Highborn. Part 20

"Absolutely," Father Murphy said. He hurried out of the room and Eran heard water running-there must be a bathroom on this level. The priest came back with a plastic tumbler; when Brynna reached for it, Eran took it and knelt next to the bed so that he could hold her head while she sipped. When she'd finished the entire tumbler, he eased her head back and she sighed. "Thank you. I just need to sleep now, so I can heal." Her eyes were already closing before she finished the sentence. Changing the sheets was best left for another time.

Eran and the priest eased out of the room, and Father Murphy left the door open slightly. They'd walked only about five feet down the hall before the priest turned and fixed his stern gaze on Eran. "We'll go upstairs," he told Eran. "I'll start some coffee. And you'll fill me in. On everything. everything. I'll keep an open mind and you won't leave anything out. Understand?" I'll keep an open mind and you won't leave anything out. Understand?"

Eran nodded. He wondered if the priest realized just how open his mind needed to be.

Twenty-two.

Brynna came awake with enough of a jerk to send a jagged swipe of pain through her ankles. Sitting up took a lot of effort, but it was worth it when the prize was the full tumbler of cool water on a small table next to the bed. She drank it all, forcing herself not to gulp when the first sensation of liquid on her tongue made thirst explode in her mouth. There was something else on the table, a small plate of tomato wedges and soft cheese; like the first sip of water, the initial taste of a tangy tomato wedge made her mouth water and her very empty stomach grumble.

After finishing the simple meal, Brynna peered down at her feet. How long had she been here? She had a dim memory of Eran and someone else-a priest-bringing her in then washing her burns, but there was nothing after that except shadows that occasionally lightened at the edges.

She was groggy, still tired in a way that told her she wasn't quite where she needed to be as far as healing was concerned. When her mind searched out the last memories she had before pa.s.sing out on this bed, she wasn't surprised. It had been quite the pyre, and her ankles and shins were still raw and glistening, dribbling fluids that soaked into a thick pad below them. The burns climbed up her bare shins, where they had finally started to heal just above her knees. She thought back to the burns she'd gotten from the Hunter's fireb.a.l.l.s right after she'd taken this human form, but there was really no comparison. Those had been not much more than grazes on the surface of her skin; this time, great chunks of flesh had been grilled right off her body. Damage like that didn't fix itself overnight, even for her.

So again, how long had she been here?

On the heels of that thought: Is Mireva all right?

Brynna ground her teeth and swung her legs over the side of the bed, hissing at the fresh misery that billowed up her nerve endings when her bare feet pressed against the floor. More memories were rea.s.serting themselves now: the priest helping Eran get her out of the car, the long, agonizing walk inside and down the stairs. She wasn't in the church proper but the rectory, where the priest and, sometimes, church employees lived and worked. Eran's choice had been excellent-it was a good place, a safe safe place. But now she had to get back to her apartment and find out about Mireva. place. But now she had to get back to her apartment and find out about Mireva.

Moving more slowly than she'd ever thought possible, Brynna worked her way to the door, then out into the hallway. The lower the burn on her body, the worse the pain; every step made her want to scream. But she would not give up, and she would not be stopped.

Brynna fixed her gaze on the staircase at the far end of what seemed like the longest hallway in the world, and headed toward it.

"GOING SOMEWHERE?"

Brynna turned a little too sharply and got a much nastier jolt up one of her ankles than she expected. She had been so intent on getting to the stairs that she hadn't paid attention to the two closed doors she'd pa.s.sed along the way. One must have opened onto a bathroom, and now Eran was standing just outside of it, drying his hands on a towel and looking at her like there was nothing in the world more ordinary than Brynna lurching down a bas.e.m.e.nt hallway while wrapped in a sheet.

"Yes," she managed. "Back h-home."

"To your apartment?" He shook his head and draped the towel over the edge of the sink, then came toward her. "Nope. Not a good idea."

"Mireva-"

"Is fine. I've been in so much contact with Ramiro and Abrienda that they're starting to think I'm stalking them. In fact, I just talked to him about twenty minutes ago. They have family visiting for a week and their place is crammed with people. It's the perfect way to keep her safe. She hasn't been by herself in days."

Days?

"How long ..."

Eran c.o.c.ked his head and let his gaze travel down to her swollen feet and blistered ankles. "Four days. I'd say you're only about halfway there, Brynna. You need another four-at least-to get you back to preroasted condition."

"Four days," she echoed. Her shoulders sagged. That seemed like so long, and she didn't know if she was talking about how long she'd been out or how long she still needed to heal.

"Come on," Eran said, and moved alongside her to guide her back the way she'd come. "Back to bed with you. You've come a remarkable distance already-and completely freaked out Father Murphy, by the way-so let's not screw it up by moving too fast. Besides, Gavino knew where you lived and he probably told Lahash. I don't know if their kind collaborate with Hunters, but I'm willing to bet it's time for you to relocate."

Not a pleasing thought, but she'd deal with that later. Besides, she wasn't going anywhere until the business of Mireva completing her divine task was finished. And right now she had to admit Eran was right. She was far too tired to do anything but go back to sleep.

"HOW IS SHE?" FATHER Murphy was sitting behind his oversized desk in the large, s.p.a.cious office directly off the entrance to the rectory. Sunlight shone through the translucent curtains at the windows, washing over the old golden oak trim that surrounded the tall windows and built-in bookcases. Murphy was sitting behind his oversized desk in the large, s.p.a.cious office directly off the entrance to the rectory. Sunlight shone through the translucent curtains at the windows, washing over the old golden oak trim that surrounded the tall windows and built-in bookcases.

"Good," Eran answered. He settled himself onto the left one of two leather chairs facing the desk. This was the more comfortable of the pair and his favorite-he'd become very familiar with this office and its furnishings over the last four days. The matching couch centered on the wall opposite the windows was hard and cold, a b.i.t.c.h to sleep on even with a thick quilt as padding. Having done just that for the last four nights, Eran had yet to find a single yielding spot on the d.a.m.ned thing. "She was awake when I went down, actually trying to leave. I sent her back to bed."

The priest frowned. "Leave? Why?"

"The girl," Eran reminded him. "Mireva. I told you the story."

And he had, from start to finish ... except, of course, for certain details of the relationship between himself and Brynna. He wasn't sure what this Catholic priest would think of him once he learned that Eran had made love with a demon. Eran wasn't sure what he thought of himself himself.

"I'll have her out of here in a couple more days, I promise."

Father Murphy pushed back from his desk and regarded Eran. He looked tired and older, as if the past few days, along with the knowledge he'd gained-if he believed it-had tripled the effects of gravity on him and dragged his skin downward. "She can stay here as long as she needs to. I told you that." he believed it-had tripled the effects of gravity on him and dragged his skin downward. "She can stay here as long as she needs to. I told you that."

Eran nodded. "I know. But I get the feeling that you really don't believe anything I told you, and that means you think ... well, I don't know what you think. That I'm crazy, maybe. Delusional." He paused as a new option occurred to him. "Or that I hurt Brynna and brought her here to hide her or something."

Father Murphy held up a hand. "I don't think either of those things, but you're right in that I'm having a difficult time accepting the other things you talked about. Angels, demons-everything I've been taught is that these are elements of G.o.d's universe that are not seen by humans. They're taken on faith, faith, not personal experience. They may be in G.o.d's realm, but they don't exist in our reality. At least not anymore." not personal experience. They may be in G.o.d's realm, but they don't exist in our reality. At least not anymore."

"But what if they do, do, Father? Doesn't faith work the same way for that, too?" Father? Doesn't faith work the same way for that, too?"

"What do you mean?"

"You can't see see G.o.d, yet you have faith that He exists. Doesn't the fact that you haven't seen an angel or a demon in the flesh put them in the same category-beings believed in as a matter of faith, not fact?" G.o.d, yet you have faith that He exists. Doesn't the fact that you haven't seen an angel or a demon in the flesh put them in the same category-beings believed in as a matter of faith, not fact?"

Father Murphy's gaze was level. "Every religion has a history upon which its faith is based."

"An accounting of history is not necessarily factual," Eran pointed out.

"Even so, the older a history is, the more that history serves serves as fact," Father Murphy said. "In this case, the Bible, or the Koran, or-" as fact," Father Murphy said. "In this case, the Bible, or the Koran, or-"

"You mean the less likely it is that there's any chance that anyone can prove it's not not fact," Eran interrupted. "As in 'I can't prove G.o.d exists, but you can't prove He doesn't.' The ultimate stalemate." fact," Eran interrupted. "As in 'I can't prove G.o.d exists, but you can't prove He doesn't.' The ultimate stalemate."

When the priest was silent, Eran sighed. "Look, I know it must all sound crazy, and you're right-I don't have a written history or witnesses. But you see how quickly Brynna is healing. You have to admit that a normal person wouldn't be able to do that. Don't you think that's indicative that something's different here, or that it might at least be smart to consider the possibility that what I'm telling you is true?"

"If you're asking if I can accept that the woman downstairs is an extraordinarily rapid healer, then yes, I can do that. But the flipside is you telling me she's not human, that a trio of street criminals set her on fire in the alley and she changed into a demon in order to survive the attack. That she grew wings. wings." When Eran started to say something, Father Murphy held up his hand. "Then you go on to tell me tales of nephilim and serial killers and some kind of divine plan regarding the children of angels, and the deeper you go into your story, the more fantastic and outlandish it gets."

"If you think I'm that d.a.m.ned insane, then why not tell me to get out?" Eran couldn't help the frustration in his voice. "Or call the cops-my division captain, or just 911. Why put up with it?"

"I may not be an expert, but I've dealt with a lot of people and I really don't believe you're dangerous," Father Murphy said. "Or that you had anything to do with that woman's injuries. And frankly, it's not my job to judge. Only to help as best I can."

Eran didn't know what else to say. If the priest wasn't going to believe him, there wasn't much he could do. It certainly wasn't like Brynna could snap her fingers and presto-change-o presto-change-o into the being she'd been in the alley. Or maybe she could. Even if she would, there were, provided he understood things correctly, real dangers a.s.sociated with doing just that. Dangers like the Hunter in the alley that could just as into the being she'd been in the alley. Or maybe she could. Even if she would, there were, provided he understood things correctly, real dangers a.s.sociated with doing just that. Dangers like the Hunter in the alley that could just as presto-change-o presto-change-o kill whoever got in its way. kill whoever got in its way.

He didn't know why it was so important that Father Murphy believe him, or what it would accomplish if he did. A sense of validation? Camaraderie? Or sanity? In any case, there was nothing the priest could do to help other than provide a sort of "safe house" if they needed it. And even that wasn't permanent-they couldn't stay here forever.

"A couple more days," Eran finally said. "Then I think I can move her to my place."

"And the men who attacked her? You said she's crossed them before." Concern showed in Father Murphy's green eyes. "If they learn she survived, they might try again."

"Definitely a consideration. But I worked with Ramiro Cocinero, Mireva's uncle and the man who owns the taco place, and we identified two of them. My partner and I picked up both yesterday morning and charged them with attempted armed robbery. We're still looking for the leader, but there's an APB on him so it's just a matter of time."

The other man folded his hands on the desktop. "You mentioned a partner-"

"Bheru Sathi. Yeah, we've been together a long time, almost a decade."

"What does he think of Brynna and all this?"

A corner of Eran's mouth lifted. "He was much more open-minded right from the start. He saw a lot of the strange things that Brynna could do, the unexplainable results, the way she heals. He has an acceptance of it all that took me awhile to find."

Father Murphy gave a small nod. "I see."

Eran stood, and the priest did likewise. "Listen, thanks again for all your help. I hope we didn't cause too much grief. I know you had to reschedule some stuff to keep folks away."

"No problem." Neither man said anything for a moment, then Father Murphy came around the desk and touched Eran on the arm. "I'm not shutting out the possibilities, Eran. But you have to understand that in my business-religion-a lot of people make a lot of claims about a lot of miracles. And that, in essence, is exactly what you're doing. The Church has a strict policy about miracles, and it's a tough one. It has has to be." He gave Eran a lopsided grin. "Otherwise every piece of toast and moldy sink sponge that shows up on eBay would end up in the Vatican." to be." He gave Eran a lopsided grin. "Otherwise every piece of toast and moldy sink sponge that shows up on eBay would end up in the Vatican."

Eran had to laugh, but then his expression turned serious again. "Okay. But I have a feeling that someday you'll be looking at Brynna in a whole different way."

"I DON'T THINK THIS DON'T THINK THIS is a good idea," Brynna said. She was standing in Eran's living room, feeling awkward and jumpy while his dog snuffled warily in Brynna's direction. The place was spotless and rather spa.r.s.e, with painted black furniture and plain cushions that gave it an almost industrial feel. There were a few pictures on the walls, but they looked like they'd been chosen as afterthoughts, something to fill the too-large expanses. The windows were covered with white metal mini-blinds that did little to block the light and only accentuated the officelike atmosphere. A thin, cream-colored throw covered most of the couch, but there were no knickknacks or family photographs. is a good idea," Brynna said. She was standing in Eran's living room, feeling awkward and jumpy while his dog snuffled warily in Brynna's direction. The place was spotless and rather spa.r.s.e, with painted black furniture and plain cushions that gave it an almost industrial feel. There were a few pictures on the walls, but they looked like they'd been chosen as afterthoughts, something to fill the too-large expanses. The windows were covered with white metal mini-blinds that did little to block the light and only accentuated the officelike atmosphere. A thin, cream-colored throw covered most of the couch, but there were no knickknacks or family photographs.

"Of course it is," Eran said. "Come on in, make yourself comfortable." He motioned toward the couch. "Sit-you're not a hundred percent well, you know. Don't overdo it."

Brynna did, then jumped in surprise as the huge white dog climbed on the couch and settled next to her, regarding her with sky-blue eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, and Brynna finally asked, "What do I do?"

"Pet her," Eran said, sounding amused. "She's a Great Dane and her name is Grunt. I'm sure she's glad to see us. I've been gone so much of the time she was starting to think of me as a stranger."

Brynna extended her hand and scratched Grunt's head; to her surprise, the dog pushed herself into the gesture then squirmed on the couch until she could rest her big head on Brynna's thigh. Grunt made a little grumbling sound in her throat, then sighed in enjoyment. In her entire existence-a monumental amount of time-Brynna didn't think she'd ever touched a dog like this. It was kind of pleasant, comforting. Were cats like this? The dog had instantly liked her yet expected nothing in return. No wonder humans liked pets. "She's certainly friendly. Nice doggy."

"She can't hear you," Eran said. He was flipping through a stack of mail that he'd picked up on the way inside. "Born deaf."

"Interesting." Still stroking Grunt's neck, Brynna decided to turn the conversation back to where it should be. "As I was saying-"

"There's no reason to think anyone, or anything, knows where you are," Eran said, stepping right back into it. "You've never even been here before." knows where you are," Eran said, stepping right back into it. "You've never even been here before."

"They could track you you," Brynna pointed out. "It's not like you've been hiding."

"Why would they want to? They're not interested in me, just you."

Brynna's eyes were shadowed. "Don't underestimate the Hunters, Eran. Or Lahash. You've made it very clear that there's a connection between us. They'll use that any way they can."

"All right," he said, but she could tell he was just placating her. It must have shown on her face, because he came over and sat on the edge of the coffee table, where he could face her. "Look, this is the only place we have right now. Father Murphy was starting to have problems-he had too many things on the church's schedule and he was rescheduling enough to where people were starting to take notice. If you really don't think it's safe, then we'll find you another apartment. Obviously you can't go back to yours."

She took a deep breath, then nodded. Whether he really believed there was an issue didn't matter. That he would do something about it did. "Okay."

"In the meantime, take it easy here. There's food in the fridge, a soaking tub in the bathroom, and Grunt to keep you company. I have to go in to work. Father Murphy isn't the only one who's been putting things off."

Brynna nodded and levered herself up, earning a reproachful look from the dog. Her ankles were layered with fresh, pink scar tissue, healed on the surface but still tender beneath the skin. The scars would disappear-the ones on her shoulder were almost invisible now-but she still needed an inordinate amount of sleep. To her left was a set of open French doors, and when she walked through them, she was in a sort of dressing room. Like the rest of the place, there wasn't much furniture, just a triple dresser with a nearly empty surface, a leather chair next to a modest round table and lamp, and a man's butler over which a carefully pressed pair of slacks hung. A folded-up ironing board hung from a holder on the wall.

"Bedroom's to the left," Eran told her. "The sheets and spread on the bed are clean."

"I never doubted it," Brynna said. The queen-sized bed had no headboard or decoration, and was covered in a spread that was exactly the same as the one on the couch. A small night stand holding a reading lamp and an alarm clock stood next to it, but there was nothing else in the room. "This place is like a hospital."

Eran blinked and opened his mouth, then closed it. "I guess I haven't gotten into decorating much. Anyway, I'm off. I probably won't be back until this evening, so it'll be nice and quiet. If Grunt goes to the door, would you let her into the yard? She only needs about five minutes. Leave the outer door open and she'll come back onto the porch. If you forget to let her into the house, she'll start yelping."

"I think I can handle that."

"I put your cell on the kitchen table," Eran said. "Give me a call if you need anything."

When he was gone, Brynna checked to make sure the door was locked, then satisfied an ill-defined desire to know more about Eran by wandering through his coach house apartment. In hindsight, she was sorry she'd made that comment about a hospital-she could tell by his expression that it had stung. She might never say it again, but it was still pretty accurate. His place, though large and well lit, was oddly personality deprived. Was Eran so much into his work that his apartment was nothing but a box in which he could put his dog and his belongings? Or was there a deeper, darker meaning to a lifestyle that was so austere? Even his closet was military-neat, shirts hung according to color, shoes lined up neatly on a black shoe rack.

She'd never thought to ask him about family or his childhood. It struck her again that there were no photographs, not of friends or family, no games or sports equipment, like a baseball glove or football, in any of the closets. There was only one thing that hinted at how he spent some of his time: in the living room was an extensive collection of DVDs-in alphabetical order, of course-in a double set of bookshelves to one side of a flat-screen television. The t.i.tles were all over the board and gave no insight on the man who owned them.

Back in the kitchen, she made herself a sliced-tomato-and-cuc.u.mber sandwich, settling at the table in the center of the immaculate, roomy kitchen. Even with Grunt lying at her feet, Brynna felt odd and out of place here, something messy and unpredictable in this orderly, almost sterile room. The only trace of Eran Redmond was his detective's star lying next to the neat stack of mail he'd left on the counter. Beyond that, the surface was clear of everything but a coffeemaker. Even the knives were precisely hung according to size on a magnetic strip above the stove.

What was she but a heated catastrophe on the edge of exploding into Eran's cool and collected existence? In all of eternity, she'd never seen the union of an angel and a human endure, much less a relationship between a demon and a human-it just wasn't doable. She had no idea if redemption would ever be within her reach, but whether it was or wasn't, she was immortal and Eran wasn't. Period, end of discussion, nothing left to argue about. Eran's mortal life would pa.s.s in the blink of G.o.d's eye, and hers would go on; if she loved him-and right now, at this moment, was the very first time she'd let herself even think think that word-how would she feel when- that word-how would she feel when- Grunt lifted her head and growled.

Brynna jerked, then realized the Great Dane wasn't growling at her, wasn't even looking in her direction. Instead, Grunt had turned her head and was focused on the storm door as she sniffed the air, taking it in with rapid, frantic breaths. The soft hair along the expanse of the dog's white back had risen and every muscle in her body was taut.

"Oh, s.h.i.t, s.h.i.t," Brynna said as a maroon shadow flickered on the other side of the gla.s.s. Her chair tipped backward as she started to rise, but it was already too late to run. Less than ten feet away, the metal handle of the door glowed a sudden, sultry red before it melted and slid downward; when the door swung inward and the room filled with the stench of sulfur, she wasn't surprised to see the Hunter slouched there.

"Time to go home, Astarte."

"No," she said, then realized it couldn't hear her over Grunt's sudden, vicious snarling. The dog was pressed against Brynna's side, snapping at the air between her and the Hunter. Her spittle flew through the air and fizzled where it splashed against the beast's skin. "No!"

The Hunter ducked through the doorway but still couldn't quite stand up straight. Its gaze swept over Brynna and stopped on the dog, then it laughed. "Not exactly h.e.l.lhound caliber, is it?" "Not exactly h.e.l.lhound caliber, is it?"

Brynna hooked the fingers of one hand into Grunt's collar and pulled her backward. "Go back where you came from. I'm staying here."

"You know that's not possible, Astarte." The Hunter gestured at her, making Grunt snarl more fiercely. The Hunter gestured at her, making Grunt snarl more fiercely. "I tire of this game. Lucifer awaits." "I tire of this game. Lucifer awaits." It grinned hideously. It grinned hideously. "Anxiously." "Anxiously."

"Tell him to take a tranquilizer for his nerves," Brynna shot back. "I'm not not going." going."

Lucifer's soldier gave a twisted shrug, then s.n.a.t.c.hed at her. Brynna yanked herself out of range, but Grunt, suddenly freed of Brynna's hold, went forward; in an admirably fast move, her teeth snapped shut on the creature's first two fingers. A millisecond later Grunt released them and shook her head wildly, baying at the foul taste the Hunter's bodily liquid had left in her mouth. Before Brynna could blink, a fireball the size of an orange streaked through the air and slammed into Grunt's shoulder. The dog howled in agony and scrambled away on three legs, slipping and clawing across the linoleum to disappear into another part of the house. "Brainless animal," "Brainless animal," the Hunter spat. It turned to glare at Brynna and flexed its fingers. the Hunter spat. It turned to glare at Brynna and flexed its fingers. "I don't kill you only because Lucifer desires to do so himself. But we go NOW." "I don't kill you only because Lucifer desires to do so himself. But we go NOW."

The Hunter lunged for her, swatting aside the table and chairs as if they weighed nothing. Brynna feinted to the right then leaped left, scrambling through the living room entrance and sliding left again into the bathroom. There was no use closing the wooden door, so she didn't bother to waste time. The only thing she could think of was the window-she was on the second story, but the drop wasn't too far. The bathroom was on the backside of the coach house: a tumble to the alleyway below and she'd be off like an Olympic runner. A quick glance behind her when she reached the window and- Where the h.e.l.l had the Hunter gone?

"d.a.m.n it," she said under her breath. This wasn't right, not at all-it should have followed her, nothing in the world should have made it pause. Except ...

Eran.

She bolted back the way she'd come, careening around the doorway and nearly tumbling over one of the upended chairs.

Sometimes she hated hated being right. being right.

Eran had slipped into the kitchen behind the Hunter, and the beast's attention was now wholly focused on Eran and the service revolver aimed at its forehead. "Get out of my house," he told the Hunter. His voice was flat, emotionless. "Or I'll shoot you right between the eyes. I never said you could come in here."

Lucifer's soldier actually looked startled for a moment, then it belted out a grisly-sounding chuckle. "You've watched too many movies, human. We roam where we will, and you can do nothing to stop us." "You've watched too many movies, human. We roam where we will, and you can do nothing to stop us."