23

The sun should be rising, I thought as I held the back door to my Tahoe open and snapped my fingers. Brimstone jumped onto the backseat, and I prayed to God he didn’t eat the upholstery while I was gone. Once he was taken care of, Hank and I made our way into Station One and down the flight of stairs leading to the med hold where wounded criminals were treated and detained.

Aaron was lying on a hospital bed, IV in his vein, monitors recording his heartbeat and pulse/oxygen levels. My sister raised her head from her forearm as the door clicked closed. “Hey,” she said in a drowsy voice, sitting straighter in the chair and rubbing her eyes. Her face was nearly as pale as Aaron’s and, as I drew closer, I couldn’t help but look for the signs of possession.

“How’s Liz doing?” Hank stood at the foot of Aaron’s bed, his gaze on the nymph, but his question for Bryn.

“She’s doing okay. In the cafeteria chugging OJ. The ritual went perfectly. What’s wrong with your arm, Charlie?”

I glanced down at my arm, wishing I’d had on a long-sleeved shirt or a jacket. As it was now, anyone who paid a lick of attention might notice the pink skin and the faint blue script just beneath the surface as though my veins had redesigned themselves. They curved from my useless fingers all the way up my bicep and the round part of my shoulder, and the relentless, throbbing pain was almost enough to make me cry. “It’s nothing,” I said. “Some weird reaction to something during the fight maybe …” I pulled my gaze away and stared at the screen to Aaron’s heart monitor for a long moment. “And the ring?”

“Liz still has it. The spirits Llyran had trapped inside were released when she read the inscription. At least now they can rest. What happened to the sarcophagus?”

The question was innocent enough, but I had to wonder if it was her asking or someone else. All the outward signs appeared normal. She showed no signs of a typical Wraith or Revenant possession. And that’s what disconcerted me. If Llyran was to be believed, ash had made her a willing vessel, but for what? For whom? “We destroyed it,” I said, turning back to the monitor.

She responded with a soft “Oh.”

As I stood there I debated whether or not to tell her what I’d learned from Llyran, but I finally decided against it for the time being. She wanted to be here with Aaron and help right whatever wrong she’d done. Still … “I’m going to assign a guard for you,” I said, bracing for an outburst.

I expected outrage, claims that I was a bad sister for not trusting her or believing in her, but all she did was stare at Aaron for a long moment, her eyes large and sad, and then she nodded. “We can see an exorcist, too. Couldn’t hurt, right?” Her eyes lifted to mine and though her smile was twisted in sarcasm, tears shone in the copper depths.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll set it up for Monday.”

As we headed for the back door to Station One, several jinn warriors were being ushered inside, causing me and Hank to flatten our backs against the wall to let them pass. The nitro bands around their wrists kept them weakened and allowed the officers to get them into cold cell confinement where each individual would be processed. I’d be happy if the entire lot was sent back to Charbydon, but that was out of my hands.

One of the uniformed crime scene analysts whose name I couldn’t recall entered carrying a large container housing the spirit jar, which had been broken in four pieces. Scattered among the pieces were bone fragments—the remains of Solomon, but I guess we’d never really know for sure. Whatever spirit had been in that jar was long gone, probably set free when it broke.

Or at least I hoped so.

Hank and I finally squeezed past several more officers and made our way into the parking lot just as the chief was striding toward the door. “I want a report on my desk first thing Monday.”

“What about Tennin?”

The chief rolled his eyes. “Unit picked him up on Alabama Street, laying in a three-foot-deep impression in the asphalt. He was conscious enough to claim he’d come to the rooftop to pull back his jinn, that they acted alone, said the axe in Hank’s back wasn’t his, and then he gave his attorney’s number and hasn’t said a word since. He’s down in cold cell right now. You want to talk to him?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not worth it.”

“He’ll walk,” Hank said, disgusted. “It’s just a matter of time.”

The chief’s dark frown was followed with a snort. “And when he does, we’ll do what we always do—keep a close eye on him until he screws up again. Wouldn’t mind if the next time he hits the pavement, it puts him six feet under. For good.”

The chief started to walk away, but I stopped him. “Hey, Chief?” He turned. “Make sure Liz destroys that ring.”

He gave me a salute and then kept walking as Hank and I went to my Tahoe.

Grigori Tennin had been involved in the making of ash with Mynogan. He’d played a role in bringing darkness to the city. He’d aided Llyran in trying to start a war. And the bastard might be derailed, but that sure as hell was only temporary. No. Tennin wasn’t through, not by a long shot.

Hank walked with me to my Tahoe. I stopped by the driver’s side door, frowning with resignation at the slobber trails rolling down the insides of every single window in my vehicle. Great. I leaned back against the door, finally acknowledging the deep ache in my muscles and bones.

“You should get that arm looked at,” Hank said, bracing his hip against the front side panel and crossing his arms over his chest, looking for all the world like some ancient, battle-weary hero with his torn and bloodied clothes, wounds and bruises, and disheveled hair and shadowed jaw.

“Mmm. How’s your back?”

“Feels like an axe was planted between my shoulder blades.” He rolled his shoulder and winced. “I’ll need a good soak in the baths …” Images flashed through my weary, unprotected mind. Loincloth. Tanned skin. Siren. Blue diamonds. Heat crept up my neck as I glanced away, eyes on the pockets of light created by the street lamps. “So where does all this leave us, Charlie?” he asked quietly, but directly, and I knew he wasn’t talking about divine beings and serial killers.

The drop in his rich tone only heightened the uncomfortable memories knocking around my head. “There is no us, Hank. There can’t be.”

His expression was blank, completely unreadable, and his voice was even when he spoke. “Because we’re friends, partners … Because I’m a siren and you’re a human? Because you’re afraid?”

“Yes, if you want to know the truth. All of that. And because now I’ve got this damn mark on my shoulder …”

“So? I bear one, too.”

“And how will I know whether it’s the mark or me reacting to you?”

One eyebrow lifted as the corner of his mouth dipped down. “That’s the biggest load of cow shit you’ve flung at me in days, Madigan. Might want to lose the excuses and stick to the truth. The mark only reminds you of what’s already there.” A muscle ticked in his jaw as he stepped closer and leaned down, until his bright blue eyes were level with mine. One hand reached out and flicked the ends of my newly cropped hair. “Tell yourself whatever you want. It doesn’t change anything. And now that I’m back to being one hundred percent …” A grin spread slowly across his face, slicing deep dimples in both scruffy cheeks. “You don’t stand a chance.”

With that, he winked and strode away.

Very slowly, I released my breath and watched him disappear into the shadows beyond the lot. Damn. Before the mark, and before Hank had gotten his power back, I was in trouble. But now? I was toast.

My eyes narrowed at the spot near the corner where he’d turned, not liking this sense of inevitability one bit. It felt too much like defeat.