Maker's Song - In the Blood Part 27

Jaw clenched, Shep willed her muscles to action. Willed her finger to squeeze the G.o.dd.a.m.ned trigger. Sweat trickled down her temple. Nothing. Not-Norwich walked over and plucked the gun from her short-circuited hand.

"I'm a federal agent," Shep rasped. This close, she caught a glimpse of blond curls under the hoodie.

"Yeah, I know," Not-Norwich said. "And I'm honestly sorry about this. It wasn't my idea."

Shep's gaze cut to the trunk, and her heart stuttered against her ribs. Norwich was accordioned inside, eyes half-open, mouth lax. Her mouth dried. "Who-"

"You can thank the tightrope walker."

Something stung Shep's arm. She lifted into the air, floating toward the trunk's Norwich-crammed interior, then dropped inside. Liquid pain boiled through her veins. She tried to scream, but her bubbling lungs refused to take in air. The trunk shut with a solid thunk.

And then, Colleen Shep died in the trunk of a rented car, in the darkness, jammed against her partner's lifeless body, just fifty minutes after arriving in Seattle.

ALEX PICKED UP THE purse that had fallen from Shep's shoulder and dug through it for the Lexus's keys. Finding them, he plucked them free, then unlocked the car. He stuffed the suitcases into the backseat. Relocking the car, he trotted to the Dumpster. The ripe smell of rotting vegetables and dirty diapers drifted into the air as he lifted the lid. He tossed the purse and keys inside, then strode across the parking lot.

He'd just used tranks developed for vampires on humans. He felt a little queasy. It was one thing to kill a vagrant or a hitchhiker for Athena's experiments, another thing entirely to kill fellow agents.

Correction: SB agents.

But since protecting Heather Wallace been part of the a.s.sa.s.sin's price to ensure Athena's safety, he'd had little choice.

Do you intend to give your father to Dante Baptiste?

Amen, sister. That's my plan, my humble offer to him.

Good. I'll keep your father alive, then.

The a.s.sa.s.sin with the low, s.e.xy voice had requested that Alex divert the arriving team from their mission, requested he warn Wallace. True, she hadn't mentioned killing the team, but death was one h.e.l.luva diversion.

Beneath the halogen streetlights, Alex's shadow jittered and jerked on the pavement as he trotted across South 188th to his parked truck. He climbed in and peeled off his gloves, tossed them on the floorboard. He tucked the trank gun under the seat for safekeeping.

The Dodge Ram's engine started with a deep rumble. Alex reflected on the fact that with his father lunatic-trussed to a bed, his instructions were now null and void. Yet his father's voice rippled through his thoughts: Only I have a map to the labyrinth within S's head-a labyrinth I created.

Alex reached a hand into his hoodie pocket, touched the iPod's smooth shape. Why not test that claim? Why not see if the message actually triggered Dante? If Alex understood his father, Dante would be triggered long enough to follow the instructions from the iPod. Doping him unconscious would nullify his programming again, kick it back into the cluttered cellar of his subconscious.

Pulling his hand free from his pocket, Alex shifted the truck into first and steered it into wee-hours traffic.

S needs to be used in precise strikes against our enemies, Alexander, then returned to sleep. If S remains triggered, there'll be no stopping him.

Inferno's latest pounded from the speakers. And Dante's voice, smoldering and p.i.s.sed, whispered, "Break me / I'm daring you / see if you can..."

"Amen to that, brother," Alex said. "Amen to that."

28 THE CHAOS SEAT.

Gehenna, in the Royal Aerie March 2324

LILITH LIFTED HER VEIL and glanced behind her. The gleaming marble corridor was empty, the lights dimmed to a low orange. Dawn was still several hours away and most within the royal aerie slept, except for a few night-duty servants and guards.

Lilith carefully extended her senses, seeking spiked psionic or mental energy, anything out of the ordinary, but detected nothing.

Dropping her veil back into place, tinting her vision red once again, Lilith drew in another calming breath of myrrh-smoked air and slipped inside the creawdwr's receiving chamber-a room that had been empty for over two thousand years.

Moonlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the east wall, pale and sheer, a thin, ghostly reflection of the silver and vibrant light that used to flow in through those windows.

Gehenna dies.

Pushing back her veil, Lilith forced herself to cross the sky-blue marble floor at a normal pace, forced herself to keep her mind ordered and her heart calm. She couldn't afford to be discovered in this chamber, not with what she carried. She stopped at the black marble dais leading up to the silk-draped perch.

His name is Dante, a born vampire.

The air smelled stale and dusty, as empty as the throne above her.

Stepping onto the first riser, Lilith seized a corner of the protective silk sheet and yanked. The gold material rippled to the floor like water over rocks and fell against Lilith's feet. Watery moonlight waved against the black, blue-veined marble chair. A center support arrowed up at the back with hollows at either side for wings. The legs and armrests had been carved into scaled dragon limbs, taloned paws inset with sapphires and iridescent opals.

The Chaos Seat. From here a creawdwr wove chaos into ordered life.

Twin pangs of loneliness and regret bit into Lilith. She remembered the face Yahweh had possessed before he'd transformed it into a pillar of blazing light in his madness-handsome, golden-haired and golden-winged, intelligent dark eyes, a smile that had needed to be coaxed to his lips, but a smile well worth the effort.

A smile that his calon-cyfaills, Samael-no, Lucien-and Astoreth, had good-naturedly competed with each other to elicit. Later, Yahweh's smiles had flowed freely and at moments that had held no laughter, no joy, no cause for celebration.

She remembered Lucien's anguish: We can't stop it. His sanity's slipping.

Remembered her answer: Perhaps he needs to be bound by more than two, my love. Perhaps his power is too strong, too chaotic, for a simple triad balance.

Lilith pushed away the past. Regret had burned bright within her once, but had long since flickered out. Right or wrong, she'd done as she'd believed necessary for Gehenna and for Yahweh.

Lucien claimed the same, but the memory of that awful night so many centuries ago still poisoned her dreams.

"What have you done?"

Lilith whispers her question, but each word bangs like a hammer against her temples. Her head throbs with pain.

Outside, the ground ripples and quakes and it feels as though Gehenna will tear itself apart. She clutches at the doorjamb.

Newly made beings wing into the sky only to unravel and scatter into the wind.

Samael...Lucien...bleeds from his nose and ears. He clutches Yahweh close against his chest. No light blazes from the creawdwr's face. Motionless on the marble floor beside her calon-cyfaills, honey-haired Astoreth stares empty-eyed at the ceiling. Blood rims her eyes like kohl and her lovely face is bloodied at ears and nose.

"What have you DONE?" Lilith screams the last word. Pain drops her to her knees on the cold, hard floor. She grabs at Yahweh's shoulder.

Lucien smacks her hands away and levels her a look that chills her to the bone and freezes her hands in midair.

"You'll never use him again." He returns his gaze to Yahweh, his expression tender. "He's free." Lucien drapes his hair over the creawdwr's face, a silken black shroud.

"Murderer!" Lilith wails.

LILITH DREW IN A deep breath of incense and jasmine and shoved the past away once more. Lucien's unexpected presence had dusted off her memories and lifted them into the light. She centered and calmed herself, then climbed the steps to the Chaos Seat. She needed to verify her former cydymaith's claims.

His name is Dante, a born vampire. He's twenty-three years old.

Reaching into the black velvet purse tied to her belt, Lilith pulled out the prize she'd slipped unnoticed from a pocket of Lucien's trousers while he hung in the pit. Blood dotted the wrinkled sc.r.a.p of paper like a seal. Creawdwr magic whispered against her fingers. Her hands trembled ever so slightly.

If this was genuine and not some trick Lucien had designed to make a fool of her, then the gems on the Chaos Seat would glow. Only a creawdwr's magic could awaken the Seat.

Bending, Lilith touched the blood-smeared paper to the black marble.

The Chaos Seat burst into flame.

Lilith stumbled backward and her sandaled foot slipped off the step. She fell from the dais, but caught herself with a quick sweep of her wings and lowered her feet to the hard floor.

Fire engulfed the black marble throne, cool flames radiating out around it like a twilight aura-blue, green, and purple. The sapphires and opals blazed with intense color, and Lilith lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the Seat's cold-sparkling brilliance.

Luminescent color like evening's first blush glimmered throughout the room.

Lilith's heart winged frantically against her ribs. She'd never seen such a display from the Seat before, not even when a creawdwr had occupied it. And with only a drop of a child-creawdwr's magic-infused blood. Her mouth dried.

His name is Dante, a born vampire. He's my son.

Fola Fior and Elohim.

Never in the history of the Elohim had there been a mixed-blood creawdwr.

Possibilities pranced through Lilith's mind. Her pulse soared.

Lilith swooped to the top of the dais and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the blood-dotted piece of paper. The fire and shimmering color vanished. The room darkened, and she blinked bright spots from her vision.

Swinging around, she dipped her wings, grabbed the silk sheet, and redraped the Seat. Unshielded minds pressed unknowing against hers and she knew it was just a matter of time before one of the servants stumbled across her.

Or worse, Gabriel.

Landing on the marble floor, she folded her wings behind her, and hurried from the room. She reached for her veil, but it was gone. Panic waterfalled down her spine. Spinning around, Lilith raced back into the receiving chamber.

Her veil rested on the dais's bottom step, a streak of blood against all the black stone. She picked it up and slipped it over her head, draping the ends over her shoulders.

"What a pleasant surprise, little dove," a low and honey-sweet voice said.

Even though her heart jumped into her throat, Lilith managed not to jump along with it. She finished arranging her veil, then turned around to face a red-tinted Gabriel. "I hope I didn't disturb you," she said, pleased her voice was level. "I couldn't sleep."

He leaned against the doorjamb, in kilt and sandals, his hair plaited into a single, thick braid, his wings tucked away into his back pouches. A knotted torc encircled his throat. He flashed her a sympathetic smile. "Me either."

"No rest for the wicked," Lilith said, returning his smile.

"True. Very true."

She walked to the door, then paused when he showed no inclination to move.

He touched a finger to her veil. "What brought you to this room in search of sleep? Why not a walk in the garden or a night flight?"

Lilith met Gabriel's gaze. "My conversations with Samael have resurrected memories I thought long dead," she said, allowing just a hint of sorrow to soften her voice. "And...old feelings."

Gabriel's hand dropped to his side, amus.e.m.e.nt lighting his eyes. "Conversation? Is that what you call it?" He chuckled.

"Hanging in the pit and name-bound, all thanks to you, I can't imagine he'd have much to chat about."

"Perhaps I enjoy watching him suffer. Perhaps I like hearing him rant and curse."

"Now that I believe," Gabriel murmured. "I think you came to this room to stoke your rage, to remember what he stole from us, little dove."

Lilith smoothed the pleats in her gown. "When did you get to know me so well?"

Gabriel straightened and stepped out into the corridor. "You've never fooled me," he said, his gaze locking onto hers. "Not once."

"Truly? So you meant to fly your army into my ambush on the Golden Sh.o.r.e?"

Gabriel waved a hand. "That was a long time ago. I've learned since then."

Lilith smiled. "I would hope so." She walked into the corridor.

A servant, one of the half-mortal and wingless nephilim, bowed her blonde head and slipped silently into the creawdwr's chamber, a broom and feathered dust-sweep in her hands. "There was another reason I was surprised to see you here," Gabriel said. "The Morningstar has invited Samael to his aerie for a predawn breakfast and a bit of conversation."

Lilith stared at Gabriel, a cold knot in her belly. "I lost track of time," she said. "Thank you for reminding me. Good night."

She whirled and started down the corridor, but Gabriel's voice stopped her.

"Do you think he's hiding a creawdwr?"

"The Morningstar?"

"Don't play games, little dove."

"I don't know," Lilith said, her voice thoughtful. "I don't think so, however."

"Ah, well, when Samael's strength has waned enough to eliminate his shields, I'll just root through his mind and find out for myself."

"Sounds delightful," Lilith said dryly. "Good night, Gabriel."

"Shall I tell Hekate her mother dropped by?" His voice was honey-sweet again.