time we passed through curse and then metal detectors, pausing briefly as the security agent admired
my little gadget. Then we were off, moving briskly through dim, wide hal s lined with vendors and shops.
Ivan was setting a quick pace, but we didn’t seem out of place. The announcer was reading off the
lineups. Almost everybody was hurrying, hoping not to miss the first pitch.
I stopped when I saw something … odd. In the corner of my vision I saw a pair of spectators heading
toward the elevators. The woman looked vaguely familiar, like I’d seen her before, and recently. The
drunken companion she was helping walk looked, to my eyes, like a petite blond woman. But the
reflection in my glasses was of a dark-haired young man, looking il and only semiconscious.
I did a double take and the woman noticed. She glared at me as she stabbed her finger against the
elevator button, and I recognized her from the expression. It was the guard … Lydia. The woman from
Birchwoods on Vicki’s birthday. And that … oh, crap, that was the younger prince, Kristoff, Rezza’s little
brother. I shouted a warning to Ivan and took off at a dead run.
The elevator dinged and Lydia shoved Kristoff in ahead of her, moving before the doors were even
completely open. I was close enough to see her jabbing at the button panel when the doors slid closed
in my face.
Shit, shit, shit!
Ivan and Gibson slid to a stop next to me as I watched the lights on the elevator winking to a stop at
every floor.
“She’s got Kristoff. The guy with your people is a fake.”
“We don’t know that. This one could be the fake. Or you could be lying to distract us.”
Paranoia, thy name is bodyguard. “Fine, have your people spray him with holy water. If it’s him, he’l
be annoyed but fine.”
Ivan’s expression grew distracted and I knew he was talking mind to mind. A telepath then. No wonder
he hadn’t bothered to check out Gibson and me the way I had him. He could look in our minds and see
who we were.
Then he could also see that I was serious. And I hoped he’d understand what I was about to do.
I went dashing down the nearest stairs, taking them three at a time, dodging last-minute arrivals.
Gibson was at my heels. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he gasped out.
I heard Ivan’s voice inside my head. They have unmasked and are detaining the impostor. We are
to pursue while our mage attempts a tracking spell. Sounded like a plan to me. But just in case they’d
taken precautions against things like tracking spel s and telepaths, I needed to think.
Kristoff wasn’t big, but he was practical y deadweight. Lydia—or whatever her name was—wouldn’t
want to lug him far, not alone. And they’d need a vehicle to transport him in. Probably a van or a
camper, so that he’d be out of sight in case he tried to raise a fuss. Not that he’d seemed coherent
enough to do so. But they’d want to be careful.
A catering truck? Nah. They’d be long gone by now, their work completed. As the soaring notes of the
national anthem began to play for the crowd and the television audience, a new thought occurred to
me. The press area. There’d be plenty of vans and trucks to choose from. It would be close to the
stadium, too. Unfortunately, I hadn’t had time to do any research. I had no idea where the news vans
would be. In the distance I heard the voice on the P.A. system order everyone to rise.
Good thought. I will find out.
It didn’t take Ivan long. Seconds later he was giving me directions. It wasn’t far. Just around the next
corner.
Gibson and I took the corner at a sprint. He looked like death, but he kept up, just a step or two to my
left. He gave a cry that was more a cough than a shout, and I saw them.
They were a third of the way across the crowded lot, heading toward a white van with the Channel 9
logo emblazoned on it in bold red letters. Erikson crouched inside the open doorway. He cal ed out a
warning to our quarry and reached inside the van to grab a long weapon. What the hel ?
Kristoff seemed to gain focus a little, managing to struggle weakly against his captor. But I barely
noticed. My eyes were only on Erikson, who had dropped into position and was preparing to fire.
but I heard the crack of a shot even over the sound of blaring guitars, and the window just inches
behind me shattered. He was good, scary good. I ducked my head and kept running, making myself as
much of a moving target as I could, using the vehicles for cover, doing my best to close on the woman
and her captive.
A second crack, barely distinguishable from the pyro-technics playing over the sound system, and I
heard the thud of a body hitting the ground. Glancing back, I saw a crumpled form in a slowly spreading
pool of blood on the pavement a few feet away.
The last words of the anthem trailed off, and the distant roar of jets flying in formation overhead took
their place.
Risking a look around the edge of the portable radar dish I was hiding behind, I saw Lydia less than
twenty feet from me. Though injured, she was rushing toward the spot where the prince lay on the
ground. The door to the van was empty, but its motor was running. Ivan lay col apsed in the open
ground between his prince and the van, the vehicle behind where he’d been standing splattered with
meat and blood.
I charged, shouting in rage and defiance, throwing myself into the woman with a jarring ful -body tackle
that sent us sprawling onto the pavement.
She was tough, and good. She rol ed with the impact, using my own momentum against me and
breaking free. I rol ed, too, gaining my feet, taking a defensive posture that put me directly between her
and her quarry.
The van was moving, heading for us. She glanced at it and seemed to make a decision. I readied for
an attack, but she did something I didn’t expect and couldn’t have prepared for. Reaching inside her
jacket, she pul ed out a ceramic disk not much bigger than a half-dol ar. It looked almost exactly like one
of the “boomers” I use, its spel released when the disk is smashed. As the van swung up beside her,
the side door open and beckoning, she threw the disk to the ground, shattering it. Her smile, as she
turned to jump into the vehicle, was pure predatory malice.
27
At first nothing happened. I didn’t feel any spel . I figured it must have been a dud, so I turned to help
the fal en prince. I was hefting him upward when I heard a hiss much like aerosol spraying from a can,
fol owed by soft male laughter that was purely sexual. It was the kind of laughter meant for dark nights
spent between silken sheets and just the sound of it tugged at things low in my body. I turned; I couldn’t
not.
He was beautiful. Not the twisted, frightening monster of my grandmother’s il ustrated Bible but a
perfect, heart-wrenchingly beautiful angel, with only the cant of his expression and the red tint in his
irises giving any hint of the corruption beneath.
A demon. I knew it, and the knowledge brought with it a fear that dried my mouth to cotton and had me
trembling with both terror and desire.
He gave a delicate sniff and laughed again. “Oh, my. A siren. I haven’t tasted siren in far too long.
A
nd not a bit of faith to preserve you.” He smiled, taking a slow step forward, and my heart lurched in
my chest. “I’m going to enjoy this. I’l have to come up with a suitable reward for Lydia.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off him, but I could stil move my hands. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I
fumbled blindly for the switch to turn on my little sensor car, and was rewarded by it coming to
screeching, almost deafening life, red light from the alarm showing clearly even through the thick denim
fabric.
He scowled, and even that expression was as beautiful as a cloud passing across the sun. “I’m
disappointed in you. Do you really want us to be interrupted?”
“Hel , yeah.” I’d meant to sound defiant, but I could barely get a breath of sound past my lips. My
hands, though, were stil busy. This time I reached into the inside of my jacket, searching for the singleshot water pistol I knew was hidden there. I didn’t have much time. I knew that. His presence was
starting to overwhelm my wil . I couldn’t hurt him. Even if I’d wanted to. And God help me, I didn’t want
to.
He laughed again, and it sighed against my body, bringing a low moan from my lips and an ache to my
loins. Where was everybody? There had to be crews in the trucks and vans. Security should be al
over this.
“Oh, they’re coming,” he answered my thoughts. “But I’ve slowed time. I want to savor this. Savor
you. ”
Oh, shit.
I started trembling in earnest, and almost fumbled the little squirt gun I’d been drawing. Stil , I managed
to hang on to it, pul ing it out in a jerky motion, pul ing awkwardly at the refil plug with my left hand.
“Stop that!” he snarled, and it wasn’t beautiful. His voice and power lashed out at me, strong enough
to make me stumble, spil ing drops of the precious holy water onto the ground. But that was okay. I
wanted it on the ground. The whole idea was to draw a protective circle around the prince and me. I did
just that. As the demon blurred forward across that last bit of distance between us, he slammed hard
against an invisible barrier.
Hissing in frustrated pain and rage, he began pacing around the edge of the circle. “You shouldn’t
have done that, little one. It only bought you a minute or two at best. And when it comes down, I’m going
to make you suffer. ”
“You’d have done that anyway.” Now that the barrier was up I could think clearly, although that was a
mixed blessing. Because while I desperately needed to come up with some sort of a plan, knowing
exactly what I was facing had me just about wetting myself in terror.
“Yes,” he admitted, “but I would’ve let you enjoy it. At least at first. Now I’m not feeling so generous.”
I focused, trying to cal on my newly discovered talent. I really do need a rescue here. The cavalry,
an exorcist, a few militant priests, maybe accompanied by the National Guard?
An exorcist. Oh, crap. I tried to marshal my thoughts, to remember the words Reverend Al had used
successful y just last night. I couldn’t do it. I felt the power of my circle starting to fade and flicker. Saw
the anticipation in the demon’s eyes as he gathered himself to strike the moment it fel .
Pushing my thoughts as hard as I could, I sent out a mental plea, not knowing who, if anyone, would
hear. If there are any telepaths out there, anybody at all who knows the high church exorcism
prayer, please, please tell me now.
And in my mind I heard Kevin’s voice, joined by Bruno’s, Matteo’s, and others’, weak but stil clear,
chanting in perfect unison. I felt a surge of hope, powerful beyond reason. I repeated the words, not
even stumbling over the pronunciation.
The demon began to throw himself bodily against the barrier and the force threw me against the
opposite side to land in a heap. I grunted and missed one of the words being chanted. I opened my
mind to them and felt the words come again—whether by spel or some sort of psychic attachment. My
voice was deeper this time when I chanted, a solid alto.
Again the demon attacked and this time I felt searing pain in my cheek as a claw slipped through a
break in the circle. The wound began to smoke and burn, as though my skin was on fire. Even the
vampire part of me was having a hard time healing a demonic attack. The scent of frying flesh made
my stomach roil and my eyes water. He started to hammer at the weak point with a force that could
probably shatter brick. I pressed myself as tight against the far side as I could, hoping against hope
that this was not a long spel .
I saw a circle of figures began to converge on us across the parking lot. Al of them were chanting the
same words I was using. Each carried a symbol of their faith that shone with a blindingly pure white light
that hurt the eyes. Crosses and stars and crescents and bel s, al glowing brighter with each word.
The demon threw back his head, letting out a harsh bel ow of pain and frustration that was both sound
and more—the power of it washed over me and slammed into the vehicles around us, rocking them on
their wheels, shattering windows, and setting off alarms.
The demon let out a scream that caused fire to spray in a wide arc. The priests scattered, their
concentration broken by the nearly sentient hel fire that began to chase them across the pavement. He
screamed again and I found myself racing around the inside of the barrier, trying to escape the tiny line
of fire that chased me, putting out the flaming bits of brimstone that were landing on my hair and
clothing. Who knew demons could breathe fire? Either that never came up in class or I played hooky
that day. Either way, I was getting an education. I hoped I’d live to share it with El Jefe.
I kept chanting as the demon laughed and began to hammer again at the opening, which was now
large enough to fit his muscular arm through. I was running out of options and the spel didn’t seem to
be working. Soon al I could do was curl up in a fetal position at the very bottom of the barrier, doing my
best to protect Kristoff’s unconscious form, just out of reach of claws that crept closer with each
second that passed. I snapped my jaw at the demon when I could between words. My fangs seemed
longer than I remembered and actual y made him pause. He wasn’t sure what to make of me—but that
didn’t mean he wasn’t going to kil me.
I was so tired. My voice was getting hoarse, cracking over some of the stranger Latin words. The fire
was growing, too, licking at my clothing and skin. If I didn’t pass out from pain, I was going to lose my
voice. His arm was ful y inside now, reaching … pressing … grasping. He caught my hair and yanked
me toward the hole. I screamed the next word, knowing it was going to be my last.
“Amen!” The word startled both of us. The demon’s eyes went wide and he froze—his hand clutched
around my throat. There was a sudden change in pressure inside the circle … a nauseating,
disorienting sucking sensation. My ears popped painful y, and I had to close my eyes to keep my
balance. I threw up. The claws burning into my neck spasmed and then the demon screamed again. It
was a sound I’d hear in my nightmares, worse than the screams of my sister as she died, worse than
anything I’d ever heard. It seemed to last forever, but it was probably only a moment. When it ended, I
opened my eyes.
The demon was gone.
Unfortunately, his claws, with no hand attached, were stil embedded in my neck and were stil on fire.
I final y was able to scream with al the agony I’d been ignoring. As I gathered what might be my last
breath, I spotted the others running my way, Kevin and Bruno battling for the lead.
That was the last sight I remember.
28
I can’t believe they let you out of the hospital to come to a wake.” Bruno shook his head and handed
me a frozen margarita. I licked some of the salt off the wide rim to blend with the sweet, powerful drink
as it slipped down my throat.
“Wel , I was nearly healed anyway, and they had to let me out tomorrow by court order. I have to
report to Birchwoods.” The authorities have no sense of humor. They tried to prove telepathic
manipulation in connection with my release prior to the bal game. On Roberto’s advice I agreed to take
a battery of tests, al of which I failed spectacularly. I’m not a telepath. I’m a siren. But they didn’t ask
that specific question, and my attorney felt no need to offer the information. Said it “wasn’t pertinent.”
“You should have appealed,” Emma added. “You know the law school faculty would have helped you
fight it. You’re admittedly a little nuts, but a dangerous animal? Just because of the abomination thing?
”
I shook my head and took another sip of drink before answering. “There were a lot of witnesses to
the Birchwoods incident. But they couldn’t push too hard. Not after somebody leaked it to the press.
Besides, there must have been twenty ordained priests, pastors, rabbis, and monks lined up to testify
at the hearing that I was fighting the demon, not helping him.” Stil , it was touch-and-go, and I’d been
forced into agreeing to an inpatient stay until the extent of my disability is known.
Bruno nodded at Emma. “The Feds pushed to put her in a state facility.”
That made me spit out a harsh laugh. “Fat chance. I can afford Birchwoods. Sixty days, with day
passes for Vicki’s and Gibson’s funerals, and I get to stay in Vicki’s old room that looks out over the
ocean. I can do that.” I hadn’t asked for the view, Dr. Scott had insisted. Partial y because of my siren
blood, no doubt. But also I think as an apology. After al , he’s the one who’d pushed for Dr. Greene to