

Caleb followed him inside dubiously. Except
for the keycard readers on the doors, the place hadn’t been updated
since the ‘70s. The shag carpet beneath his boots had worn thin
from the tread of a thousand other feet. The faint trace of mildew
and dust underlay the fake pine fragrance of whatever they used to
clean the shower, although he doubted anyone without his enhanced
senses would notice.

Caleb dropped his new backpack on the avocado
green comforter of one of the twin beds. After the truck stop,
they’d hit a 24-hour big box store for clothes and toiletries. He’d
worried Tiffany would insist on driving farther, even though she
looked like hell, with bags under her bloodshot eyes. Fortunately
she’d pulled off at this hotel not too much farther down the
interstate. It was the sort of place no one thought twice about
payments made in cash.

“All right, Tiffany.” John dropped a small
suitcase beside the backpack. “I’ve been patient. I know this is
hard on you. But I want some answers.”

From the scowl on her face, Tiffany wasn’t in
the mood to give any. But she stepped inside and shut the door
behind her. “I gave you answers this morning. Remember?”

John didn’t back down, hands on his hips and
his blue eyes steady on her face. “What did Renée mean when she
said the drakul are gods on this earth?”

Great. Just what Caleb had spent all day
not
thinking about.
What did she mean, anyway?

“
I do not know. If there are gods, I have
never seen one. It is all mortal nonsense.”

He sank down on the edge of the bed, wiping
his hands on his jeans. “Gray says it’s mortal nonsense,” he
offered weakly.

It was the wrong thing to say. Tiffany’s
expression went from angry to annoyed. “Oh? And what does he say he
is?”

“
I am myself, of course.”

Oh yeah, very helpful.
Caleb repeated
Gray’s answer anyway and received an eye roll from Tiffany.

“Fine.” She leaned her back against the door
and crossed her arms over her chest. “Listen up. If the drakul has
anything useful to say, speak up. Otherwise, I’ll tell you what we
think we know.”