Unseen (The Heights, Vol. 1) (34 page)

“Hey, Dawn. What’s up?”

“I wanted to invite you to a Black Sun
party.”

“What’s a Black Sun party?”

“What witches call a solar eclipse. This
afternoon is an important one—it’s called…a sero? Sorra? Saros?
Something like that. Anyway, it falls on the solstice and that
hasn’t happened in a couple decades. Herrick, the warlock I told
you about…Well, his coven is having some kind of get together.
We’re going to watch the eclipse and then party all night. I
thought it might be fun to bring a friend.”

To hang out with witches? Ugh. “I wish I
could, but—”

“Herrick wants to meet you.”

I’m sure he does.
This wasn’t a friend
being a friend. This was the witches wanting to get in good with
the Prime’s whore and using the whore’s friend to make it
happen.

“I can’t, Dawn. The party is all night,
right? Yeah, I can’t.”
Because that’s past my curfew. And I
can’t be out when the vamps are
. No, she had to be home where
only
one
of them was.

“No nude dancing around a fire, I
promise.”

Fuck it. She should just go. Rhyse would be
so pissed—maybe even as pissed as she was right now. She wouldn’t
be in danger. He’d said she could block and beat a witch. “Will
there be any other kinds of supers there?”

“No.”

Addison clicked her teeth together.
Stop
and think about it. Don’t let your frustration get you killed
.
“Nah, I can’t. Maybe on the next...Black Sun.”

“Oh, okay.” She sounded so disappointed. Like
her chin had just hit the gravel. Maybe she
was
a friend
being a friend, and Addison was just too paranoid to know the
difference.

“We could still meet for coffee, though.”

“Sure.” Dawn’s full-pep popped back in her
voice. “When and where?”

“Bella Bru at noon. We can have lunch.” The
coffee shop was right next to the facility where her mom lived. She
could go there after coffee, start the paperwork to move her mom,
and still be at her apartment well before sunset.

“That’s perfect. I’ll go straight to the
eclipse viewing afterwards, so if you change your mind, you can tag
along.”

“Yeah, sure.”
Not gonna happen
. She’d
had more than her fill of supers lately.

After a quick bye-and-see-you-soon, she paid
the cabbie and went into her apartment, focusing on packing things
Rhyse would hate.

Trying to understand Addison’s nonsensical
reaction would do Rhyse no good, so he focused on something more
predictable: higher beings. Beyond the basic, their needs were
simple. Power—who has it and who wants it. What happened at the
celebration could undermine his leadership, allowing another being
or race to take power.

To break the line, the individual had to be
near it, i.e., one of the champions.

He went through each race, what their
champion would gain and who was capable of summoning that many
demons. The angel and demon were scratched off the list
immediately, if for no other reason than they were in the center of
the pentagram, not near its edges.

That left the vampires, the werewolves, and
the mages. He should also consider the lower races. It wasn’t
impossible for the witches, or even the seers, to have had a hand
in it. Was Addison’s friend Logan involved? He hadn’t run away, but
his assistance could’ve been a ruse. Although the seer looked
defeated before anything happened—not likely if he knew the contest
would never occur.

For the first time in his remembered past,
Rhyse wondered if he was still able to lead. Perhaps he had become
too human, too focused on his woman, to think clearly. If he’d
stayed and investigated immediately instead of leaving to enjoy
Addison, he might already know who was responsible.

Time spent contemplating regrets was time
wasted. One could not alter the past, one could only choose their
future, until they became dust.

Dust
. Ironically, it was Addison who
inspired the idea. Until he met her, Rhyse would never have spared
a thought for the number of bodies left behind. Because he’d never
cared beyond the political ramifications.

He sat behind his desk and requested one of
his day managers find the telephone number for the director of Seer
Affairs.

Once the director calmed down, Rhyse made his
request. “I want a list of every body disposed of after the
celebration—separated by race. Do it now and do it quickly.”

“Yes, my lord.”

If the perpetrator had acted without his or
her race’s knowledge, the list would prove useless. The celebration
was far too risky a situation to assert oneself amongst their own
kind. But if a
group
was attempting to manipulate all the
other races somehow, they may have evacuated their own prior to
unleashing the demons.

Before he hung up, he decided to take care of
one last thing. “Do I strike you as someone who must pay for sex,
Director?”

“Of course not,” he blustered. “What—?”

“It would make me very unhappy to hear any
rumor or disparaging comments about the person I chose to spend
time with. In fact, I would take it as a personal insult were
anyone to presume that someone is at my side by force or
manipulation or any reason
other
than by their own choice.
Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord. I’m sure it won’t be a
problem.”

“I agree. Now get me that list.”

Next he summoned the demon and, because Davyn
was a level-one demon, Rhyse used his cell phone. Level-ones were
not only the strongest, having fought their way up from level nine,
but they could be trusted, inasmuch as any demon
could
be
trusted. And they were free to maneuver above the Earth’s crust,
only required to go back to hell every fifty years.

“What do you want?” the demon answered.

“This is Rhyse, Davyn.”

“I know.” He knew and yet he still answered
that way.

“If you were not so good at what you do, I
would send a comment card to your master.” Later Rhyse would have
to consider his reasons for not already having done so.

“‘What do you want?’ is a perfectly good way
to answer the phone. Because nobody calls me just to shoot the
shit. Honestly, sometimes I feel like nobody likes me. And that
makes me very sad.” He sniffled melodramatically. “It hurts.” After
a long, drawn-out sigh, he stopped faking emotion. “But I’ll
rephrase because I respect the
huuuuuge
set of balls you
showed off when you had that seer break the line.” Of
course
he knew. Even demons outside the pentagram would’ve felt a shift of
power when a line was broken.

“So how’s this,” Davyn continued, “what would
you have me do, oh king of everything, Prime of all Primes? If it
is within my power and is okayed by the guy downstairs, and you pay
me, I shall do it gladly. Especially if it involves killing
someone.”

“It does not. And your attitude makes me
wonder how another level-one might answer his or her
telephone.”

“Okay, okay, okay. I’ll play nice. We both
know how boring immortality can get. What’s the job?”

“Track down the warlock who stood for the
witches as champion and the—”

“You know about that, huh?” Without giving
Rhyse time to mention the other beings, Davyn gave him the answer.
The warlock.

“You felt the second break in the line.”

“And the third.”

Proof positive. A third break meant it was no
accident. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“Am I still going to get paid?”

“Tell me, Demon.”

“Demons don’t get involved in this kinda
shit, remember? Even if we
were
allowed to. So all I’m going
to do is remind myself what happened out loud while we’re on the
phone. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“Dear diary.” He laughed, speaking slowly as
if he were writing every word. “O-M-G, what a night to remember. I
looked amazing in my—”

“Davyn,” Rhyse warned.

“Fine,” he grumbled before going back to his
teenage-journal-writing voice. “I couldn’t believe it when the
Prime’s pretty new toy broke the line with her drink. Then, when
the warlock swiped it...Wow! Of course, only his first swipe
mattered. Well, the swipe and the summoning, but I was a bit too
distracted by the screaming to know who called the others up from
hell. Bummer. Oops, I gotta go. My mom’s coming.” He laughed. “I’ll
write more later. Bye.

“You still there, Rhyse?” The pitch of his
voice had deepened to its natural level. “How many times can the
same thing happen before you have to stop calling it an
accident?”

“I believe it depends on the individual, but
not in this case.”

“Still want me to track the warlock
down?”

“Yes.” More information was always better
than less. A single warlock couldn’t summon that many demons
simultaneously, but there was no reason the coven would have. The
witches knew they were too weak to ever take power. “Do not hurt
him, Davyn.” Until Rhyse understood who was in on the plot and what
they intended to accomplish, he couldn’t act against them.

“Accidents happen,” the demon said. “The
world’s a dangerous place. Speaking of, what happened to you? Did
somebody really try to take you out?”

It was almost as if Rhyse felt another stake
in his chest. Again, it wasn’t a fatal wound. If the witches set it
up to look as though he’d killed beings from other races, then
created suspicion and terror at an event celebrating peace in the
Highworld, it would seem as though the Treaty had lost its power.
And then a war would start. A race war that would distract or take
down the strongest beings from all higher races.

They had already created instability.
Everyone was nervous, volatile, wary of the others. If Rhyse didn’t
find out exactly who had started it and why the massacre had
happened, his zone would be at war.

By putting a plan into motion, whoever was to
blame had already broken Treaty law and had to be punished. Or they
all
would be.

“I need the warlock alive, Davyn.”

“Come on! Even a hound gets a treat at the
end of the hunt.”

“Alive.” He hung up and prepared himself for
his next stop. Because it was daytime, he couldn’t phase to
Addison’s side, but there was one place he could go. Hopefully,
he’d get more answers there…if he asked the right question.

The sound of a muffled ringtone came from
under all the crap on Addison’s bed.

“Where are you?” Rhyse asked, evidently not
liking people to say hello when he called.

“At my apartment.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Since you seem incapable of following
simple instructions that are only intended to keep your heart
beating and mine from combusting, I am sending someone for
you.”

“What time is it? It couldn’t have been an
hour.”

“It has been exactly two hours. Since your
last call was late, so was this one. I have ordered a new cellular
phone because obviously this one does not work correctly. It shows
no message or evidence you even
called
an hour ago. Late or
not.”

“Rhyse, chill. I’m setting an alarm now. Two
minutes before the hour. Are we good?” She knew he hadn’t hung up
so she flopped onto her bed and waited. It was impossible to
out-stubborn an immortal. “Did you know there’s a special eclipse
this afternoon?”

“Yes,” he said warily.

“The witches invited me to their viewing
party. Imagine me—just a simple toy of the Prime—being invited to a
witches’ party.”

“What did you say?”

“I’m your toy.”

“No, you are not, but I was referring to your
other comment.”

“The—what’s going on?”

“Do you know why, one hour ago, I did not
answer the telephone call you did not make?”

“No idea.”

“I went to see the oracle.”

“Great. How is the old bat?”

“I saw another.”

“What did she tell you? That we do it again?
Because that’s not news.”

“I believe that whoever staked me intended to
start a war between the races.” Wars for power and position within
each race were a constant. That’s why Addison had a job. Or
used
to have one, anyway. Because they couldn’t seem to stop
fighting each other.

But an interracial war would be far, far
worse. The system would crumble, but not in any direction
benefitting the seers. Without a ruling body, there were no rules.
And with no rules, the worst of each race could ravage the seers
and humans unchecked.

“They thought an interracial war would start
if they dusted you?”

“I would greatly appreciate you not using
that expression.”

“A different word isn’t going to change my
meaning.”

“Their aim was not off. Because little
evidence would have remained if they had…finished me off, they
deliberately missed a direct blow to my heart. If I had not phased
at the exact moment I did, one of your former co-workers or
possibly even a human would have found me next to the dead werewolf
and the human. It would have looked as if I had not only exposed
the Highworld, but had killed beings of other races—both of which
break Treaty law.”

“So they assumed you dusted after you phased.
But no one was blamed for your death. Did they just screw it
up?”

“No,
you
did. By caring for me instead
of reporting it. Thank you, Addison. I was very lucky to phase into
your pile of garbage.”

She smiled at the softness in his voice. “I
thought you didn’t believe in luck.”

“Many of my old beliefs have changed of late,
but we can discuss that later.”

“So who tried to du— stake you?”

“Who gains from a civil war in the
Highworld?”

“Nobody.” Especially nobody mortal.

“Someone is to blame, Addison. Consider each
race.”