Siren Song (Blood Singer #2)

Siren Song (Blood Singer #2) Page 52

I didn’t really remember the actual exorcism. I only remember Matty starting to chant in a singsong voice and then hideous, intense pain engulfed me for what seemed like an eternity. The pain was followed by . . . nothing. Light, air, and absolute quiet. I remember standing with Ivy and Vicki and that they wouldn’t let me step past them. I vaguely remember Vicki pushing me down a long flight of stairs . . . and then there was pain again as apparently my soul rushed back into my body.

When I first woke, I’d been incredibly angry with Vicki. More than I had ever been before. Later, I realized what had happened and I was grateful. In what was very likely her last act on this plane of existence she’d saved me one last time.

I shuddered, my hand automatically reaching to touch the scars from where the demon had clawed me. Weird, that. Before the exorcism there hadn’t been scars—just an invisible mark that had served as a psychic tie he could follow to find me anywhere. The full rite had cut that tie. Thank God there was a medic ready with the heart machine. It wasn’t until after they revived me that the scars had appeared. I only wish I were confident that the demon mark was gone. But I didn’t think it would be until Eirene was dead.

I watched the image of Dottie moving slowly up the aisle with her walker. Her expression was solemn, not sad precisely, more worried. I wondered then, if she knew. Clairvoyant that she was, she might just have “peeked.” It was something she’d do. She looked up and I could swear her eyes met mine, that she could see me watching.

“I just don’t see the point,” I protested. “What makes anyone think my dying is going to bring Eirene out of the woodwork?”

Baker explained it to me again, with only a hint of impatience. “She is obsessed with you. You ruined her plans. You have everything she wants. She will want to be sure you are dead. And failing that, the demon possessing her wants you. He felt you die. But if he can search all of the various planes of existence for you, he will not find you. And then he will wonder.”

“That doesn’t mean it’ll draw them out.”

“The bowl says otherwise. I’ve seen it and so have all of the others.”

I didn’t say a word, just looked at her. She knew as well or better than I did that the future is subject to change. And while the odds got better if more than one clairvoyant got the same images, that didn’t make it certain.

“Fine. Our profilers and those of the church agree that it is in the nature of this particular demon to require it of her. It is most likely that he is the one in charge by now, whether Eirene knows it or not.”

That seemed likely. “But it makes no sense.”

She threw up her hands in a gesture of irritated surrender. “Celia, think about what you said. She’s insane. He’s a demon. Of course it makes no sense to sane humans. Why would it?”

Okay, fine. I could concede that, but I still didn’t like it. Something about the whole plan just felt . . . wrong. I am more of a believer in planning than hunches—probably because I never was psychic enough to get hunches. But I could understand now why people believe in them. I was even more convinced something was wrong when the temperature in the room began to plummet.

“Something’s happening.” Could one of the ghosts have remained behind to see this through? Whoever it was, was trying to get my attention.

“We’ve got people surrounding the building. If something was wrong, one of them would warn us.” Kevin was on guard, along with two more of Lopaka’s people. Since he’d been missing since shortly after Vicki’s death, no one would expect him to make it to my funeral. As a werewolf with a background in black ops, he was a good choice for a guard. Plus he’d insisted.

After all, Emma was his sister.

Considering his skill set and metaphysical power, I should’ve felt safe. Instead, I felt trapped.

Baker gave me a look. Whatever she saw in my face made her uneasy. She extinguished the scene playing out in the bowl, reached for her gun, and switched off the safety. I did the same thing with my gun, then patted my pockets, making sure everything else I packed was in place.

There was a tap on the door and a familiar voice whispered, “It’s Kevin. We have a change of plan.”

Uh . . . a change of plan? I don’t think so. I pulled my One Shot left-handed. The little gun of holy water didn’t require the strength or accuracy the handgun did. All I needed it was a quick squirt to make sure Kevin was Kevin. Call me paranoid if you will, but it keeps me alive.

Baker started to position herself behind the door, but I shook my head. She was strong, but she wasn’t going to be strong enough to hold the door closed against whatever might be impersonating Kevin. Hell, I wasn’t positive I was strong enough, but I had a better shot at it. So I passed her the squirt gun and got in position.

“We need to verify you’re who you say you are,” I said calmly. I wasn’t feeling calm. It was turning into an icebox in here and several small objects were starting to levitate.

“Damn it, Celia, we don’t have time—”

That was totally unlike Kevin and I flicked a glance at Helen. She scowled and nodded. Yeah, we were going to do this. Shit.

“Fine, then.” I yanked open the door and Helen sprayed him.

It wasn’t an impostor. Maybe we’d have been better off if it was.

I heard a soft pffut of sound, barely audible over the sound of the water hitting Kevin. Baker staggered back, slapping at her neck. Her gun arm rose but too slow. Kevin slapped it away as he hit the door with all his strength and weight.

Crap. Kevin had been turned. Or was he ever on our side? He’d left me a note after Vicki died that said he’d “be back for me.” Was I one of his “hard targets”? As a sleeper agent, he could keep tabs on me and now he was going to kill me. I couldn’t decide whether I was more angry or hurt that he was doing this. Probably an equal mix of both.

I pressed on the door with everything I had.

I’d thought I was strong, but I was not as strong as a big, motivated werewolf. He shoved the door back like it was nothing. I dived out of the way, throwing myself between the bed and the window, and firing as I went.

I hit him. Square in the chest and hard enough to send him back a pace. But the bullet didn’t do more than piss him off. He had to be wearing a Kevlar vest.

The ghost in the room tried to help. Everything that wasn’t held down flew at Kevin’s face. He batted it all away as I scrambled to my feet and turned to flee out the hotel window.

I’d climbed onto the heater/AC unit when he grabbed me by the leg and threw me onto the glass-strewn carpet. I tried to turn my gun on him, but he had my hand in an instant. My God, the strength of him. He pinned me with his body and his arms and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. God knows I tried, squirming, fighting, and screaming for all I was worth. I bit him with the fangs, but he healed almost before I could pull them out. I was careful not to swallow, though I wanted to.

But nothing made any difference. I struggled helplessly as Warren, the man I trusted more than anyone else—even more than Bruno—strode into the room. He pulled a dart gun from his pocket and shot me. The same way he’d shot Baker.

Damn.

I couldn’t move. I tried. My body simply wouldn’t respond. I could feel my skin resting against smooth leather upholstery, could feel the movement of a car, but I couldn’t even lift an eyelid. I panicked then, because even though the adrenaline rushing through my system made my heart race until I could hear my pulse pound like a kettledrum in my ears, my body remained sullenly unresponsive.

“Please don’t struggle. You’ll only hurt yourself.” Warren’s voice was a disembodied and slightly mechanical whisper in my left ear. “I combined a curse with the drug in the dart. You won’t be able to move a single voluntary muscle until Kevin says the word that releases you.”

I felt a wave of pure unadulterated rage fueled by the pain of complete betrayal. These were two of the people I held dearest in the world. I would have given my life to defend them and they do this?

Warren’s voice sounded in my ear again. Now that I thought about it, I could feel the headset attached to my ear. “I’m so sorry, Celia. I can only imagine how angry you are right now. But we had no choice. Irene contacted Kevin through his employer. She swore she would feed Emma, body and soul, to the demon unless we turned you over to her.” He paused. “I can’t let that happen. I can’t.” He sighed. “But I won’t turn you over to that fate, either. So we’ve arranged a rescue.”

My mouth wasn’t working thanks to the curse. But I was thinking some pretty choice things about Warren, his son, and the fact that they hadn’t seen fit to include me in the planning. Did they think I wouldn’t have helped save Emma? Did they really believe I’d let her not only die but also be tortured to death and for freaking eternity? Because if that’s what they thought, they didn’t know me at all.

“They’re using magic to watch us, so Kevin doesn’t dare let on you’re conscious. When the car stops, he’ll unstrap you from the seat and take off the Bluetooth. There isn’t much time, so you have to listen carefully.”

It was a simple plan. They had betrayed me, drugged me, and stuffed me in my own car. I was now being delivered, like a sacrificial lamb, to a warehouse on the desert edge of Santa Maria. Eirene would be waiting there, with the demon and about half a dozen mercenaries. Warren didn’t say how he knew about the mercenaries. My guess was that he had hired a clairvoyant—or maybe some of Kevin’s coworkers had done manual surveillance. I’d once met one who had the ability to practically vanish—a more extreme version of the illusion that Bruno and Ivan had used. However they’d managed it, Warren was certain of the number and was confident in their abilities.

I was the bait. Kevin would bring me in for the exchange and get back Emma. At which point the nice folks at “the firm” would swoop in. Under the cover of the resulting chaos, I would escape and get Emma the hell out of there. Kevin was bringing me in the Miata so that I would have a getaway car.