EIGHTEEN
Monday predawn traffic poured into the parking lots Evalle rode past. She slowed to scan the area around each one.
No trolls working the pay booths. No demons lurking in the shadows.
She kept an eye on three parking garages in downtown Atlanta for Quinn, who probably owned more real estate than some small countries did. If he wanted to consider a nightly ride to keep an eye on his businesses a part-time job, who was she to argue? Especially since Quinn gave her a reduced rent in trade for surveillance.
All missions completed for the evening.
She turned her gixxer toward home.
When are you going home, Evalle? Quinn asked in her mind.
How did he know she wasn’t there yet? Was the man psychic on top of his other gifts?
She glanced up at the sky threatening to unleash sunshine in another ten minutes. I’m a mile from my elevator.
Z and I’ll meet you there.
Not much for chatting, that Quinn.
She cut down Marietta Boulevard and turned on a side road that deposited her below Atlanta’s traffic level. The rutted street her narrow tires bounced over ran along the railroad tracks that once fed into the original Underground Atlanta, where civies came in groups for safety. Today’s Underground Atlanta was a thriving tourist attraction safe enough for the kiddos.
She preferred the spooky early morning darkness down here in Atlanta’s underbelly, where dock workers sweated out an honest living, to the pristine world full of suits … a world full of doctors who … Don’t go there.
Parking in front of the overhead door to her personal elevator, which could carry a full-sized vehicle, she pressed the remote opener clipped to her tank-bag and climbed off.
Footsteps approached, crunching gravel layered over the pavement. She pushed her bike into the dark elevator stall, turning it to where she could face her guests. “How’s tricks, boys?”
“Must you always cut it so close to daylight?” Quinn asked.
She grinned at him. “Gotta make hay when the sun don’t shine and all that. Besides, Sen ran me late.”
“What’d he want now?” Tzader entered last, sounding whipped. Had he rested at all since yesterday?
“He snatched me in for a Tribunal meet—,” she started explaining.
“Without contacting me first?” Anger boiled off Tzader.
Evalle supported the bike against her hip and lifted a hand, hesitating to say much out here. “It wasn’t a suspension hearing that would have required due process.”
No happier than Z, Quinn picked up on her reluctance to expound. “Let’s get inside her apartment where no one can hear us.”
She keyed the remote, shutting the door, and turned her attention to where a panel of six toggle switches was mounted behind bulletproof glass.
Getting inside the elevator would be simple for an intruder.
Breaking the bulletproof glass over the switches would set off alarms in her living quarters down below. But even if someone made it this far, they’d have to know the correct sequence for flipping the toggles. That changed daily, and only the three people inside this elevator car knew those codes.
Tzader and Quinn could flip the toggles kinetically, which one of the two did before she could, because the elevator started moving.
“You got any food down here?” Tzader got downright surly when he was hungry on top of being tired.
She thought about it. “Sure, I got a new recipe for—”
Tzader and Quinn both said, “No.”
“That’s cold. You haven’t tried anything I’ve cooked since that first time.” When the elevator stopped twenty feet belowground, she mentally flipped the toggles in reverse and pushed her bike into the twenty-by-thirty-foot garage area of her private world. She rolled the gixxer onto the hydraulic motorcycle lift she used to service her baby and tightened the wheel chock to lock the bike in place. White upper and lower cabinets lined one side of the room, but she was the only one who could see all that right now.
A string of fluorescent lights overhead flickered on.
Quinn’s doing, since he had no patience for being in the dark.
“I got the door,” Tzader said and the elevator closed behind them.
With one quick glance to ensure everything was as she’d left it, Evalle led the way through a series of unlit tunnels toward her apartment.
The tension in her shoulders eased the closer she got to her home. Quinn would have let her live here rent-free.
No way. She’d sleep in a public bathroom—and had—before she’d owe anyone for something as basic as a place to live. He’d set a fair price, and she earned her way between working at the morgue and receiving pay from the Beladors’ fund as an agent to the coalition.
VIPER negotiated payment arrangements with all their agents except Beladors, who chose not to accept money from the coalition. She guessed Brina and Macha didn’t want to be dependent on VIPER any more than Evalle wanted to be dependent on anyone.
Quinn was on the board of Belador financial barons, who invested funds accumulated over generations. They took care of their own.
“What happened to the lights in this hallway?” Quinn groused.
“Saving on your power bill.” As she approached the steel door that had no handles or locks evident, she channeled energy to open it.
Quinn growled something low. “I’m not a bloody slumlord. All my properties are green efficient and you know it. Not like your eyes can’t take a little lighting.”
“You got better places to spend money.”
He could be overbearing some days, especially when it came to what he considered her well-being, but he respected her need for independence.
She stepped into her abode, where wall sconces and tiny overhead puck lights strung along a wire brightened the simple room. Quinn maintained she needed enough light for guests to move around safely.
She didn’t have guests as a rule, but even a blind person could navigate around the few pieces of furniture she’d accumulated.
This was home and hers. She came and went at will. Her one indulgence was plants, especially flowering ones that she had to trick into blooming with artificial lighting.
Tzader dropped down on her lumpy sofa, let out a groan born of deep exhaustion then kicked off his boots. He leaned back, stretching out his jean-covered legs and crossing his arms over the sleeveless black T-shirt, so completely different from Quinn’s pewter gray collared shirt with a golf logo on the chest and creased slacks.
“I see you’ve decorated since I was last here.” Quinn sent a reproachful frown at the oversize orange beanbag in the middle of the room. “Having a time deciding on the most advantageous location for that?”
“Too bad there’s no snob police, Quinn. They’d make a fortune writing you up.”
He sighed with strained patience.
She loved tweaking his aristocratic nose.
A noise from the back of the apartment snapped her into action. She hurried over to stand by the offensive beanbag.
Growling rumbled from down the hallway that led to her bedroom.
Footsteps slapped the hard concrete floor, heading toward the living room, picking up speed, running full bore until the pounding echoed like bomb blasts.
“Evalle?” Tzader issued the sharp warning and came to his feet. The knives hanging at his hips snapped and hissed. He took a step toward her.
“Oh, good Goddess,” Quinn muttered.
She ordered both of them, “Stand back. I got this.” Keeping her attention on the hallway, she prepared for the attack that flew out of the darkness at her.
The two-foot-tall gargoyle went airborne, wings flapping, like a cannonball with mouth open to expose sharp teeth. All that heading for her chest.
“Dammit, Evalle!” Tzader reached for her arm and missed when she jumped aside at the last second.
The gargoyle landed on the beanbag, his momentum sliding him with the bag all the way across the room until he smacked the solid wall.
She laughed out loud, enjoying the best sound that had traveled up her throat all day. “Nice one, Feenix. Come here, baby.”
Feenix made a noise that sounded part growl and part snort when he was happy. His mouth spread wide, showing off sharp incisors that were as deadly as they looked. He clutched his little potbelly and tucked his batlike wings close when he rolled off the bag, still chortling over his NASCAR-worthy slide. They were both fans of American car racing.
“That thing doesn’t know his strength,” Tzader growled, but his knives had settled down. A sign he was at ease. “He’s going to hurt you one day.”
“No, he won’t.” She squatted down as Feenix waddled to her, wings flapping happily. His huge eyes were two orange orbs that glowed bright as a Halloween pumpkin against his dark-green-and-brown scale-covered body.
“I could have acquired you a dog—something adequately trained that wouldn’t kill you.” Quinn stepped aside, moving his expensive pants out of snag range from the sharp points on Feenix’s wings.
“A dog or a cat would want to go outside in the daylight and need more care than I could give it. Feenix likes the dark and he’s self-sufficient and he loves me. He’s perfect.” She opened her arms and he walked into her embrace, tucking his wings so she could hug him. It was like holding a soft alligator that was as cold as a dark cave and smelled like freshly tanned leather. The skin covering his wings was the smoothest part of him. “I finally settled on the perfect name. Feenix.”
“Because Lucifer was taken?”
“Careful, Quinn,” she said with mock threat. “Or I’ll tell Feenix you want a hug.”
Tzader chuckled and shook his head.
Quinn shuddered on his way to the recliner she’d picked up last week from a late-night going-out-of-business sale.
Hard to hit yard sales when most of them ended by nightfall.
“He’s no bird rising from the ashes of destruction,” Quinn muttered.
She argued, “Yes, he is, but his name is different.” She spelled it for him. “I picked Feenix because this little critter survived that demented sorcerer and crawled out of a burning building when all the other things the sorcerer had created died even though they were bigger and stronger.”
She released Feenix, who waddled across the room making grunting noises. He picked up a stuffed alligator and tucked the soft toy into the crease of his bent arm, holding it like a baby doll. “And phoenix, the bird name, means ‘the most beautiful one of its kind.’ Just like my Feenix.”
Quinn cleared his throat. “Evalle, darling, you may need prescription glasses after all. That creature is not attractive.”
“He is to me,” she whispered, then smiled at Quinn, who groused about most of her choices in life. He hated that she wouldn’t let him hire people to finish the interior of this place or buy any furnishings. She did allow him and Tzader to give her plants, which was why it looked more like a jungle than a home.
“Food, Evalle?” Tzader reminded her.
She swung around, grinning. “I’ve got frozen pizzas.”
Neither of the men made a sign of interest. She added, “And, I stocked my bar. I’ll throw in a Boodles and water for Quinn and a Guinness—on draft, no less—for you, Z.”
“Now you’re talking.” Tzader stretched out again, propping his feet on the arm at one end.
“With enough Boodles, I can eat anything.” Quinn waved at her dismissively.
“Wouldn’t want to ruin your taste buds for caviar,” Tzader muttered.
“Or yours for Vienna sausage.” Reclined and with eyes at half-mast, Quinn stretched his hands along the chair arms, as if he enjoyed the pedestrian furniture more than he wanted her to know.
“What happened with Sen?” Tzader asked before she left.
“It’ll hold until I get food cooking and your drinks.”
Tzader made a noise of acceptance.
Evalle headed for the kitchen and paused when she remembered the treat in her pocket. “Feenix?”
The gargoyle looked up, eyes round with anticipation.
How could someone not love him?
She dug out the lug nut she’d found and pitched it in the air.
His tongue shot out, swiping the nugget out of midair and into his mouth. He made an “mm,” sound and his cheek fattened as if he was sucking on a caramel.
“Was that a steel lug nut?” Quinn missed nothing.
“Yes. He loves anything silver.”
“Oh, good Goddess …” Quinn mumbled something else she laughed at, and she went to the kitchen.
Her heart warmed at the strange feeling flooding through her. Happiness. What a time to finally be happy when she might be dead or caged in three days.
She got busy heating the oven. She had Quinn to thank for the stainless steel chef’s kitchen, since it was already here when she moved in. He and Tzader had only stopped by twice since she’d moved in four months ago, never staying long.
Could it have been fear of being invited to eat again after what she’d cooked the first time? Who knew duck smelled that bad when it burned?
She pulled a mug out of the cabinet and started the slow process of pouring a Guinness draft between pushing pizzas into the oven and mixing Quinn’s drink.
Having company tonight after the harrowing Tribunal meeting was … nice.
Quinn and Tzader could visit her sanctuary whenever they wanted, but no others. Even after two years, she didn’t know much about their backgrounds, but she did know the one thing that mattered—that she could trust these two without question.
When Tzader had a chance to transfer her to the southeastern division, she’d accepted immediately, moving across country at night over three days. That had been five months ago. After arriving in Atlanta, she’d found a gym where she could work out and shower at night. Then, during the day, she’d slept in a climate-controlled storage space nearby, where she’d had a bedroll and a bag of clothes.
Same thing she’d been doing since she’d started living on her own at eighteen.
When she’d put them off about coming by where she’d been staying, they’d tracked her down to the storage locker.
Quinn had at first been appalled, then angry, then he’d just sighed and told her, “Prepare to move in twenty-four hours.”
Tzader had refused to even discuss another option.
She’d finally agreed under the one condition that she paid for the apartment. No charity deals and no owing anyone. She’d live in a storage room or worse the rest of her life before she’d ever be at anyone’s mercy.
No one would ever own her life again.
She’d never shared the ugly details about her childhood that drove her to remain independent.
Not even with these two men.
Quinn had assured her he had a location that was within her budget, and he’d even swap out some of the rent if she’d keep an eye on several of his parking garages.
That’s how she’d ended up in a place with all the charm of a fallout shelter, which was paradise compared to the claustrophobic hole she’d spent twenty-four hours a day in for eighteen years. She had over two thousand square feet here she could do with as she pleased. On her limited budget, that meant very little.
Eventually, she’d turn this into a true sanctuary.
If the Tribunal didn’t decide to lock her away.
If so, Brina would put her somewhere no one could find her. Not even Tzader.
Evalle squeezed the dish towel in her hand. If that happened …
Something tapped her on the leg, breaking her out of the desperation cartwheeling through her chest.
Feenix stood there with his alligator baby tucked under one arm. His eyes drooped, a sign he was unhappy or worried.
“What’s the matter, baby?”
He leaned his head against her leg and patted her foot, something he’d done the last time she’d come home shaken up after the Tribunal had yanked her in for a meeting.
Did he sense that she was under threat?
She wouldn’t go down without a battle, but she would make sure Feenix was taken care of if the unimaginable happened and she lost.
“Everything’s fine.” She smiled to give the words a ring of truth. Reaching over to the counter, she pulled open a drawer in her cabinet and took out a foot-long stainless steel cooking spoon she’d found in a garbage can and sterilized. “Here ya go, sweetie.”
When she pushed the spoon under his nose he bit it, flipping the handle out of her hand. “Go back and keep the boys company. I’ll be in there in a minute. Okay?”
Feenix tottered away, licking the spoon he now held in one hand and dragging his stuffed animal clutched in his other four fingers.
She carried a small plastic tray with a bottle of Powerade, Z’s mug of beer and Quinn’s mixed drink into her living room. One day she’d have a television and stereo system in here, but her laptop in the bedroom and boom box in the kitchen would suffice for now.
“Get the table, Feenix.” Evalle carried the drink tray to where he pushed a cardboard box into position to act as a coffee table Tzader and Quinn could reach. “Thanks, baby.”
Feenix clapped his hands and went back to playing with his alligator.
She cracked the plastic cap on the Powerade bottle and took a swig. “Ready to catch up while the pizzas are cooking?”
Tzader sat up, rubbing his eyes, then lifted the mug and looked at the top of the beer. “Impressive. Where’d you learn how to draw the four-leaf clover in the foam?”
“Internet. There’s a YouTube video on everything.” She didn’t have to ask if Quinn’s drink was okay. He had a look of euphoria after taking a sip. “Why don’t you two tell me what you found out in North Carolina, and I’ll fill you in on the Tribunal and what Trey didn’t know about the demons, since I figure you caught up with him by now.”
Tzader’s eyes simmered with building fury, but he nodded.
“We did speak with him.” Quinn sat back. “I’ll give you what I know, then Tzader can tell you about the informant. The Alterant that was caught in North Carolina two months ago was thought to be in his late teens or early twenties, according to Nightstalkers there. He was a thief, breaking into businesses, stole a couple cars, robbed a convenience store, but nothing major.”
Evalle tapped her fingers on her knee, thinking. “Was he ever arrested?”
“No. He had an unnatural speed, like Trey’s ability, which we suspect he may have inherited as a Belador trait. The police just thought he was a professional criminal. No fingerprints, and they never caught his face on a security video. It took me a while to come up with a common denominator in the crimes until I started thinking about your aversion to the sun.”
“Was he a freak living like a vampire, too?” Evalle joked. She walked over and kicked the beanbag closer to the cardboard coffee table, then sat down on a poof of air.
“You know how I hate it when you call yourself a freak,” Quinn admonished. “But, no, he wasn’t nocturnal. The police set up a trap, thinking an unlocked car with a camera bag in the back would be an easy heist if left alone during three days of rain. The male Alterant stole the car on day four in bright sunshine. We discovered that all of his crimes were committed only when it was daylight and not raining. A Belador on the police force who started following this case realized the perpetrator might be a preternatural being, so he asked to work the stakeout. When the Alterant stole the car, the Belador cop followed, sure he’d located something nonhuman, so he called in support.”
Evalle nodded. “That’s how nine male Beladors cornered him, right?”
“Yes. During the six hours they pursued him, the weather began changing from partly cloudy to an approaching weather front. Four of them cornered him at the back of a school on a Sunday, and the other five Beladors came when called telepathically. Before the thief realized they weren’t human cops he could outrun, he jumped out of his car to flee just as it started raining. The Beladors had linked by now. The thief was like any other panicked criminal until he got wet, then he screamed as if hit with acid. He shifted at that point, turning into a beast that ripped the head off one Belador before they realized what he was and had a chance to unlink.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, sick at the loss of life. The families whose father, husband, brother or son hadn’t come home. “How’d you find out all that when VIPER couldn’t get anything the first two weeks?”
“Another Belador in the area heard their call for help when the Alterant started shifting and showed up after the killings, but before any law enforcement got there. He had the good sense to pull the video out of the police cars and call for Brina, who brought in Sen to clean up the mess and teleport the Alterant to a secure location. Brina told the local Belador to hold onto the video until Tzader and I showed up, since this was more a Belador issue in her mind than a VIPER issue.”
Evalle cocked an eyebrow at that. “Brina just wants to keep the dirty laundry under wraps.”
Tzader uttered a gritty noise. “Don’t get started, Eve. Brina’s first responsibility is to our tribe, which includes you.”
“Even a mutt gets a bone once in a while.” But Brina had spoken up for her today.
Quinn stood up and glanced down at Tzader. “Why don’t you pick up from here, and I’ll refresh our drinks.”
Tzader handed off his mug. “While we were investigating in Charlotte, we caught someone stealing from the Alterant’s booty stash. Someone with the ability to change his physical appearance.”
“A troll?”
“You got it. When Quinn figured out about the weather, we mapped an area where the thefts took place and drew lines until we figured out a general area where they intersected. Once we had that, we started shaking down Nightstalkers and found the Alterant’s hideout in a derelict auto repair building. Before going in, we spent a week watching the hideout to see if someone was connected to him in any way. What we found was a troll who showed up on the sunny days while the Alterant was out and took a couple things like jewelry or motorcycle chrome. Never enough to make a huge dent in the pile we found, but consistent.”
“What was the Alterant doing with the stolen goods?”
“Looked like he was pawning most of it and stashing the cash in a wall air conditioner in his hideout. He had a newspaper folded to a section on custom vans, as if he was trying to get enough money to buy one.”
Evalle understood immediately why someone who couldn’t take rain the way she couldn’t handle sunlight would want a low-profile vehicle he could live in when need be. She’d have loved to own a van like that instead of traveling in late-night buses on the trip she’d taken across the country. “What happened with the troll?”
Tzader accepted his beer from Quinn, then eyed the smooth foam. “No clover?”
Quinn released a put-upon sigh and opened a supersized Mr. Goodbar she’d splurged for, because that was his favorite confectionary indulgence. He told Tzader, “No little paper umbrellas either. You were telling her about the troll.”
Swallowing a drink of beer first, Tzader continued. “We caught the troll and threatened to alert VIPER that he had not declared his residence in Charlotte. He swore he was leaving that day.”
Evalle snorted at that. “To go home and take care of the elderly sick mother he didn’t have, right?”
“Close enough to the lies he spewed,” Tzader agreed. “We told him he wasn’t going anywhere unless he could bring us information on the thief he was stealing from within twenty-four hours. If he did and the intel was confirmed as usable, he could leave. He came back nine hours later with two pieces of intel. The troll said someone was looking for the Alterant.”
Feenix padded over and climbed onto Evalle’s lap, gurgling noises on each breath. He was a heavy little guy. Once she had him settled, she clarified, “So the troll knew the thief was an Alterant?”
Quinn cut in. “Not until after he’d spoken to others in his underground community and put it together. The troll was pretty shaken up to realize he’d been stealing from an Alterant, especially after word circulated about the thief killing nine Beladors.”
Trolls fearing Alterants. Now that cheered her up, except for the downside of Sen figuring a way to use that against her. “You said two pieces of intel. Who’d the troll say was looking for the Alterant?”
“A Rak had feelers out for the Alterant.”
Just add that to the list of today’s demons, Sen and the Tribunal. She felt like the baby in a Mardi Gras king cake.
Eventually something with teeth would get her.
“What’s a Rak?” Now that she had a computer, any waking minute when she wasn’t working at the morgue or running down VIPER leads Evalle spent studying websites Z and Quinn had given her. Still, her working knowledge of preternatural beings, supernatural abilities, entities and anything related was pretty limited compared to Quinn and Tzader’s expertise.
“Rak is a slang term for a Rakshasas, a malevolent being or demon who can shift into any form, not just human,” Quinn explained.
“Another demon?” Was it a slow news week? She could hear the six o’clock anchor now. Alterant becomes dinner at demon convention. Film at eleven. Three demons in ten days and two of them had been hunting for an Alterant. “What happened to the Rak?”
“He fled to Atlanta,” Quinn told her. “The second thing the troll told us was that the Rak had left a cryptic message for a Belador. The Rak is the informant Tzader came back to Atlanta to meet with.”
Yet another demon in Atlanta. Three in one day had to be a record. And this one had been looking for an Alterant, too.
Coincidences were for people with a normal life, not her.
The walls of her world started closing in, and for the first time in two years she had serious doubts over how much Tzader and Quinn could do to help her if someone was targeting Alterants … and knew where to find them. Them? Her.
But this many demons popping up in the southeast was not coincidental.
With the Tribunal breathing down her neck, Evalle needed anything this Rak demon could provide, like who knew how to find the Alterants. And maybe the origin of Alterants. Brina didn’t know how to find or identify them in human form or she’d have captured the one in Charlotte before it had a chance to shift and kill Beladors.
Evalle’s skin pebbled with excitement. This could be the key to providing the Tribunal with answers.
If anyone could pull information from a snitch, it was Tzader. Her gaze slid over to Tzader, who still hadn’t said what had happened to the Rak.
She squeezed a hand full of beanbag, using it like a stress-relief chair. “Tell me you found this Rak guy, Z, and got the information you were after.”
“Yes and no.”
Not the answer she was hoping for.