THIRTEEN
Ian ground his teeth together as his father unleashed the anger that had been building ever since he crashed his stupid council meeting earlier in the evening. So far, John Rutherford had called him every name in the book, cursed back three generations to the vile villains in their history, and even went so far as to tell him he was exactly like his mother. All Ian could do was laugh.
“Really, Father?” He purred, sipping slowly at his thirty-year-old Macallen, bastardized by the chunk of ice dancing at the bottom of his glass.
“Look at you,” John sneered, waving a loose hand at his son, “you can’t even drink a bloody Macallen properly. Fucking daft punk. It might as well be a Rum and Coke.”
Meeting his father’s stone-cold eyes, so like his own, and yet so very different, Ian shot back the contents of his glass, intending to add insult to injury. The amber liquid burned delightfully on its way down, almost warming his frigid heart. He smiled coolly at his father, who was now standing, staring empty-eyed into the blazing hearth.
“You know,” Ian murmured, “you used more words in that one sentence than you have in an entire year with me. Colorful, Father.”
John turned angry eyes toward his son. “Do you have any idea what you could have done tonight?”
“What?” Ian countered. “Telling the girl the truth about who, and what she is? She has a right to know.”
“That wasn’t about rights and you know it, Ian.”
Their eyes warred for a moment. The hatred coming from both of them was enough to overtake the fire and set the rest of the building aflame. Ian wouldn’t be the first to break the stare. He would not back down from the dominance his father was trying to exert over him. Not today. Not ever again. He had his big boy knickers on now.
“You’ve always been jealous of the girl.” John sighed, finally looking away, the disgust apparent on his face.
A muscle in Ian’s jaw began to tick. His icy blue eyes, cold and cruel. He marched ruefully toward his father, his fists shaking with fury. “Jealous?”
“Yes,” John muttered wearily, glancing sideways in Ian’s direction. “Even when you were children. She eventually surpassed you, and no matter how hard you tried, she was always faster, stronger––smarter.”
All those years of his father and Grimshaw whispering in dark corners, conspiring while the other council members sat dumbly, believing every word they were fed about how Phoenyx had been found––a child with superhuman abilities, that somehow landed on their doorstep under Grimshaw’s wing? But Ian was young and frequently ignored, so no one saw him watching and listening. He knew all their secrets––and then some.
“Well, maybe if you’d spent as much time on me as you had on her, it mightn’t have been that way!” Ian cried, past wounds rising to the surface and splitting the scars in his memory open, leaving them to bleed. “You pushed me aside to groom your super-demon to every specification the council had. You left me alone to console myself in the shadows, while you honed your little monster’s skills with every day that passed. I practically raised myself.”
It was hard not to show his father that the cards he’d been dealt in life had royally fucked him up. He could bluff with as much skill as he could muster, but the fact of the matter was, Phoenyx had all the Aces. His father and Hutton Grimshaw had made damn sure of that.
“What did you expect of me?” John snarled. “I had a job––have a job to do. I had no choice but to follow the protocol.”
“I expected you to be my father,” Ian spat.
At least his father had the decency to look ashamed, but it was too late for that now.
A shadow passed over Ian’s eyes as he felt the blood begin to hum throughout his body. All the animosity, the unchecked resentment he felt for his father, was bubbling to the surface of his cold, hard exterior. The man who was supposed to be his father and mentor, stood there, mocking him, and telling him he would never be as good as The Council’s war slut. It was enough to drive the wedge between them, to its breaking point. Ian was pushed over the edge, into madness, leaving only one person that could drag him out of its murky depths.
Drag me out––or join me there in my lunacy? He thought.
“I’ve met someone, Father,” Ian divulged casually. “I’ve met a woman who makes me feel like I can take on the world––who believes that I can be lord and master of my life. She sees the man I can become, despite what you––or your ridiculous council think of me, and you know what? I love her.”
John chuckled over the rim of his scotch glass. “You? A woman? Is she a prostitute?”
It was hard for Ian to keep the indignation from his expression as he turned to face his father. “No, she is not a prostitute. She’s rather quite the lady.”
Setting down his now empty tumbler, John leaned casually against the wall by the fireplace and smirked at his son. “A lady, eh? I find that terribly hard to believe, son.”
“Oh, but she is,” Ian whispered, reaching lazily for the wrought iron poker to his left. He spun it delicately in his hand. “Her name is Lily, and she and I are going to take over the world together.”
Laughter spilled, unheeded from John Rutherford’s lips, tears welling up in his eyes from sheer mirth. Ian simply smiled, twisting the poker back and forth between his hands. He offered a small chuckle of his own before turning up his chin at his father and narrowing his eyes on him. “Tell me Father––what do you find so amusing?”
“Your delusions of grandeur!” John gasped, trying to catch his breath. “Oh, Ian. You are so much more like your mother than I had ever anticipated you’d be.”
“But you’re wrong,” Ian said with a smile. “You see, there’s only one thing that makes mother and I different. Do you know what that is?”
John ran a hand through his silver hair and sighed. “Enlighten me.”
There was no hesitation in him when Ian picked up the poker like a baseball bat and swung it squarely against his father’s left temple. John stumbled back in shock, his hand going up to the wide gash that was now dripping with blood down the side of his face. He turned terrified eyes to his son, who only smiled as he advanced. Cupping John’s chin with the palm of his hand, he forced his father’s eyes to meet his cold, empty ones.
Lips curled up cruelly, he said, “I have the balls to kill you, when she didn’t.”
Stepping back, he swung a second, and then a third time. All the while, John Rutherford danced a drunken two-step, attempting to remain on his feet, but finding he could only grasp blindly for something to steady him. When his hands came in contact with his son’s lapel, Ian squeezed his hands between them and pushed with all of his might until John fell face first into the fireplace, screaming in agony as Ian repeatedly battered his burning body until it eventually stopped writhing in pain.
Ian stood back, cocking his head to the side as he watched the still form of his father being consumed by the flames––and laughed.
***
The smell of brand new leather and cheap cigars was giving Phoenyx a headache as she snooped carefully around Ian Rutherford’s apartment. It was as cold and empty as he was. The grey walls were barren, devoid of any photographs or artwork. White curtains hung simply from a window over a sill with nothing on it. There was a 46” plasma TV in the corner of the room, but it looked like it had barely been used. The couches as well, looked far too new for an apartment that Ian had lived in for the past five years. It was annoyingly clean and looked like you could eat off the white linoleum floors.
Only a serial killer lives like this, Phoenyx thought to herself.
Moving stealthily into the bedroom, Phoenyx wandered into the closet, looking for something––anything that would lead her to where Ian was, or what he was up to. Instead, she found a week’s worth of suits lined up in the closet, beneath them, shoes polished to blinding perfection, and a small calendar with tomorrow’s date scratched off like he’d been trying to carve through to the last page of it with the tip of his pen. There was nothing else there but that maniacal red X marking the spot.
“You won’t find what you’re looking for in there.”
Phoenyx jumped, spinning around quickly to find a tall, leggy blonde standing in the middle of the bedroom she’d just swept moments before. Her wine-colored lips tugged upward in an arrogant smile, as her electric blue eyes narrowed on Phoenyx, swallowing every inch of her as they travelled from her booted feet, up to her stunned face. Her mouth pinched in distaste.
“So,” the woman sneered, “you’re Phoenyx? To tell you the truth, you’re not as impressive as I thought you’d be.”
There was supernatural energy coming off her that reminded Phoenyx of someone else, someone she’d met earlier that evening. Monroe. She frowned, widening her stance. “You’re a Succubus,” she snarled.
The Succubus clapped slowly, her nails painted perfectly to match her lipstick glinting in the light. “Bravo! Indeed, I am. My, aren’t you clever.”
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Phoenyx snapped, eyes darting around the stark room for something she could use as a weapon. “What have you done with Ian?”
“I’m Lily,” the Succubus said, moving to perch casually on the edge of Ian’s bed, crossing her long legs like scissors. She wasn’t as voluptuous as Monroe was, but Lily oozed sex appeal in a very uncomfortable way. She smiled coldly. “Ian’s having daddy time.”
“I’m sorry,” Phoenyx snapped, “but are you and Ian acquainted? You speak so informally of him.”
It was hard to believe that the son of a council member, and one as esteemed as John Rutherford, would be making time with a Supernatural, let alone a Succubus.
Lily played nonchalantly with her nails, casting a drowsy look in Phoenyx’s direction before shrugging her lithe shoulders indifferently. “You could say that we are––acquainted.”
The way she said the word acquainted implied that they were fucking. Phoenyx frowned.
In the corner of the room was a cricket bat, so Phoenyx began to inch closer to it as she spoke. “Interesting. Ian never mentioned you.”
Lily’s eyes followed her like a panther stalking its prey. “Oh, but he spoke so highly of you, my dear. All good things!”
“Now I know you’re lying,” Phoenyx smirked, her fingers reaching behind her to circle the handle of the bat, which felt cold and smooth in the palm of her hand.
A low chuckle came from deep in Lily’s throat before she tisked at Phoenyx with her tongue, wagging her slender finger from side to side. “Now, now, for a supernatural assassin, you should know a cricket bat is no match for a Succubus. I’d put it down if I were you, sweetheart.”
It was probably true, but Phoenyx wouldn’t know for sure, as most of her training had been centered around vampires. What she didn’t know about a Supernatural, she mostly picked up along the way. She’d never been taught a single thing about the Sex Feeders. Quite frankly, until tonight, she’d never run into one either––and here she was, on her second of the evening.
Inwardly, Phoenyx cursed. Of all the wretched things Ian could have done, to shack up with a Supernatural was beyond vile. She had to play it smart, so Phoenyx very carefully released the handle of the cricket bat and stepped aside, hands in the air.
“That’s better,” Lily snapped, stone-faced. Her eyes were filled with loathing as she stared hard at Phoenyx. “I don’t know what Lazarus sees in you.”
Phoenyx arched a brow and pursed her lips. “Quite frankly, neither do I, and yet here we are.”
“Yes,” Lily sneered. “Here. We. Are.”
The staring was getting old and Phoenyx could feel her patience running very thin. “Look,” she barked, “I don’t know what your boss wants from me, but you can tell him that he could send a fucking army to my doorstep, and there is still no way in hell I would go lightly.”
Lily chuckled softly. “Aren’t you entertaining! Don’t worry, darling, there won’t be an army.”
“Good,” Phoenyx said softly, tensing when she noticed the expression of pure hatred on the Succubus’ face. Her senses told her that danger was near, and she swallowed lightly. “And why is that?”
“Because, my little pig dropping,” Lily hissed before snapping her fingers and summoning forth four large, tattooed vampires into the room. She smiled and motioned with her hand for them to move forward. “I’m going to kill you right now.”
The first vampire approached, a bearded monster whose gold-plated fangs gleamed in the dimly lit room. This was something Phoenyx could handle. Vampires were her business and she felt confident she could defeat them, virtually unharmed, but a twinge of uncertainty crept into her mind. As he began to circle her, the other vampires began closing in. She could hear Lily’s laughter, and she felt her confidence begin to wane. Lily was laughing because Phoenyx had walked into her trap and hadn’t even realized that was what it had been. If there was one thing Phoenyx hated most, it was being proven wrong.
Well, not today.
Crouching, Phoenyx pulled her silver stake from her boot. Using the muscles in her thighs, she pushed into and upright position and brought her leg up in the same instant, the heel of her boot connecting solidly with the vampire’s jaw, knocking his head back. He shook his head, stunned for a moment, before advancing with hands curled toward her menacingly. From the corner of her eye she could see Lily clapping and laughing joyously, clearly entertained. Fucking bitch. This wasn’t how she was going to go out.
Gathering strength, Phoenyx grappled with the vampire wildly, before using the top of her head to crack him squarely in the nose, black blood spurting forth. As the vampire roared, she stabbed him straight through the heart, the familiar black vortex coming to consume him until he was nothing more than a speck of dust.
Lily was no longer laughing. No, she was a veritable bounty of pure rage. Her whole body shook uncontrollably as her eyes began to glow a blue, so bright it nearly lit up the room.
Lily’s physical reaction set Phoenyx off her game momentarily and the second and third vampire, both equally large, came charging at her. Phoenyx managed to quickly slide between them, turning into a roundhouse that caught them both by surprise, and sent them stumbling back. She advanced aggressively, thrusting forward with her stake, before turning it swiftly in her palm and jabbing one vampire in the eye. He let out a strangled cry, stumbling backward, as the silver melted through the soft tissue of his eyeball. Punching the other vampire in the jaw, she turned and staked the one clutching his mangled eye. When she turned around to fight the other one, he was already retreating toward Lily, who was cursing up a storm as he dragged her toward the sliding doors.
“You fucking half-breed cunt!” Lily screeched, as the vampire pulled her unwillingly away from Phoenyx, who was advancing slowly. Lily sneered, stopping in her tracks. “I will kill you, but before I do, I will kill everything you love first––and make you watch. Your precious Grimshaw? Oh, I’m going to torture him in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. He’ll be sobbing for his mommy when I’m finished with him.”
Phoenyx’s face hardened. “If you so much as touch a hair on his head, I will end you.”
Lily laughed maniacally. “Awww! You love him so much, don’t you? Did you know that Hutton and Lazarus––my boss, as you called him––go way, way back?”
Her words were like a sucker punch, catching Phoenyx off-guard.
It can’t be true. This crazy Succubus is lying to me in a last, ditch effort to make me doubt the one person I truly trust. There is no way in hell that Hutton knows anything about Lazarus Morelock, and if he did he would have told me, warned me, instead of sending me on this wild goose chase.
However, the way Lily was smiling at her, knowingly––that made Phoenyx think twice.
Hutton’s secrecy when we spoke in his library, Ian’s strange monologue at the council meeting––could it be true? Her eyes met Lily’s blinding blues and she faltered.
A low chuckle bubbled up from the Succubus’ lips. “Looks like you, and good old H, have a lot to talk about, hmm?”
There wasn’t any time to manage a retort as she watched the vampire sweep an uncontrollably laughing Lily up into his arms, and disappear out into the night, the other following quickly behind them. Phoenyx stumbled forward, running as though she could stop them with her speed alone. She hurled herself into the balcony balustrade and stared down twelve stories to the concrete below. They were gone. A gust of wind blew up, sending her hair flying back as tears welled in her eyes.
That bitch is lying. It can’t be true, none of it. Her heart felt like it was hammering so hard it would burst through her ribcage. Hutton knows Lazarus Morelock? The thought made her stomach turn. All her instincts had told her something was off, and she’s been right all along.
She turned, and slid down the side of the cement balcony’s ledge until she was sitting, with her knees drawn tightly to her chest. The world as she knew it was crumbling around her, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing she could do to stop it.
***
“Where the hell is she?” Hutton bit out, wearing a path into the floor as he paced back and forth, unsure of what to do with his hands other than weave them through his hair in agitation.
Jane had been gone for an hour already, hadn’t said where she was going, hadn’t bothered to call, and he was beside himself with worry. Glancing at the clock, Hutton threw his hands up in exasperation. It was nearing one in the morning and she wasn’t back yet. If she didn’t come back soon he was going to have to leave Cortez with Judas and go find her himself. No, he couldn’t wait. He had to go now.
Gathering his keys, Hutton marched to the door just as it swung open, falling slightly crooked on its hinges from having been kicked in earlier. She was back.
“Where have you been?” Hutton demanded.
It wasn’t so much the look she gave him that told him something was wrong, but rather the intense waves of hurt, betrayal and anger that were coming off her body. It was like a wall was physically forcing him back, until they were standing a good five feet apart. There may as well have been a canyon between them. He swallowed thickly and tried to reach telepathically into her mind, but she’d turned the lock and there was no way for him to get in. He was shut out in the dark.
“Who is Lazarus Morelock?” She asked quietly, her face stone cold.
The sound of that name leaving her lips was like a bullet to the heart. She may as well have held the gun that shot him dead. He let out his breath in a rush of air that felt like he’d been holding it for hours, and his hands shook as he ran them nervously through his hair. He grimaced, his brows drawn tightly together. Pulling at his lips with his fingers, he ran his hand down his goatee and cleared his throat gruffly. “I suppose we should talk.”
“Talk,” she demanded, the color draining from her face. He realized then that she had been hoping for a different answer.
The disappointment on her face was evident. Sighing, he tried to take a step forward, but the air crackled. His eyes shot up to hers and he tried to project the concern he felt on her, but she deflected it and narrowed her eyes. He could see the storm brewing there. A faint glow was building, and he knew he had to do something to calm her down before she lapsed again, falling into that dark place she had gone before. Hutton was so afraid of losing her to that darkness it made him sick to his stomach. He opened his mouth to say something meaningful, but the shrill sound of Cortez’s cell phone ringing from the living room broke the silence.
Cortez’s eyes snapped open and he unfolded himself from the chair next to Phoenyx’s bed and went to answer the phone. “Hola?”
Hutton was looking at Cortez now, but he could feel Phoenyx’s eyes burrowing into his soul. He was ashamed to meet her gaze, but there was no other way around it.
Cortez snapped the phone shut and jogged over to where they were standing in the middle of the hall. “That was Kassandra,” Cortez murmured. “You’re not going to believe this.”
Hutton breathed a sigh of relief as she broke the intense stare and focused momentarily on Cortez. “Did she get the results already?”
Cortez nodded. “Yeah. Her guy said that the blood is in fact dead, but with slight changes to its structure. It seems to be reanimating.”
Phoenyx arched a brow at Cortez, who shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “The guy said that it looked like there were traces of other things in his blood too.”
“Could it have come from the blood bags he’d consumed before the fever?” Hutton asked.
Cortez shook his head again. “Doubtful. The guy said if we want real answers we need to find The Chemist.”
Hutton frowned. “Why is that?”
“He said that The Chemist doesn’t just dabble in body art these days,” Cortez murmured, lowering his voice as if they weren’t the only people in the room. “Rumor has it, he’s been cooking something up in the lab––if you know what I mean?”
Hutton could feel her cold eyes land on him before he turned to look at her. Phoenyx tipped her chin at him briskly. “You’re on duty. We don’t have much time. Cortez and I will be back.”
“Phoenyx––” He wanted so badly to tell her everything, but he could tell by looking at her, she wasn’t anywhere near ready to accept it.
Blinking slowly, she lowered her eyes to the floor and frowned. “This conversation isn’t over, H. Be prepared to pick it up when I get back.”
Nodding his head, he watched helplessly as she turned her back to him and walked out the door with Cortez on her heels.
Hutton let out a stream of expletives as he sank down, helplessly, into the couch cushions. What have I done?
***
Pulling the door closed behind her, Phoenyx leaned heavily on it for a moment. Her heart hammered frantically in her chest, and Phoenyx exhaled the breath she’d been holding. He knew. He hadn’t denied it. The look on Hutton’s face had told her everything she needed to know, but she had still wanted to hear the words come from his lips.
He knows Lazarus Morelock. The betrayal was gut wrenching. Does Hutton also know why he is here?
She closed her eyes tightly and swallowed down the lump in her throat. Something told her he could write a book on the things he’s kept from her.
“You okay, fresa?” Cortez asked, looking concerned. How was it that a fucking Sand Demon had become her only friend, and someone she could trust more than the man who had raised her? How did that happen?
She nodded her head briskly and pushed off the door with the heel of her boot. “Yeah, I’m good. Where do we find The Chemist?”
Cortez fell into stride with her as they marched down the hall. “There’s only one place to find him. Chemical Ink, downtown.”