Chapter 12
Bartol
He paced his living room, waiting for Tormod to arrive. Lucas had stopped by first thing in the morning to see Bartol. The nephilim had been in a rush to get to the nerou compound, but he’d had some information to impart first. They’d verified the address for Griff’s parents and needed someone to go to the house and speak with them. Melena had already driven by the place last night and didn’t sense any vampires in the area, but the couple could still know something about their son or at least have a semi-recent picture of him. Lucas claimed he and his brother’s schedules were too busy at the moment to handle it.
Bartol doubted their excuse, but he only hesitated a moment before agreeing. He wanted to meet the man who’d created the monster harassing Cori. And since it could prove a useful training tool, they’d decided Tormod would come along as well after the nerou finished his morning exercises. That had been almost four hours ago.
Bartol was surprised by how much he itched to leave his home, especially so he could meet a human he didn’t know. For the past few months, he’d wanted nothing more than to live a solitary existence far from people. Nothing had interested him beyond basic necessities until now.
But the idea of Cori being in danger set off a strange primal instinct to protect her in every way he could. Even before his stint in Purgatory, he could not remember a time when he felt this way about any woman. What was it about her that made him care? He couldn’t possibly have any feelings for her since they fought more than they got along. Bartol had even managed to avoid kissing her again despite her best efforts to coerce him. Having said that, he did appreciate the soft woman underneath the hard exterior, and he hated to see fear in her eyes. Those brief flashes he’d caught of her feeling vulnerable were enough to wrench his gut.
Griff had done that to her, and because of that, the man needed to be stopped by any means necessary. Only after he was gone could Bartol go back to living his secluded life and get away from Cori’s constant flirting. What did that woman see in him anyway?
Tormod flashed into the living room.
“Are you ready?” Bartol asked.
The nerou nodded. He’d donned a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt for their day’s activities, and he’d left his shaggy hair unkempt. Tormod had a way of making himself seem small and insignificant despite the fact he stood over six feet tall and had a muscular build. The young man was already powerful, but one day he’d grow strong enough that few—if any—would be able to stop him.
“Lucas showed me a map of where we’re supposed to go,” Tormod informed him.
Likely the same one he’d shown Bartol. “Good. Then you can flash there without my help.”
The nerou grinned. “This is going to be fun.”
“As long as you follow the rules.” Bartol glared at him until he stopped smiling and ducked his head.
“Lucas told me,” Tormod said, voice somber this time. “I’m not supposed to do anything without your permission.”
“Exactly.”
After giving him a few more instructions, Bartol flashed away. The house where Martin—Griff’s father—lived wasn’t too far and only took a moment to reach. Bartol made himself invisible to humans so that no one would note his arrival, certain Tormod would do the same. It was always best to observe a place unobtrusively first before approaching it.
Martin Landry lived in a small one-story home. It had gray siding that had rotted away in several sections, a roof with black trash bags stapled down in a couple of spots, and a one-car garage with a large dent in the door. Random junk also filled the yard, including rusted metal springs, flat tires stacked on top of each other, and a barbecue grill lying on its side. Tall grass grew around the debris as if it was doing its best to hide the mess. Lucas had mentioned the place was a dump, but this was worse than Bartol could have imagined.
A beat-up red truck was parked in front of the garage. Mud caked the sides and the front fender hung crooked, but all the tires were inflated and the windshield wasn’t too filthy, so it probably still ran. One thing was for certain, the man who lived here clearly didn’t care about appearances or cleanliness. How had Cori married into such a family?
All of this ran through Bartol’s mind during the first few seconds of his arrival before Tormod appeared next to him. The nerou’s eyes rounded on the home. It was in a neighborhood, but the houses along this particular street sat on lots of land that were at least half an acre in size or larger. Most were spaced far apart with trees and brush dividing them, which gave a certain semblance of privacy for the residents.
“Does someone actually live there?” Tormod asked, drawing his brows together. Because he was part sensor, he could pick up on supernaturals within a short distance, but he could not detect humans unless they were very close and emitting strong emotions.
“It appears so.”
The nerou shook his head. “I suppose there are all kinds of humans in the world.”
“It would be boring if there weren’t.” At least, that was how Bartol used to think when he still enjoyed socializing and traveling.
“True,” Tormod agreed.
Since the nerou didn’t mention sensing a vampire anywhere nearby, Bartol assumed Griff wasn’t inside. Martin, a human man in his sixties, would hardly present a challenge to two immortals. The wife probably wouldn’t be a problem at all.
Bartol made his body visible again and waited for Tormod to do the same. “Let’s go.”
They approached the house, moving in confident strides. Bartol’s gaze caught on a small window where the curtain had been pulled back. Someone was already aware of their presence, but he didn’t think the person was a man. Despite the darkened interior, he thought he caught the pale face of a woman staring at them.
“She’s scared,” Tormod whispered.
Bartol hurried up the front steps. “But is she scared of us?”
“No idea.”
He knocked on the door. Not more than a moment passed before a frail woman in her late fifties with white-blond hair answered the door. Tormod had been right about her. No one could miss the apprehension in this woman’s reddened and puffy eyes, or the way she hunched over slightly as if she expected to be hit at any moment. She wore a white short-sleeve blouse with frayed lace at the edges and black stretch pants. Bartol noted bruises on her upper arms that could have easily matched a man’s fingerprints. Some might think the suffering he’d endured in Purgatory would make him less sympathetic to another’s pain, but if anything, it only made him more sensitive to it.
He ground his jaw and forced himself to push down the rage tightening his muscles. The last thing he wanted was to scare this woman even further. “Is Martin Landry here?”
“Yes.” She gave a hesitant glance over her shoulder. “My husband has, uh, just laid down for a nap. What is this about?”
“Are you his wife?” Bartol asked.
She nodded. The weariness of too many years of being married to a cruel man must have weighed on her thin shoulders. It was written all over her face and in the way she held herself. Bartol wished he could take her somewhere safe right then.
“We’re looking for your son,” Tormod said, his tone easy and gentle. He had to know what the woman was feeling with his abilities, but his sensitivity came as a surprise.
Her brows creased. “Which one?”
“Griff,” Bartol answered.
“We haven’t seen him in years.” She didn’t show any sign of being sad about her son’s prolonged absence. “Not since he skipped on his bail and cost his father a lot of money. He’s…he’s not welcome here.”
“Who you talkin’ to?” A man yelled from somewhere farther into the house.
The woman stiffened. She drew a deep breath and answered over her shoulder, “Two men are here asking about Griff.”
“Tell them to get the hell off my property. We ain’t got nothin’ to say to them.”
“I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to leave.” She started to close the door.
Bartol slapped his hand against it before she could. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist on coming inside.”
“Woman! What did I tell you?” A man with long, gray hair and a matching beard appeared in the doorway. He had to be Griff’s father. Martin was tall and sturdy despite his age, and his voice was sharp enough to make the woman next to him shake in fear.
Bartol took a step forward, barely keeping himself from exploding in rage, and Tormod growled his own aggressive feelings. They had to get this situation under control fast. In a way, Martin had a lot in common with Kerbasi. The older man was one of those people who took pleasure in exerting his power over others and didn’t know the meaning of kindness. People like him didn’t deserve to live. In fact, they needed to be executed, but in this man’s case, he was human. Bartol’s hands were tied when it came to how much he could do to Griff’s father without bringing down the wrath of the angels.
Of course, that didn’t mean he didn’t have a few options at his disposal. Bartol stared into the wife’s eyes, pulling on his considerable power to influence her mind. “Please go. We will deal with your husband.”
She started to turn away, unable to do anything else except obey the command, but Martin snatched her wrist. “You don’t listen to anyone except me, Ruth.”
Bartol broke the man’s hold on his wife, grabbed him by the neck, and lifted him a foot off the floor. “Do not touch her!”
Martin’s eyes widened. Bartol pulled the older man onto the porch and shoved him into the wall next to the door, pleased when the human grunted in pain. He glanced at Tormod. “See if you can do anything for the wife while I deal with this fool. I believe she’s got injuries that need tending.”
“I’m on it,” the nerou replied, heading inside to follow Ruth. Tormod had some healing powers at his disposal that he could use to help her.
“Let go of me.” Martin struggled, weakly attempting to swing his fists.
Bartol narrowed his gaze and spoke in a compelling voice, “Do not fight me.”
Martin stilled, but his eyes remained rebellious since his mind was still clear.
“What do you want?” he asked, choking the words out.
Bartol loosened his grip slightly. “Have you seen or heard from your son, Griff?”
The older man swallowed. “I ain’t seen him in nearly four years, and even if he did come home, I’d be more likely to shoot him than talk to him.”
It was no wonder Griff had turned out so badly. “Have you heard from him?”
“What’s it to you?” Martin’s gaze narrowed. “And what the hell are you? One of those freak supernaturals?”
Bartol was tempted to snap the man’s neck and be done with him. It would have been a service to humankind. “I’m your worst nightmare at the moment. Now, you will tell me the truth—all of it.”
“My wife’s gotten a few letters from Griff over the years that she thinks she’s kept hidden from me, but that’s it,” Martin replied reluctantly. He knew he was being forced to give away private information against his will. Bartol liked that he was aware of it.
“When was the last time Griff wrote her?”
“A month ago.” Martin paused, his gaze darting around as if he was searching for a way to escape. “Said he might be coming into town soon and that he’d stop by if he could, but I wasn’t holding my breath. He knows better than to come here.”
“Nothing else? No phone calls or visits?” Bartol pressed, needing to be sure the man hadn’t found a way around the compulsion. Some humans were clever enough to only obey the precise wording of the commands given to them.
“Nope. That’s it.”
Bartol dropped his hand away, the effects of touching another person beginning to bother him despite his anger. It wasn’t as if the man could flee at the moment anyway. “If Griff was in town, do you have any idea where he might be staying?”
“He only had two friends before he left that I knew about,” Martin spat. “One died last year, and the other one will be in prison for the rest of his life. Griff never knew how to make real friends like my other son.”
“Where is your other son now?”
“Jacob lives in Washington State. Ain’t seen him since Christmas, but he’d never have anything to do with his brother anyhow.” Martin grunted. “He ain’t nothin’ like Griff.”
Bartol mulled that information over for a moment, then gazed deeply into the older man’s eyes. “You are going to go into your house and get a pen and paper. Write down the names and addresses of anyone your son has ever associated with and bring it back to me. Do it quickly.”
He stepped away, and Martin hurried into the house without a backward glance, disappearing into the kitchen. Bartol headed toward the living room to check on the wife. Ruth was sitting on a worn couch while Tormod kneeled in front of her, healing her bruises. His brows were knitted in concentration. It took a few minutes for him to finish and rise to his feet.
“Aside from the bruising, I had to heal a sprained wrist and a knot at the back of her head where she’d been knocked into a wall—according to her. From what I’ve gathered, this is a regular occurrence.” Tormod clenched his fists. “Why would a man do that to a woman?”
Bartol shook his head. “Because some of them are insecure and think harming a woman makes them more powerful. It gives them control they otherwise wouldn’t have in their lives.”
Thinking on it further, he wondered if that was why Kerbasi had been such a terrible guardian in Purgatory. He’d hated being stuck in a lower caste of angels with little hope of rising in the ranks, and he’d taken it out on his prisoners.
“There are other ways to make yourself powerful without hurting people,” Tormod argued.
Bartol lifted a brow. “Such as pulling annoying pranks on them?”
“I…I suppose,” he said, frowning. A moment later, realization dawned in the nerou’s gaze, and it appeared he finally understood how his pranks might affect others. Perhaps today’s exercise had done him even greater good than Bartol and Lucas had hoped.
Tormod took Ruth’s hand and helped her to her feet. He might have been a troublemaker at the training compound while around others of his kind, but he took infinite care with the older woman. She gazed at him with warmth in her eyes. “Thank you.”
“It was nothing. I will come back to check on you soon and make sure you’re doing alright,” he promised, squeezing her hands gently before letting her go. “If you’d like to get some rest now, it’s okay.”
“I think I will,” she said, and started out of the room.
As Bartol watched her go, he remembered he had another purpose for coming here.
“Just a moment,” he called out, stopping her. He waited until she turned to face him. “Could you please find the most recent photo you have of your son, Griff?”
“Of course,” she agreed.
After she disappeared down the hallway, Tormod moved over to Bartol, his jaw hard and expression resolute. “We need to kill her husband.”
“If I let you do that, we’d both be in trouble with the archangels,” Bartol explained, though he hated to leave things as they were with the couple. “It isn’t our place to murder any human no matter how much they deserve it. Ruth chooses to stay with her husband whether we like it or not, and it is up to her to leave him.”
“I don’t care what the archangels say.” Tormod threw up his arms. “If they cared about humans so much, they wouldn’t have let the other supernatural races do whatever they wanted for thousands of years.”
That would be resolved soon enough after the nerou took over as enforcers.
“Because we are more powerful and hold angelic blood in us, we are held to higher standards,” he said, hating that he had to defend the angels’ ridiculous reasoning, but knowing he had no choice if he wished to be a good mentor. “The others were born mortal.”
With the exception of the fae, but they had certain limitations placed on them as well. Tormod knew that very well from growing up in Purgatory since some of the fae were imprisoned there after committing particularly grievous crimes.
“It still isn’t right that we have to leave Ruth like this.” The nerou began pacing the living room, muttering curses under his breath.
Bartol understood his feelings and felt the same way. If he hadn’t just spent a century in Purgatory, he might have been willing to risk breaking the rules and killing Martin no matter the consequences. But he couldn’t go back there, and he couldn’t let Tormod get in trouble, either. There was always another way if one thought about it hard enough. They couldn’t take a human’s free will from them when it came to life-altering decisions—such as compelling Ruth to leave her husband—but the angels wouldn’t get upset over something less significant. Compulsion wasn’t forbidden. There were simply limits on how far one could go with it before crossing a line.
“We still can’t kill him.” Bartol paused and lowered his tone. “But there is something else we can do.”
Tormod stopped and looked at him. “What?”
“You’ll see.” Bartol turned his attention toward Martin, who entered the living room carrying a piece of paper.
“Here,” the man said in a gruff voice, not meeting his gaze. “Will you leave now?”
After taking the piece of paper and checking it over, Bartol grabbed Martin’s chin and forced the human to look at him. “I will leave, but there is one thing you must hear first. From this day forward, you will not hurt your wife ever again. This includes saying harsh words to her, striking her, or pushing her around. It is your duty as her husband to treat her with respect and put her needs above your own.” Bartol pushed as much power as he could into every word. “Do you understand?”
With eyes glazed over, Martin bobbed his head up and down. “Yes.”
Bartol went a little further. “If Ruth decides to leave you at any point in the future, you will let her go in peace without trying to stop her. You will also tell no one about our visit today.”
“Yes,” the human said numbly. His mind was so muddled from the pressure of the compulsion that he’d be dazed for the next hour or so. He deserved that.
“Go sit on the couch,” Bartol commanded and waited until Martin complied. “Spend the rest of the day and evening thinking about what a horrible person you are, and how lucky you are to have a sweet wife. Do not disturb her until she comes to you.”
“Okay.” Martin’s voice came out wooden without a hint of inflection.
Tormod frowned at him, then turned to Bartol. “Will that really work? I thought compulsion wears off eventually.”
“The stronger you are, the longer it lasts. With the amount of power I used, he won’t be able to break through it for a couple of years. As long as one of us checks on Ruth periodically and reinforces the compulsion, Martin shouldn’t hurt his wife anymore,” Bartol informed him.
What he didn’t tell the nerou was that he’d done this very thing a few times in the past, which was how he knew it was the best solution. Interfering any further could get them into serious trouble, but the angels would look the other way for this.
Tormod stared at the human, who sat like a robot with his hands in his lap. The nerou still had a glint in his eyes that said he wanted nothing more than to kill the man, but that was what made this lesson even more important. He would encounter situations such as this over and over again in the future, and there wouldn’t always be someone around to stop him from doing something foolish.
When you had great powers that could turn humans into puppets, it was easy to want to interfere. But people had to be allowed to make mistakes and live with their bad choices. The most Bartol and Tormod could do was make the victim’s life a little easier. Only Ruth could decide to stay with her husband or leave him no matter how much they wanted to take the decision from her.
After a few minutes, the nerou’s shoulders slumped. “Fine. I get it.”
Ruth came in with a photo. “This is the best one I have.”
“Thank you,” Bartol said, taking it from her. Griff looked a lot like Cori’s description—stocky shoulders, closely shaven brown hair, and light skin. The only difference he noted was that the man in the photograph had brown eyes. She’d said his were black now as was the case with all vampires. More than likely, his skin was a few shades paler after not seeing the sun for almost four years as well.
Tormod told the woman she could go rest now. She’d be exhausted after having healing magic used to treat her injuries, and it was a good time to sleep while her husband was busy contemplating his poor behavior.
“You’ve done well today.” Bartol gave him an approving look. “Are you ready to go?”
“Where to next?”
He studied the piece of paper Martin had given him. There were three names on it and only one had an address to go with it. “We’ll check on these next. Perhaps we’ll get lucky, and Griff is hiding with one of his former compatriots.”