the Darkest Edge Of Dawn (2010) (36 page)

Aaron was lying on a hospital bed, IV in his vein, monitors recording his heartbeat and pulse/oxygen levels. My sister raised her head from her forearm as the door clicked closed. "Hey," she said in a drowsy voice, sitting straighter in the chair and rubbing her eyes. Her face was nearly as pale as Aaron's and, as I drew closer, I couldn't help but look for the signs of possession.

"How's Liz doing?" Hank stood at the foot of Aaron's bed, his gaze on the nymph, but his question for Bryn.

"She's doing okay. In the cafeteria chugging OJ. The ritual went perfectly. What's wrong with your arm, Charlie?"

I glanced down at my arm, wishing I'd had on a long-sleeved shirt or a jacket. As it was now, anyone who paid a lick of attention might notice the pink skin and the faint blue script just beneath the surface as though my veins had redesigned themselves. They curved from my useless fingers all the way up my bicep and the round part of my shoulder, and the relentless, throbbing pain was almost enough to make me cry. "It's nothing," I said. "Some weird reaction to something during the fight maybe ..." I pulled my gaze away and stared at the screen to Aaron's heart monitor for a long moment. "And the ring?"

"Liz still has it. The spirits Llyran had trapped inside were released when she read the inscription. At least now they can rest. What happened to the sarcophagus?"

The question was innocent enough, but I had to wonder if it was her asking or someone else. All the outward signs appeared normal. She showed no signs of a typical Wraith or Revenant possession. And that's what disconcerted me. If Llyran was to be believed,
ash
had made her a willing vessel, but for what? For whom? "We destroyed it," I said, turning back to the monitor.

She responded with a soft "Oh."

As I stood there I debated whether or not to tell her what I'd learned from Llyran, but I finally decided against it for the time being. She wanted to be here with Aaron and help right whatever wrong she'd done. Still ... "I'm going to assign a guard for you," I said, bracing for an outburst.

I expected outrage, claims that I was a bad sister for not trusting her or believing in her, but all she did was stare at Aaron for a long moment, her eyes large and sad, and then she nodded. "We can see an exorcist, too. Couldn't hurt, right?" Her eyes lifted to mine and though her smile was twisted in sarcasm, tears shone in the copper depths.

I cleared my throat. "I'll set it up for Monday."

As we headed for the back door to Station One, several jinn warriors were being ushered inside, causing me and Hank to flatten our backs against the wall to let them pass. The nitro bands around their wrists kept them weakened and allowed the officers to get them into cold cell confinement where each individual would be processed. I'd be happy if the entire lot was sent back to Charbydon, but that was out of my hands.

One of the uniformed crime scene analysts whose name I couldn't recall entered carrying a large container housing the spirit jar, which had been broken in four pieces. Scattered among the pieces were bone fragments--the remains of Solomon, but I guess we'd never really know for sure. Whatever spirit had been in that jar was long gone, probably set free when it broke.

Or at least I hoped so.

Hank and I finally squeezed past several more officers and made our way into the parking lot just as the chief was striding toward the door. "I want a report on my desk first thing Monday."

"What about Tennin?"

The chief rolled his eyes. "Unit picked him up on Alabama Street, laying in a three-foot-deep impression in the asphalt. He was conscious enough to claim he'd come to the rooftop to pull back his jinn, that they acted alone, said the axe in Hank's back wasn't his, and then he gave his attorney's number and hasn't said a word since. He's down in cold cell right now. You want to talk to him?"

I shook my head. "No, it's not worth it."

"He'll walk," Hank said, disgusted. "It's just a matter of time."

The chief's dark frown was followed with a snort. "And when he does, we'll do what we always do--keep a close eye on him until he screws up again. Wouldn't mind if the next time he hits the pavement, it puts him six feet under. For good."

The chief started to walk away, but I stopped him. "Hey, Chief?" He turned. "Make sure Liz destroys that ring."

He gave me a salute and then kept walking as Hank and I went to my Tahoe.

Grigori Tennin had been involved in the making of
ash
with Mynogan. He'd played a role in bringing darkness to the city. He'd aided Llyran in trying to start a war. And the bastard might be derailed, but that sure as hell was only temporary. No. Tennin wasn't through, not by a long shot.

Hank walked with me to my Tahoe. I stopped by the driver's side door, frowning with resignation at the slobber trails rolling down the insides of every single window in my vehicle. Great. I leaned back against the door, finally acknowledging the deep ache in my muscles and bones.

"You should get that arm looked at," Hank said, bracing his hip against the front side panel and crossing his arms over his chest, looking for all the world like some ancient, battle-weary hero with his torn and bloodied clothes, wounds and bruises, and disheveled hair and shadowed jaw.

"Mmm. How's your back?"

"Feels like an axe was planted between my shoulder blades." He rolled his shoulder and winced. "I'll need a good soak in the baths ..." Images flashed through my weary, unprotected mind. Loincloth. Tanned skin. Siren. Blue diamonds. Heat crept up my neck as I glanced away, eyes on the pockets of light created by the street lamps. "So where does all this leave us, Charlie?" he asked quietly, but directly, and I knew he wasn't talking about divine beings and serial killers.

The drop in his rich tone only heightened the uncomfortable memories knocking around my head. "There is no us, Hank. There can't be."

His expression was blank, completely unreadable, and his voice was even when he spoke. "Because we're friends, partners ... Because I'm a siren and you're a human? Because you're afraid?"

"Yes, if you want to know the truth. All of that. And because now I've got this damn mark on my shoulder ..."

"So? I bear one, too."

"And how will I know whether it's the mark or
me
reacting to you?"

One eyebrow lifted as the corner of his mouth dipped down. "That's the biggest load of cow shit you've flung at me in days, Madigan. Might want to lose the excuses and stick to the truth. The mark only reminds you of what's
already
there." A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stepped closer and leaned down, until his bright blue eyes were level with mine. One hand reached out and flicked the ends of my newly cropped hair. "Tell yourself whatever you want. It doesn't change anything. And now that I'm back to being one hundred percent ..." A grin spread slowly across his face, slicing deep dimples in both scruffy cheeks. "You don't stand a chance."

With that, he winked and strode away.

Very slowly, I released my breath and watched him disappear into the shadows beyond the lot. Damn. Before the mark, and before Hank had gotten his power back, I was in trouble. But now? I was toast.

My eyes narrowed at the spot near the corner where he'd turned, not liking this sense of inevitability one bit. It felt too much like defeat.

Hank Williams had just drawn a line in the sand. He thought--no, he
assumed
--I'd be like any other disoriented siren groupie, but he was about to learn a thing or two about this southern girl.

I could take the heat. Toast, my ass.

My bungalow in Candler Park sat in its fading patch of green like a little piece of heaven in the darkness. Warm light glowed from the front windows, and my expensive down comforter called to me, lured me like Hank never could or
would,
making me yawn three times as I let Brim out of the back of the Tahoe and then shuffled up the walk.

During the short drive, soreness had crept along my limbs and turned them stiff as boards. Everything, from walking and lifting my arm to turn the doorknob, to the excruciating task of removing my weapons harness, was an exercise in grin-and-bear-it. I had to drop the harness and my weapons in a heap inside the closet because my arm wouldn't lift high enough to slip the leather over the peg. And I was too exhausted to care.

The stairs beckoned, but I stopped by the guest bedroom and pushed open the door. Rex lay on his stomach, wearing the same clothes I'd seen him in last and snoring softly. Apparently he hadn't been lying. Whatever Tennin had done to him to make him remember his past had taken its toll.

I stood there and stared, just thinking and reliving everything that had happened between us. Will and me. Rex and me. Rex and Tennin. With a quiet sigh, I pulled the door closed and went slowly upstairs, saving our issues for tomorrow--they sure as hell would still be there in the morning.

Emma wasn't back yet from sleeping over at the Motts', and though I couldn't wait to throw my arms around my kid and hug her tight, I was glad for the alone time, the silence, and the privacy to strip off my clothes and crawl into bed. My shower worked just fine. Door was still missing, window still boarded up, but the floor had been swept, and the plumbing still worked. But I was too damned tired to care about being clean. I'd have to clean later. The sheets. The pillowcase. My skin.
Yes,
I thought as my head sank into the soft pillow,
later.

When I finally roused, I wasn't sure if it was night or the next day. I knew I needed to roll over to see the clock on the bedside table, but as long as I stayed completely still nothing hurt except my arm. I stayed like that for a few minutes before realizing I needed a shower in the worst possible way.

Time to move.

I drew in a deep breath and rolled, wincing and hissing with each flex of muscle and each press of my body into the mattress.

By the time I was sitting, my legs hanging over the mattress, I was breathing hard and sweating. It was ten
A.M.
the following day. I'd slept for nearly twenty-four hours. I pulled my injured arm close to my stomach. It was hot to the touch and the patterns were still there, still blue, still looking like a combination of ancient script and molecular drawings.

"Shower," I mumbled in a hoarse voice, easing my weight onto both feet. "Shower first."

It was one of the best showers of my life. Waking up. Getting clean. I could even move my arm a little. I put
way
too much shampoo in my hair because I'd forgotten again that I now sported a "cute" chin-length bob. But as soon as I heard the first thump, my stomach dropped and I froze.

A few more thuds and bangs, each accompanied by a soft curse, made me slowly pull back the shower curtain and peek out.

"Does anyone in this house understand the whole shower/privacy thing?" I asked.

Rex held a brand-new door, hinges already attached to the side. He gave me a droll smile and muttered a reply, though the four screws clasped between his lips kind of prevented me from understanding him. I shot him a wide smile. "What was that?"

He rolled his eyes, shook his head, and then lined up the door to the frame. He looked great in one of Will's soft, baby-blue T-shirts, khakis, and a tool belt strapped around his waist. The shirt color accentuated the stormy blue of his eyes, and his skin looked rich and tan, his hair still kissed by the sun despite the fact that there hadn't been any sun for over two months now.

He matched up the hinges to the depression in the frame where the others had been and then pulled the drill from the tool belt as I let the shower curtain fall back and resumed my shower.

My strength returned as I finished drying off to a newly closed-in bathroom. My stomach growled as I dressed in lounge pants and a T-shirt and then made my way downstairs to raid the fridge.

Talk on the living room television made me pause on the last step. Speculation about yesterday's early morning light show atop Helios Tower, the mysterious collapse of the arboretum dome, and the amazing display of nature as the darkness parted to reveal the dawn of the winter solstice.

Nothing about First Ones or the Sons of Dawn.

I let out a breath of relief and kept moving toward my destination. Rex came through the back door, tool belt gone, and washed his hands in the sink. "Didn't have a chance to shop, but there's cereal and one everything bagel left. Emma's out back with Brim."

"Thanks." I made a bowl of Lucky Charms and sat down, watching him tool around the kitchen before he finally turned and faced me.

"Before you start in on me," he said, "I want you to know that ... I need some time to figure all this out." He dragged a hand through his hair and let out a deep sigh. "It's getting crowded in here. Feel like I'm three different people."

"Sucks," I said quietly. "Rex, I need to know you didn't make a deal with Tennin that puts my family in jeopardy."

"The deal is over and done, Charlie. Me taking that potion, or whatever the hell it was, in exchange for the collection debt being paid." At my disbelief, he said, "He wanted me to remember. Apparently, to Tennin, that was worth twenty grand." He slid into a chair. "Let's just get through Christmas and then we'll talk more. There's a lot I have to tell you." He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle into his tone. "I know how to fix things. I know how to fix everything."

My spoon paused in midair. I held his gaze for a long moment. "Okay."

He blinked. "That's it? Just okay? No shoving a Nitro-gun in my face and demanding I leave Will immediately and tell all about my jinn past?"

I gave a light shrug. "We shouldn't rush things. We'll need to be certain whatever you're thinking of will work. And besides, you'll probably need to find a new host body first, right? Unless, you're changing your mind ..."

"No. Not changing my mind. I want Em to have her father back."

Relief flowed through me. I tipped the cereal bowl and drank the milk. "Good. I'm going into the backyard to play toss-the-bowling-ball with Em and Brim." I set the bowl in the sink and then headed for the back door. "Oh, and thanks for fixing the bathroom."