Twenty-two

A foreboding sense of premonition crawled over Quinn’s skin, like the future within her grasp was curling in on itself, shriveling while she watched, helpless. She gripped the edge of the pew. Zaire was ditching her to find Braden alone.

“Take me with you.” Using her special voice might be underhanded, but this was war. “Z.” She pushed down the threatening tears. “Please.”

Beside her, Zaire tensed. Faster than she could follow, he had knives in each hand. His attention shot to the sanctuary entrance seconds before the back door banged open, followed by Stephanie’s muffled laughter.

A low growl rolled from Wolfgang, and he hunched on his belly, his ears flat against his head.

The invisible spiders scampering over her went wild. Stephanie had the worst timing ever. Quinn bit back a groan. “It’s Steph, and from the giggling, I’d guess she’s half-toasted. Whatever she says, ignore it. When she’s tipsy, she’s mouthy. I’ll convince her to go home.”

His complete focus on the doorway, Zaire stood as Stephanie’s heels clicked closer. Every inch of him screamed a warning, and the threat of upcoming violence sucked the air from the room. Apparently, he was less of a Stephanie fan than she imagined. Wolfgang slunk away, the coward.

“Zaire.” She slid to her feet and squeezed his arm. It was like grasping steel, and his murderous expression remained cast in stone. Cold snaked down her spine. He was really going to kill her friend. “Please don’t hurt Steph.”

“Q!” Stephanie flounced into the room.

Quinn released Zaire’s arm and rushed to meet her friend halfway before Zaire did anything rash. She endured the indignity of an overly tight, rocking back and forth hug in grim silence.

Steph leaned back, her blue eyes bright, face flushed. “You’ll never guess what happened.”

“Did you drive here?” Quinn assumed a stern look and latched on to Stephanie’s arm, hoping to guide her back out.

“Of course not, and stop interrupting me.” Stephanie planted her feet, within striking distance of Zaire, who still radiated menace. Apparently, too much liquor short-circuited Stephanie’s danger radar. “On my way here, I stopped at that tiny pub we always drive by and say we’ll stop at and never do.”

“That’s great.” Quinn leaned away from Steph’s flammable breath and positioned herself between her and Zaire.

“It was amazing.” Stephanie waved her hands like she’d won some sort of psychiatric award. “They have one of those old-fashioned jukeboxes and thousands of vinyl records, going all the way back to the 50’s.”

Prickles danced down Quinn’s back, hot and savage. Zaire was a black hole behind her, his gravity dragging at her. She had to get her friend on her way home, fast, before they were both decimated.

“There was only one other customer in the bar,” Steph continued, oblivious to the storm of the century brewing a few feet away, “and we hit it off. We drank, we talked, we drank, we danced, we talked and drank some more.” She sighed dreamily. “This guy, Bob…he read my soul and spoke it back to me.”

“Bob?” Quinn blinked, sure she’d misheard. Stephanie was the least romantic person she’d ever met, rational all the way. She didn’t believe in love, and had all sorts of explanations for why people did or didn’t pair up. To hear her say guy and soul in the same sentence indicated a wrinkle in the world. “You need to go home, Steph. You’re seriously toasted.”

“I know.” Her smile was wide and sloppy. She suddenly gasped. “Ooh, I have a surprise. I’ll be back!” Wobbling only a little on her stiletto boots, Stephanie trotted out and away.

Quinn peeked over her shoulder. Zaire’s black eyes glittered with death, his gaze still stuck on the sanctuary entrance where Stephanie had vanished. Cautiously, she walked back to him, chewing on her bottom lip, that sense of off making her twitchy.

“It’s not like her to overindulge on a weekday.” She drew a breath, his snow and midnight scent erasing the cling of alcohol fumes. “Something’s up. Let me figure out what it is before you bust a vein.”

“Too late,” he snarled. His knuckles were white around his knives.

Stephanie returned at a slower pace, her staccato footsteps joined by another’s. Two voices, whispering in conversation.

“She brought someone else here.” Zaire’s voice came from a bottomless well, a whisper that spoke of infinite torment, no reprieve of death.

Quinn wrapped herself around his strong, stiff arm. If he attacked, he’d have to drag her with him. “It has to be the guy she mentioned. Bob.” She hoped. “Z. Look at me.”

He obeyed, and the darkness in his eyes was so much like in the nightmare, her breath caught.

“They’re harmless,” she said as soothingly as she could. “If you hurt Steph, you hurt me.”

His expression didn’t change. “She hurts you.”

“Not on purpose.” She slipped closer and banded his waist with her arms, never breaking eye contact. “Those same people who hurt you will pick you up when you’re down, dry your tears, and share laughter and life. They make the world better.”

He remained as tense as a steel cable in her embrace as the sets of footsteps drew closer. His harrowing eyes searched hers, void of emotion, cold as space. When Stephanie’s giggle drifted into the sanctuary, his mouth tightened.

Quinn locked her fingers together behind his back. If he went for Stephanie’s throat, he’d have to do it with her in the way.

“I won’t destroy her on one condition.” His voice was so strained, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. “You leave this place the minute I’m gone. Go somewhere safe.”

Ice trickled in her blood. How could she make that promise when she had no intention of letting him go?

Heels on tile drilled closer.

He leaned down into her face, holding her gaze, a snake hypnotizing its prey. He bared his teeth—no, not teeth. Fangs. “Promise me.”

Quinn managed a nod before Stephanie and her guest entered. Zaire’s fright night gaze clicked up to them, and he trembled like a volcano on the verge of explosion. The shadows deepened.

Her pulse ranting, she released him and turned. Electricity zapped along her nerves. The man who had made Stephanie think twice about conceding Isaac was shorter than Steph by several inches and nondescript, from his mouse-brown hair to his khakis and loafers. Even his dirt-brown eyes urged her to drift on by, bored with a single glance. His conversational skills must be amazing because he was the opposite of Steph’s usual type.

“Q and Mr. Personality, this is him.” Stephanie petted the man’s shoulder, as if she couldn’t stop touching him. “Bob.”

Bob didn’t spare a glance for Quinn, his gaze locked on Zaire. “You look familiar.” Even his voice was blah. “Have we met before?”

Zaire trembled in silence at Quinn’s back. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find hellfire flickering in his black eyes, but she kept her attention on Bob. Something about him wasn’t…right.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Bob strolled closer, Stephanie stuck at his side. He snapped his fingers. “I met you at the home show in Birmingham last week. Weren’t you selling cutlery?”

That chill of foreboding twisted through Quinn, rooting deeply as Zaire edged in front of her.

“I had a booth there, too,” Bob continued. “Want to see what I was selling?” Not waiting for a response, he pulled a slender box from his coat pocket, the type that expensive bracelets came in. Bob carefully took off the top and held the box out to Zaire. His brown eyes sparkled. “Take a look.”

Not touching the box, his unblinking gaze on Bob, Zaire’s nostrils flared delicately. The overhead lights flickered once.

Stephanie looked up at the chandelier. “Get the salt, Q. We have otherworldly visitors.”

Quinn wished she could laugh along with Steph’s Supernatural quip, but she couldn’t breathe. The box chained her attention, a sense of wrong, wrong, wrong holding her hostage. White tissue hid Bob’s offering. Whatever it was, she was sure she didn’t want to see it.

“Why don’t you show me?” Zaire suggested in a soft, dangerous voice.

“My pleasure.” Bob smiled benignly and parted the tissue paper.

A bloody finger was nestled in the box, smearing red, abstract designs on the tissue. The severed pinkie was too small to belong to a man. Quinn looked away, fast. Please, please let this be a delusion.

“What the hell is that?” Stephanie stepped away from Bob, and the ditzy expression she wore since arrival vanished.

“It’s a minor reminder of responsibilities.” Bob still locked stares with Zaire. “You should have made sure there wasn’t more than one of us in Montana before killing a potential recruit. I hadn’t intended to join the Crows, but after I saw you dump my dead companion in the trees, I signed up.”

All the blood drained from Quinn’s head. Bob was a V’alkara. The Crows had found them. That was Braden’s finger in the box. She was going to be sick.

“Your companion ran into my fork.” Zaire’s razor-sharp voice undercut his casual shrug. “He should’ve watched where he was going.”

Bob didn’t even blink. “The interesting information I had on the infamous Demon Master landed me a generous reward, and when they needed someone to entice your return, I volunteered.” A sly, smug gleam entered his eyes. “I wanted to see your face when you understood how your nephew suffered because of your negligence.”

The light flickered again, on and off, on and off. The shadows coiled in the corners seethed, closing in, and the air went winter cold. Quinn trembled where she stood. Zaire was a solid, undeniable presence next to her, but everything else felt unreal. She wasn’t sure which of her senses she could trust, if any.

“Did the Crows divulge who I am when you volunteered, or did they merely reveal one of my many titles?” Zaire cocked his head in that alien way. “Since you’re alone, I suspect not. How does it feel to be expendable?”

“You’re hindered by the serum.” His Adam’s apple bobbed, the only sign he was nervous. “You were the test for the Faction’s experiment. You can’t Change.”

“Can’t I?” The voice emerging from Zaire’s mouth wasn’t his—it belonged to some ancient being long banned from this world, one that thrived on suffering and blood and despair. Quinn took an instinctive step away.

In the blinking light, Bob’s face changed. In one flash, he was human. Darkness fell, and light flared again, revealing a horror’s face, all bone, one eye, and a whole lot of teeth.

Her eyes wide and wild, Stephanie stumbled away until she bumped into Quinn.

“Don’t be so hasty.” Despite turning monster, Bob retreated a step, a sign he second-guessed the wisdom of confronting Zaire alone. “Your nephew still has most of his fingers, toes, and both of his eyeballs left. How much more he loses depends on you.”

Zaire’s responsive smile was impossibly evil.

The light flashed on and off, and in the half-second of darkness, Bob—or whatever his real name was—screamed. The light flashed on, and shadows flowed from his eyes and open mouth like black blood. Darkness again, and his scream cut out, replaced by Stephanie’s delayed shriek. When the lights returned, sure and steady, Bob sprawled on the floor, his eye sockets nothing more than steaming black holes.

Paralyzed beside a still-screeching Stephanie, Quinn swung between terror, relief, and shock. In less than a heartbeat, Zaire had killed Bob. With shadows. The boy she’d loved since childhood could bend darkness to his will better than any demon and he didn’t need a dream to do it.

Zaire loomed near, his nightmare gaze aimed at Stephanie. “Shut up.”

Quinn jerked to life and shook her friend by the shoulders. Zaire looked like he might disregard every bargain they’d ever made and kill Steph anyway. “Steph! Snap out of it!”

Stephanie shut her mouth, shaking. She met Quinn’s gaze, but the usual doctor rationality in her eyes was long gone.

“Come on,” Quinn said, guiding her by the arm to a pew as far as possible from Bob’s corpse and Zaire. “Sit with me.”

With zero resistance, Stephanie stumbled with her and sank onto the bench. “He…” She closed her eyes and swallowed. When she opened her eyes again, the wildness had faded at the edges. “I’m never drinking tequila again.”

“Good decision.” Quinn sat beside her, struggling to stay calm. Bob’s death was quick, which was probably more than he deserved after what they’d done to Braden. Merde. The savages had cut off a boy’s finger.

While Steph put her head between her knees and breathed loudly, Quinn rubbed her back and found Zaire in the darkness. Shadows still curled around him, faintly detectable. She wasn’t about to ask Steph if she saw the same thing or if her delusions were at work again. Zaire seemed lost to some internal battle, his head bowed, shoulders heaving.

“You okay, Steph?” she whispered.

“Tomorrow will be better.” The response was a muffled plea.

“It will be.” Quinn made her voice unwavering to hide the acid eating at her insides. “I need to talk to Zaire. I’ll be right over there, okay?”

She took Steph’s nonresponse as affirmation and carefully approached him, her stomach churning.

He lifted his head, and his black eyes gleamed, vicious. “You see now why your idealistic version of us is impossible.” His lip curled in a snarl. “I’m not free, and I’ll never be as long as there’s someone who matters to me.”

Cold radiated through her. He was abandoning her, them, shattering her fragile dream. Shattering her. “No, together, we’re—”

“We’re nothing.” He loomed in her face, his gaze a direct tunnel to Hell. “You will endure without me as you have done the entirety of your life.”

Tears knotted in her throat, choking. “Zaire—”

“I’ll survive long enough to free Braden and see him safe or die in the process.” He gingerly closed the box containing Braden’s finger and slipped it into his jeans pocket. “There is no other future for me.”

“Don’t do this.” Her words were nothing more than sobs.

“Keep your promise, Quinn.” For a second, his eyes softened, only to sharpen again, merciless. In what sounded like a flutter of wings, he vanished, taking Bob with him.