Читать книгу The Guardian - Connie Hall - Страница 12

Fala ran up the front steps of the Twenty-first Precinct. The brick Greco-Roman building had housed the Twenty-first for over a century. It still stood like a bastion of strength in the middle of a block of restaurants and small businesses. Light poured out through the windows of the precinct doors, cutting a jagged edge across the dark steps. Joe had dropped her off and driven around back to cover the rear.

Colt drawn, she crept up to the doors and glanced inside at the main hallway and front desk. No one in sight. Definitely odd. The small police station fortified the heart of the District, and it hummed with activity round the clock—especially on full-moon nights.

Fala eased open one of the doors and slipped through. Dead silence engulfed her. It blanketed the normally buzzing front desk. A cup of coffee sat on the counter, steam spiraling up from it like a ghost in the air. Computer screens hummed on the desks behind the front reception area.

Someone got an email; “You’ve got mail” pinged in the silence.

Somewhere a radio squawked for a dispatcher. She noticed the benches in Processing sat empty; no criminals handcuffed, waiting to be booked. No lawyers or bail bondsmen. No hookers. It was like being thrown onto the set of 28 Days Later.

She walked past the desk and sniffed the air. Her keen senses detected the metallic scent of human blood. Then the supernatural vibrations struck her with such force it felt like she’d walked into a hive of hornets, a very large one. The same eerie, negative energy as at the park.

She bent and touched the floor. The trail of energy was fresh, the underworld darkness in it palpable. Evil vibrated through it. Her hand began to tremble, her fingers on fire from the dark magic. She jerked her arm back and stood, gripping her .45. Adrenaline raced through her. Her own heartbeat pounded in her ears. And she heard her grandmother’s warning: Be on your guard. Had she brought this evil to the station? A sick, guilt-ridden feeling swirled in her gut. Was anyone left alive here?

Her stomach clenched hard at the thought, then she felt the amulet vibrating against her skin.

Tumseneha was here.

Had he come for her? All the horrible images of him from her numerous nightmares flashed in her mind: a shifting, faceless shadow that fed off fear, a beast with four heads and fanged teeth; the one she dreaded the most was the normal male faces. He had sneaked up on her in those dreams, stepped out of crowds to grab her by the neck or plunge a knife in her back. He was, after all, a shape-shifter, and unlike her he could change his physical appearance into anything his heart desired. Her white magic was limited only to the bear totem. What form had he assumed at the park when he’d killed the girl? Was it the same one at the station now? She recalled the missing girl’s body and shuddered.

A crash sounded in Processing. Screams followed. At least people were alive.

A growl rumbled through the station, so menacing and so guttural it vibrated along her nerves. She had heard the howl of many beasts, natural and supernatural, but never one that sent dread through every nerve in her body like this one.

She crept down the hall, her temples throbbing, a knot in her throat.

As she drew closer to Processing, she saw the five-hundred-pound solid metal door, ripped clean from its hinges, the edge of it sticking out through the jamb. It was one of those “proof” doors, bulletproof, atomic-bomb proof, 9/11-afterthought proof. Too bad it wasn’t evil-sorcerer proof.

She paused at the glass windows that ran along the wall separating Processing from the hallway. Her keen senses detected the sporadic thumping of human hearts inside, their fear jack hammering the air.

Another crash and more shrieks as she peeked inside.

Utter chaos. Desk and filing cabinets overturned. Civilians, cops and what looked like everyone in the building had hit the floor, some pretending death, some not pretending. Mannie was among them, pinned beneath an overturned desk, his cell phone still in hand. She zeroed in on his heartbeat. Still alive, but barely. Tumseneha had attacked him with ruthless accuracy.

At the front of the room she spotted Detective Brower cornered by a lycanthrope. A werewolf, a ravehai in Patomani lingo. And right now this thing conjured from the underworld’s darkest reaches looked like the embodiment of pure brute force and viciousness. Sinewy strength bulged from its muscles. Gray, matted hair covered its body. Five-inch claws curled along its gnarled half-human, half-wolf hands. She could see the life-force aura the beast emitted, a nexus of pulsing, deep burgundy and black demon light.

Hollywood had perpetrated a lot of contemporary myths regarding werewolves. The one that angered Fala the most was that werewolves didn’t know they were killing while in wolf form. Heck, yeah, they knew what they were doing. They reveled in carnage.

The whole biting thing and silver-bullet hoax were just as laughable. Werewolves didn’t just walk the earth, biting and propagating its kind. They had to be conjured from the underworld like any parasitic demon that inhabited human bodies. A sorcerer powerful enough to call forth a werewolf spirit was also powerful enough to control it and protect it. Killing the host human never destroyed it, and an innocent life was always lost in the process. But the werewolf spirit could always slip into another human until the cycle was broken, either by destroying its master or by an incantation that could command it to leave the human vessel and return to the underworld, to await another resurrection. Fala had lost count of the number of werewolf spirits she’d dispatched to hell. So much for getting the facts straight.

The difference here was Tumseneha had not only conjured this lycanthropic spirit but also inhabited the human form it infected. Two puppets for the price of one body. Not bad change. He couldn’t have chosen a more fearsome creature to attack the station, she’d give him that.

Brower was a giant of a man, all of six-five, but the werewolf dwarfed him. Blood and spittle dripped from its huge mouth and long fangs as it backed Brower deeper into the corner.

Fala had never seen Brower afraid before, and what she saw now was way beyond fear. Tears streamed down his square face, but he seemed unaware of them. He wore a crazed look of disbelief as he stared into the lycanthrope’s red, glowing eyes. Brower had wet his pants. He trembled all over, stumbling backward. The first sighting of a werewolf tended to make people a little nuts.

Fala went to tap the barrel of her .45 against the glass and draw the werewolf’s attention away from Brower, but no need. The creature sensed her and turned.

Their gazes locked.

Cruel eyes narrowed slightly in recognition, as if he were sensing a target. The medallion throbbed and burned between her breasts like a divining rod, almost branding her chest. She could feel the world of opposites colliding within her, Tumseneha’s red underworld power writhing behind the werewolf face, coiling to extinguish her white-blue magic flames. His power was so strong it made her head throb, and her skin felt as if it were being peeled from her body.

You are mine. I have marked you, Tsimshian. You and all your kind will die by my hand. Tumseneha’s voice pounded in her head, the same voice from her nightmares.

We shall see, won’t we? Her heart banged her ribs, years of fearing this confrontation converging on her like a downpour.

I have already won…

Not while I’m still alive, she answered with more bravado than she felt. And like the coward you are, you’ve chosen to prey on weak mortals. Let’s see how well you do against an equal.

I’ll destroy—

Fala grabbed the amulet and meditated on an image of the Maiden Bear, clouding her mind to his words. White magic flashed from her core and burst from her body, jettisoning his thought transference out of her consciousness. She felt the aftershocks of his cloying essence leave her. Her mind grew suddenly clear, as if someone had wiped a slate clean. The amulet pulsed in her hand, energy still throbbing from the ancient metal, its heat comforting her skin. She hadn’t been prepared for the power of the amulet and how it enhanced her own. But damn, it sure felt good.

She waited until he sprang through the doorway. His werewolf-form moved toward her with stalking, effortless grace, muscles pumping beneath a pelt of fur, eyes never leaving her.

She ran for the front doors. She had to lure him outside, away from these people so she could fight him.

“Duck, Fala.” Joe’s voice came from behind her.

“No, Joe!”

Gunfire opened up.

She wheeled as Tumseneha leaped on Joe, his bullets doing nothing but angering the beast inside him.

Tumseneha bit and clawed and threw Joe against the wall like a rag doll. Joe didn’t have a chance. Fala saw the creature’s maw open in preparation to lunge at Joe’s throat for the coup de grâce.

“Hey, coward, remember me?” she screamed.

The scream caught his attention. He dropped Joe’s limp body to the floor, then prowled toward Fala.

She emptied her clip into his chest.

The bullets only stopped him for a beat, then he recovered and took his time, licking Joe’s blood from his mouth, slowly, gloatingly, as if he were pleased that he had her right where he wanted her.

“That’s right, outside. Just you and me.” Emotion cracked in Fala’s voice as she struggled to keep her mind on staying alive and not on Joe’s fate. She backed toward the front doors, her eyes never leaving Tumseneha’s werewolf face.

Suddenly the SWAT team burst through the front doors, knocking her out of the way.

She cursed and hit the ground, covering her head.

“What the hell is that?” one of the team members yelled.

“Damned if I know.”

Their M-16s sprayed bullets at the lycanthrope. It sounded like the practice range at the academy, the reports deafening her.

Fala lifted her head enough to peer over her arm. Tumseneha staggered from the overwhelming rounds of lead hitting him, but Fala knew this was only a temporary obstacle.

His scarlet, burning eyes found her; a final farewell that made her skin crawl, then he turned and bolted for the fire escape. “Get it!”

The SWAT team sped past her.

“Don’t get too close,” she yelled after them, and hoped they listened.

She leaped to her feet and glanced at the stairwell door, then at Joe. Help Joe? Or go after Tumseneha? The SWAT team at least had him on the run. She felt certain they had enough firepower between them to stay safe, so she ran to Joe’s side.

Blood covered him. He’d been bitten in the shoulder, neck, side and thigh. She could hear his heart, weak, thready, barely discernible to her hypersensitive ears. Any moment she’d lose him.

“No, Joe. Stay with me.” She grabbed his arms, glanced up the hall and made sure no one saw her, then she pulled him into the fire escape.

He couldn’t die. He was family. The closest thing she’d ever have to a brother. Tumseneha couldn’t steal Joe’s life. She wouldn’t let it happen. She knew there were consequences for interfering with fate, but she wasn’t going to let Joe die at the hands of her enemy.

She rolled Joe on his side, then laid down next to him, spooning her body tight to his. His small-boned physique was a head shorter than hers, and she easily covered the length of him. His wife’s perfume still clung to his shirt from where Camilla had kissed him goodbye; it mingled with the scent of the new baby and the sweet metallic odor of his own blood.

“You’re gonna raise Josephine. Hear me? You’re gonna be okay,” she spoke in Patomani.

She chanted softly in his ear, invoking the power of the bear. She felt it rising from within her, building inside her. A spiritual current coursed through her veins, and it took all of her self-control to harness it. Her whole body burned as energy flowed into her arms and legs, into her center. She rolled Joe on his back and kissed him, opening her mouth and exhaling a ball of writhing power into his lungs.

His spine buckled as if he’d just been electrocuted. Their bodies melded into one and she went inside him, her spirit pushing at the male boundaries of his body, searing its way through him. She could feel the healing energy fusing together the torn, bitten flesh, regenerating new skin and muscle, starting his heart again.

Her power reached its zenith and she inhaled the healing energy back into her own body.

For a moment she couldn’t move. Once the life force left her body, she was vulnerable until it fully returned. After a moment, she looked down at Joe. Blood had burned away from the healed wounds. His color brightened and he breathed normally again.

“You’re fine now.” She chanted an ancient spell in his ear that would take away his memory of what had happened, but parts of his subconscious would still leak it into his dreams. Some things her magic couldn’t totally cleanse; the human mind was one of them.

She held him until his body relaxed, then she rolled him on his side.

He lay there, calm, still, looking as if he were napping. The torn places in his shirt couldn’t be helped. She could repair living flesh, but forget synthetic material.

Fala felt her body still humming from the healing exchange. Energy sizzled along her skin, raised the hairs at the back of her neck. Current crackled in her hair, and her braid clung to her sweater. The transfer had popped off the buttons on her leather jacket, and she scrambled to pick them up. Sirens sounded in the distance—a lot of them.

The door flew open and Brower almost tripped over her and Joe. The big guy looked as if he’d been running from an earthquake and the earth had opened up directly in front of him. He stood there, trembling, staring down at Fala, then Joe. The cloud of fear melted from his eyes and he realized Joe was lying in the stairwell.

“Sorry, I, uh— What happened to him?” Brower pointed a beefy finger at Joe.

Fala stood up. “He had a run-in with a wild dog.”

Brower’s forehead wrinkled on his bulldog face. “That was no freakin’ wild dog, Fala. Good God, if you could see what it did…” His words trailed off as if he were remembering the attack. He glanced down at the dark urine spot on his pants. He grew self-conscious and turned sideways out of Fala’s direct view.

“I saw.” Fala heard the sirens surround the building. “The cavalry has arrived. You’ve got to get yourself together.”

“I’m trying.” He gripped his fists to make them stop shaking.

“The captain is going to be down our throats for letting an animal overtake the station.”

“What could we do?” Brower shrugged his tree-trunk-size shoulders. “It took us by surprise. Bullets didn’t stop it.”

“Save that one for Internal Affairs and the tabloids.”

Brower shook his square head like a lost bull. “You’re right. No one will ever believe that story. But that thing, that god-awful thing.” His face twisted. “It tore people apart. I just let that thing back me into a corner. If you hadn’t lured it away from me…” His voice broke with self-recrimination.

Fala couldn’t help but feel pity for him. A full frontal with a demon wolf would give anyone nightmares for years. She knew from experience. She’d faced her first one at twelve and had bite marks on her right thigh to prove it. “You were traumatized,” she said. “No one saw what happened in there but you and me. Let’s stick to the story of a rabid animal.”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his wide forehead with indecision.

She could tell him the truth that the werewolf was an evil sorcerer who was trying to kill her before she became the Guardian. Nope, that would blow his mind. And she couldn’t trust anyone with the truth about being a shape-shifter. Heck, it would be easier just to erase his memory of Tumseneha’s attack. It wouldn’t be the first human memory she’d erased.

She reached over and touched his beefy shoulder. Power flowed down her arm and into him. She watched as the look in his eyes turned blank and she spoke in a low hypnotizing tone, “Listen to me, Brower. It was a pack of pit bulls that attacked the station. Strays roam the city all the time. Now what was it?”

“Pit bulls,” he answered in a vacant, parroted tone.

Fala dropped her arm and knew she’d have to wipe away the memories of the SWAT team guys and anyone else still alive. Mortals tended to think along concrete references, a small little world of their own making. If they only knew what powers awaited their discovery in the metaphysical world, it would knock them on their asses. Better they remain in the dark. Brower would still have nightmares about it, like Joe. Nothing she could do about that. But at least they could wake up and realize they were only bad dreams. And Freud thought the libido controlled humans’ dreams. A lot he knew.

Joe moaned, finally stirring.

Fala heard frantic voices coming from behind the door. She envisioned the faces of the rescue squad workers and a battalion of cops as they found Processing.

“Look, take care of Joe.” She turned and ran down the stairs.

“Where are you going? Don’t leave me here alone.” He sounded like a child who’d just had his nightlight turned off.

Fala almost smiled. “I’ll be back.”

She ran down the stairs, wondering at her last statement. If Tumseneha was lying in wait for her, she might not come back. But she couldn’t risk anyone else getting hurt because of her. What had happened to the SWAT team? She couldn’t hear the gunfire outside.

Her cell phone rang. She continued down the stairs and pulled it from her pocket. Urgent flashed on the caller ID. Must be Winter. Great. The last person she wanted to talk to. More than likely he called to grill her on what had happened at the station. Why did she sense he knew more about her than he had let on? And why had her insides somersaulted around him? Men didn’t do that to her—none had made her body tingle like he had. Definitely someone to keep at arm’s length. She caught sight of a text message that flashed, Answer your phone. Urgent.

She slapped the phone closed and slid it into her pocket as she reached the exit door.

She stepped outside and grew aware of the stark emptiness of the alley, the tight air breathing down her neck. The sky was changing, black melting into purple, hints of morning sun burning away the night. The row buildings on all sides blocked her view of the moon, yet she felt the pull of it still there, grasping at its last few moments of power, losing the eternal war with the sun.

She glanced past the Dumpsters, toward a security light still humming at the back of Burney’s. Many of her coworkers’ birthday parties had been thrown at the bar. Fala had lost count of the rounds of beer she and Joe had bought each other there. Its dim swatch of light hardly pierced the alley’s darkness, but it afforded enough glow to scan the immediate shadows as she advanced slowly down the alley.

The trail Tumseneha had left stirred every nerve and flashed neon warnings to be careful. Was it a former trail, or a more recent one? Was Tumseneha lurking, waiting? She didn’t dare believe he’d given up so easily. She slowed her stride, eyes darting at every shadow.

Suddenly a hand snaked out from beside a Dumpster and clamped over her mouth, another around her waist. Before she could react, her back hit a solid chest. The flash of familiar silver eyes burned in her retinas.