GEHENNA ~ As if being dead isn't traumatic enough.

2012-11-08T02:46:00.027Z

2011-02-24T23:28:00.003Z

EPILOGUE TWO

A/N1: The snapshots written here take place during same time-span as main epilogue

RATING: This one is PG-15

WARNINGS: Strongly suggestive adult themes, but not too explicit.

From the wardrobe choices Michael had made while they’d been together, Liz had assumed he was a strict jeans-and-tee kind of man. Then she saw him in a suit. Her jaw dropped. A crisp white shirt, silver blue tie and charcoal grey three-piece suit had never looked so good—ever. He looked at home in it too, as if he wore a suit every day. She was now going to have to add ‘elegant’ to his usual descriptors of hard and dangerous.

Thankful she’d gone to considerable trouble with her own appearance, Liz stood next to him in the south chapel and said her vows. Their eyes met when he slipped the ring on her finger. His fingers were warm and the gold band cold. A tingle shot from her hand straight to her heart, making her breath catch. When it came to returning the favour, Liz watched Michael watch the ring being pushed onto his finger. Colour rode high on his cheekbones and there was a curve to his lips that sent a shiver down her spine. He darted a glance at her through his lashes once the ring slid home and the glitter in those dark eyes was arresting. He turned his hand and caught hers before she pulled back. Like a shot of adrenaline, Liz felt the distinctly possessive surge of emotion that surged through him.

I now pronounce you man and wife. Live lives worthy of God’s aspiring children.

They were married. Michael was her husband. She was somebody’s wife.

Luckily, the party afterwards was small and her ditzy frame of mind didn’t matter. Michael had no acquaintances he wished her ‘exposed’ to and Liz was a mite cynical about her new popularity. Jonas, Michael’s manservant, did a wonderful job decorating and refurbishing the chapel, but otherwise disappeared from sight. Aaron, Ruth, Harry and the justice of the peace who’d attended the sacrament remained behind for a wedding breakfast and a toast. After that though, they were alone.

The moment the doors shut behind Ruth and Harry, Liz’s mouth went dry and her heart kicked into a rapid tattoo. Instead of steadying her, taking deep breaths only made her head whirl faster. The sudden attack of nerves made her laugh. This went way beyond third-date-should-I-or-shouldn’t-I jitters. They were standing in the hall. She pressed a hand to the butterfly’s zinging around in her belly and met Michael’s gaze. The quizzical look on his face made her laugh harder, admitting, "I honestly don’t know why I’m so nervous. I’m no virgin, although it’s been a while."

His lips curved, "I promise I won’t eat you." Michael held out his hand, palm up.

"Been there, done that," quipped Liz, trying to hide her shakiness behind a smile. She placed her hand in his.

The old-gold silk of her skirt rustled as they climbed the stairs. Liz had worn shoes with only a small heel, scared of tripping over at the wrong moment. Now she wished she’d gone for ridiculously high heels. Michael was so darned tall, and big, and experienced in ways she couldn’t hope to match. What if he found her boring? She’d never really mastered kissing to the point where she actually enjoyed doing it, never mind inventive, mind-blowing sex.

"You know, talking is a great way of easing nerves," she told him.

"I know, but nerves can be a good thing." He was wickedly solemn. "Let’s see where yours takes us."

He couldn’t be serious? Liz’s tongue became glued to the roof of her mouth as those nerves stretched taut and hummed. She was so distracted, she hardly noticed when he opened a door and tugged her through. Candlelight and a blazing fire in a huge stone fireplace dragged her attention to her surroundings. The chamber was large and spacious. She gave the room a sweeping once-over, gaze skittering over heavy, dark wood furniture. The furnishings were fur, thick velvet and tapestry. The ambience was distinctly old-world masculine, but tasteful, and the bed was enormous. Obviously, this was Michael’s room.

The bed’s owner reclaimed her full attention when he slipped his jacket off and tossed it onto a chair. The charcoal waistcoat was dark against the white shirt and emphasised the width of his shoulders. Refusing to act like a ninny, Liz halted on a soft fur rug next to a burgundy leather couch and waited for him approach.

Michael’s features were hewn taut, eyes intent, but his lips were soft and curved with gentle amusement. That amusement helped give her some more backbone. Stopping directly before her, he made no move to touch her. Liz raised her hands and began to undo his waistcoat buttons. Being the one to make the first move steadied her.

The waistcoat joined the jacket on the chair. Liz moved onto the shirt. She took her time, occasionally sliding her fingers between the buttons, lingering to brush across warm skin and silky hair. With the last button freed the two sides of the shirt fell open. Nerves were forgotten. Liz couldn’t help herself, she stepped closer, drinking in the scene of warm male and laid her palms flat on his skin, sliding them down and mapping that magnificent chest and abdomen. The dark hair was a lodestone and she returned to it again. Engrossed, her hands drifted lower, to his waist.

The last time she’d had access like this to his bare chest he’d been sick and close to death. Liz recalled the gruesome details all too well. Her fingers tenderly caressed perfect, unmarred skin were only a few days ago he’d had a gaping, bloody wound. She’d helped heal him, not with any medical skill, but with her blood. The memory of that time in the tunnel made her belly clutch with heat. Impulse had her hunkering down to kiss and nuzzle the same spot.

Over her head, Michael groaned. At his sides, his fists clenched and the muscle under lips went rock hard. An avalanche of desire-laced need rushed over her—his need—then Michael shackled it. Liz looked up and watched the cords in his neck recede as he relaxed, in control again. His eyes met hers, the glitter there but contained.

Liz got the message. He was giving her the chance to explore him, learn him. He didn’t want her nervous of him physically. Well, that did it. No wonder she was head over heels in love with him. He kept bowling her over with a tenderness all the more precious because of the man he was. Liz rose up on tiptoe to kiss him in thanks. Michael met her, but pulled back when she tried to deepen the kiss. He made her chase him and chuckled when she did, clamping her hands on the sides of his jaw to capture him, and nipping his lower lip in retribution.

The kiss changed with that nip. He cradled the back of her head in both big hands and captured her lips in a rapacious kiss that scattered her wits and snatched her breath. Tongues tangled, breath mated. He nipped her back just hard enough to jolt her to her toes. It was just like before, needs and desire roared between them, except this time they’d be taking it all the way. They were man and wife and two would become one.

Michael dropped his hands to her ribs and lifted her, not breaking the kiss. Liz clutched his shoulders, gasping into his mouth when the room turned blurred. She found solid ground again when he lowered her to a step built around the huge bed. She was more on a level with him now. Liz was panting. Michael lifted his left wrist, a silent invitation for her to undo the cuff. Liz did them both and pushed the shirt off his shoulders. When her hands went to his belt to unbuckle it, Michael stepped closer and brushed her hair aside and then bent his head. Liz’s head fell back and her knees turned to limp noodles when he began to suckle on the sensitive cord running down her neck.

She melted with a deep groan.

Liz couldn’t think. Her head was full of white noise and her body wracked with intense sensations shooting along every nerve. She fumbled with the belt. Her dress was tied with lacing up her back and she felt them loosen. The next thing she knew, the dress was lifted up and whisked over her head. Liz now wore only her underwear and her shoes. Her hair was tumbling around her shoulders, cleavage and back in glossy waves. Liz surfaced from the haze he’d wreathed around her with a blink. Their eyes met and locked. Stark arousal was carved visibly into his face. Michael brushed aside her hair, baring her to his view. Wherever his eyes went his hands followed, leaving a storm of tingles in their wake.

He was thorough. He didn’t leave a freckle unexplored.

Their first time was fraught with need too long denied. Liz would never forget the heat, the ache finally satiated, or the look on Michael’s face as he hung over her with a hand planted next to her head.

“Michael,” she sobbed it. The first word spoken since they’d entered the chamber.

The sensations spearing through her were unbearable and wonderful. Tears leaked out of her eyes and he kissed them away.

“Open your eyes, Liz,” he rasped.

She did. Colour was riding his cheekbones again and his lips were full and sensuous. The intensity in those midnight eyes sent her reeling. “Keep them open.” He moved, making her senses reel. Liz gave a keening moan. “I’ve dreamed of this.” His voice was like gravel. “I’ve watched you from a distance, month after month. Did you guess?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Now you know.”

It was the last thing she knew for a long time. He took her lips and took her to sensual places she’d never dreamed existed. He drank in the sight, egging her on, demanding more, and then started again.

Finally, Michael let her doze, wrapping his big body around her, a muscled, protective, possessive cage.

When she woke, Liz was on her front and a pillow was tucked under her hips, raising her for him. She lost track of time, of anything except the two of them.

Sometime during the day, he ran warm water into a sunken pool he laughingly called a bath. He washed and caressed every inch of her, and then swept her away again with the water lapping against overheated, sensitised skin.

She was shaking when he laid her back on the bed. Her arms, legs, heck even her eyelids felt weighted with a surfeit of adrenaline charged pleasure. The bed dipped. “Michael, I can’t.”

“Shh. I know.” He lifted her to lie on top of him, stroking her spine with delicate brushes of his fingers. “Go to sleep.”

o~O~o

"We couldn’t have won a civil war against the vampires. Yes, we outnumber them ten to one when you take out the ferals who can’t be controlled, but how many of us here are militarily trained and capable of fighting? Unless you plan to conscript every person in Gehenna outside of the OQ, then we’re looking at more like two or three to one at the most. For those of you who think that still seems reasonable, I should point out that a vampire, and I’m not talking the warrior-kind like Michael Thane, but your average vampire, is capable of killing ten humans for every single vampire taken out. So, in real-terms we’re the ones outnumbered, not the vampires."

Cabrera looked around the circular, polished table at the faces ranged at equal distances. The members of the Privy Council were mostly men of long established stature. None looked comfortable to be attending this emergency meeting. Many refused to meet his gaze. A few had good reason to be nervous.

"We’d have had to bomb them," he continued, bluntly. "We’d have had to level the old quarter and turn it into burning rubble. For those here who like that idea, I should point out that the vampires are not stupid and they’re not disorganised. They know what we’re capable of and I am one-hundred-percent certain they have contingency plans. You can bet your ass they’re watching us very, very closely. An act of war, such as trying to annihilate them would not be overlooked. There’d be no going back. For their own survival they’d have to enslave us and drag us back to the middle ages technology-wise. They don’t try because we haven’t given them a reason to."

He paused. The silence was profound. Cabrera continued.

"Sure, we might be able to surprise them. We might even be able to wipe out the majority of them. Then what? We murder every citizen who reaches eight hundred years old just to make sure the vampire population doesn’t return? There’d be anarchy. We’d be fighting ourselves as well as whatever dregs of the vampires are left. We’d be a police state with limited freedom and rampant paranoia. Peace would be gone. Security would be gone."

"Yes, we get the ferals the vampire hunters don’t manage to stamp out themselves. Yes, people are killed, but considering we live in Hell our lives are pretty cosy. More humans die through voluntarily crossing the corridor for some danger-filled fun than through attacks on our streets by ferals."

"I was asked to state my case, and here it is. It isn’t the vampires threatening peace, but us. In my opinion there’s no justification for breaking a peace treaty put into place by God himself, and if you think otherwise then you have no business being on the Privy Council."

Cabrera held up a silencing hand when a storm of protest stirred from a few councilmen.

"I’m almost finished. I just want to leave you with one last thought to chew on. If Satan thought it was a good idea to throw us into civil war then you can bet it wasn’t through any sense of altruism, it was because he knew it would turn Gehenna into the type of hell we were all afraid of when we first arrived."

He looked over at Lady Stanley. "I’m done."

The moment Cabrera sat back the outraged rumbles gained pace along with the complaints.

The Lady High Constable banged her gravel and silence fell. "As usual my chief constable doesn’t pull his verbal punches. However, as I don’t employ him in a diplomatic role I don’t have a problem with his blunt style. In my opinion, there’s been too little straight talking in recent weeks."

"We were lied to and most of us sitting here at this table either fell for the lies or colluded with them. Mark my words those that colluded will be weeded out. Those, like me, who fell for them or didn’t act quickly enough must all learn a very valuable lesson. Peace is precious and we are incapable of judging the redemptive potential of anyone, and we should never try. This council, this city will not be taking aggressive action against vampires or potentials unless, or until, such proof is evident that lives are in danger—and then individuals will be dealt with."

"In other words we maintain the status quo?" said Wilson-Smith.

Lady Stanley waved a hand at Cabrera to answer, "Since you ask, no. We’re going to be seeking more direct assistance from the vampires themselves. I propose making an agreement, initially with vampires we are familiar with to act in a consultancy capacity. We need to forge a stronger relationship with the authorities and stake-holders in the old quarter, as well as seek direct assistance on an ad-hoc basis."

"Are you proposing we have vampires patrolling our streets, chief constable?"

"Not yet, but perhaps in the future. Our track record outside of the OQ against ferals is not good. We don’t know when or where they’re slipping through to attack. All we end up doing is mopping up afterwards and hunting them down once the body count is rising. Vampires would be able sense them, track them and hunt them with ease. It’s what they do in their own territory."

"This vampire we’re apparently familiar with," asked another councillor, "I take it you mean Michael Thane?"

"Yes, and for good reasons." Cabrera ticked them off on his fingers. "I have a history with him. He’s just married one of my special constables and he has a positive profile with the public. They’re abundantly aware of how capable he is with those swords of his and he’s something of a romantic hero thanks to recent events. The public will accept our working with him."

Wilson-Smith barked a laugh and then sneered, "Good heavens, Thane married the empath did he? A vampire and an empath, only in Hell, eh?"

"An angel performed the sacrament," Cabrera interjected. "I’m told it was a beautiful ceremony."

Wilson-Smith did a great impersonation of a man who’d bitten into an apple and tasted a lemon.

"I put the proposal forward for voting. All in favour of seeking a consultancy arrangement with Michael Thane raise your hand."

All but two hands were raised. Lady Stanley gave a satisfied smile. "I believe that will do. The proposal is carried and shall be actioned as soon as possible."

2011-02-20T22:17:00.015Z

EPILOGUE

The clouds had burned away as the morning progressed. The city was now basking in gentle sunlight. The reporter was in her thirties, suitably attractive and modestly presented in her semi-fitted, navy maxi suit and short-cropped blonde hair. She radiated solemn professionalism. Out of sight of the camera, the sound technician gave her the thumbs up and started to count down from three to one. On the count of one, she began her spiel.

“This is Eva Brandt reporting from the Illyria sector on the outskirts of the old quarter. Behind me is the infamous ‘Medical Centre for the Research of Human Demonology’. Within these ancient walls lies the body of the vampire, Gabriel Tracey, his murderous rampage of the last few weeks finally over. Tracey, masquerading as his son, Michael Thane, tortured and killed over eleven women. His last confirmed victim is MCRHD employee Dr Nicole Keller, whose body was discovered here earlier today. In the same mortuary is the body of John Paul Sauvage, the recently elected ‘Special Commissioner’; an perversely fitting title for the man allegedly responsible for commissioning Tracey’s reign of terror. We many never know the extent of Sauvage’s plans, or the reasons behind them, but we do know he intended to plunge our city into bloody civil war.

“We were saved from this fate by the epic battle that took place this morning at the city’s renowned Didascalium seminary. As dawn broke, the forces of good and evil collided in our midst, and right on our viewing screens. We, the citizens of Gehenna, can only be thankful that good prevailed, pulling us back from the brink of annihilation. Michael Thane, Tracey’s son, was one of the main agents of this reprieve. Eerily identical to his father, Thane has spent the last few weeks on the run, accused of being the killer himself. Despite being a fugitive, he became the supernatural protector of the one special constable who knew he was innocent, Elizabeth Grant.

“If not for the courage and determination of these two people, we would likely be facing a very bleak future indeed.

“Many people are now wondering where we can go from here. The city is both bewildered and full of hope: bewildered that we could have come so close to war by the killing spree of one feral vampire, masterminded by a corrupt member of the Privy Council, and hope that forging stronger links with the citizens of the old quarter will help ensure we never fall victim to such evil machinations again.

“Joining me here today is Chief Constable Cabrera of the Special Constabulary, another key player in ending the recent troubles; next to him is our Lady High Constable, Helen Stanley, and finally Dr Ruth Burgess who is not only the resident psychiatrist of the MCRHD, but a victim and survivor of Tracey.”

Ms Brandt turned a practised smile on Cabrera. “Chief Constable Cabrera you’ve been involved from the beginning. What lessons do you think we need to learn from the last few weeks of turmoil?”

The microphone was duly presented for him to speak. “We need to learn not to judge,” said Cabrera, bluntly. “Sauvage used Gabriel Tracey to tap into our darkest fears regarding vampires, and we leapt to conclusions based on the flimsiest of evidence. One vampire, no matter how evil and sadistic, cannot possibly represent the whole vampire population, and yet we let ourselves be led to believe this one did. That was our first and worst mistake.”

“Do you concur with that assessment, Lady Stanley?”

“I do. This has been a campaign of paranoia, and paranoia allowed to run unchecked leads to a distorted view of reality. Councilman Sauvage was a cunning and intelligent man. He knew what buttons to push.”

“Speaking of Councilman Sauvage, do we know the circumstances of his death yet?”

The question was tossed out for a general response. Cabrera answered, “No. Details are not yet available as to the cause of death of Councilman Sauvage.”

“How about the status of Constable Grant and Michael Thane? What news is there of them?”

Ruth looked surprised at finding herself addressed. “Both are doing fine and responding well to treatment.”

Ms Brandt leapt on her reply. “Really, have you actually needed to treat Mr Thane?”

“Er, no,” Ruth amended, flushing a deep red. “Vampire physiology breaks down human medication within minutes, rendering it all but useless. Michael Thane has healed himself, but remains with Ms Grant while she’s recovering.”

The reporter turned back to Cabrera to ask, “There are rumours that Constable Grant and Michael Thane have formed a romantic attachment. Is there any basis to this rumour?”

“I’m afraid I can’t comment on that topic. You’d have to ask them.”

Eva Brandt’s professional smile didn’t waver, but Cabrera could tell she was disappointed by the lack of conjecture. “Thank you so much for taking the time to speak to us, I’d like to ask one more question. There are also rumours of involvement by angels during this turbulent event. Can you confirm if this is true?”

The microphone was once again presented to Cabrera. He left a pause and then looked at the camera squarely. “Yes, it’s true, angels have been involved. But it’s no good looking for guys with wings, because they look just like us. But that’s not the important part; what is important is that when it came to fixing a cataclysmic crisis, the angels picked a vampire, in this case Michael Thane, to sort us out. Satan, who was up to his neck in this too, picked a human—Sauvage. If you take nothing else from this lesson, then take this: we must never judge anyone in our community, vampire or human. If the angels of Almighty God don’t think a vampire is beyond redemption, how dare we presume to condemn them? We can’t and must not prejudge. Today proves that if we work together, we can make all our lives better.”

The reporter’s eyes were almost bugging out with excitement. She hadn’t expected him to confirm the rumour. “Did these angels who chose Michael Thane say if he, as a vampire, can be redeemed?”

“I can’t tell you about Michael,” said Cabrera gruffly. “I can only tell you what I know. The hairs on all our heads are still counted—we still matter. We are not and will not be forgotten, and we don’t strive alone for our redemption. The ultimate will of God is to save, and the angels are busy working out that will with any soul willing to try. My advice is to try.”

o~O~o

“I have to go soon,” announced Aaron. “I’ve stayed too long as it is.”

“Yeah, busy times.”

The screen in Liz’s hospital room was switched on with the sound kept low. Liz was lying on the bed and sleeping peacefully. She had her colour back. Michael hadn’t left her alone for a moment. From his position by the window, he gestured to the screen and the interview showing on it. “Will you get into trouble with the powers-that-be for the beans being so spectacularly spilled?”

Aaron appeared unfazed as he leaned against the opposite observation room window. The usual frenetic activities of a hospital continued in the corridor behind the glass. “There’s no proof.” He shrugged. “Many will believe Carl and benefit from that belief, just as many will scoff and call him delusional. Either way I won’t get into trouble, no.” He cast Michael a quizzical glance. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”

“Ask you what?” asked Michael.

He could see the horde of reporters still lingering in front of the MCRHD despite the press conference having ended over an hour ago. They were probably hoping to catch sight of him or Liz.

“Carl didn’t answer the reporter’s question on whether you, a vampire, can be redeemed, because he doesn’t know the answer. I do.”

Michael got the distinct impression he was supposed to ask, so he obliged. “All right, can a vampire be redeemed?”

“Yes, they can.”

“Really?” Michael crossed his arms and quirked a brow. “I’ve never heard of it happening. Not even a whisper.”

“Possibly because most don’t,” returned Aaron. “Unfortunately, many of the fundamental requirements for redemption become impossible once vampirism sets in. Love being the main one.”

Michael didn’t try and hide his scepticism. “Love?”

“Yes, Michael, love. The one thing you had absolutely no knowledge or experience of until now.” Aaron pushed away from the glass and strolled over to join him at the window. “Don’t you know your bible? ‘Faith, hope and love, and the greatest of these is love’ says Saint Paul. ‘Love covers many sins’ says Saint John, and ‘whoever does not love does not know God’. ‘Love extravagantly’ advises Saint Paul. Need I go on?”

Michael shook his head. “No, I get it.” He scraped a hand over his face. He was bone-tired and his eyes felt gritty. He wanted to fall into a soft, clean bed and not crawl out of it for at least a week.

“Do you? Why do you think vampirism is a progressive corruption?” Aaron didn’t wait for an answer. “Because the deeper it sinks into you the less able you are to love. You become dead on the inside, the living dead in a very real sense. Do you recognise this description of yourself, and all the vampires you know? You should. This is how it was for you before you met Liz.”

“I’m tired, beaten up and surrounded by humans who want to snap my picture and plaster it all over the morning papers. I don’t have the patience to decipher nuances. What’s your point?”

Aaron lifted a hand and briefly laid it against Michael’s chest, over his heart. “You’re alive now, in here. You’re changed.”

Michael felt his last drop of patience drain away. “If I’m changed it’s not in a good way. I’m still a vampire. I drank Liz’s blood. I can feel the difference in me and it’s getting stronger every damned day.”

“You drank her blood, willingly given, well over forty-eight hours ago, and yet you have no blood lust, not even pangs. A big hint don’t you think? The difference you can feel is called emotion, Michael. This is a good change.” Aaron stepped away, turning so he was looking down on Liz. “I’ll let you in on a secret, Michael. You’re a long, long way off redemption, but you’re finally on the right path. A vampire who can feel love will not go feral. Loving a gift from God, such as a wife, is a step towards loving God Himself. That is the cure for vampirism.”

Michael found himself rooted to the spot, transfixed. Wife. Aaron hadn’t finished. Blue eyes came back around to pierce him. “You prayed inside the Bethlehem Star, do your remember?”

Like he could ever forget seeing Liz bleeding from that damned crystal light. “Yeah. I remember.”

“I’ve marked that up as a red letter day for you. I’m expecting there to be many more.” Aaron got as far as the door before he turned. “Remember, love extravagantly. It’s like riding a bike. Once you start, it gets addictive.”

o~O~o

According to Ruth, Michael hadn’t let them move her until she’d already begun healing. Despite being in agony himself, and despite all of the people watching, he’d untied the bandages at her wrists and worked directly on the wounds. He’d done the same to her neck. Liz didn’t have a single scar to attest to what Gabriel had put her through. Fine with her; Liz didn’t want any reminders.

She’d visited the mortuary before being discharged. It had jarred her to see a grizzly old man called Max working in Nicole’s place. He’d been kind enough though when he’d pulled back the sheet covering Gabriel’s body. Liz had sucked in a tight breath. The baldness was shocking on first sight. Even the eyebrows had been false. Gabriel had been well on the way towards the final madness. What struck Liz most, however, was how different he now seemed from Michael. The basic frame of Michael’s face was there, but she saw the differences rather than the identical features.

She’d pointed to the thin line encircling his whole head at brow level. “What’s this for?”

“Removal of the brain,” answered Max bluntly. He had a voice like crunching gravel, deeper even than Cabrera’s. “We wanted to make absolutely sure regeneration is impossible.”

“The body is scheduled for incineration, along with Sauvage, this afternoon,” added Harry who’d accompanied her.

“I’d like to watch,” Liz had announced.

Harry had opened his mouth to argue. Liz shut him down with a don’t-mess-with-me-on-this look, saying, “It would close things off for me.”

Harry had given in. She’d been right to insist. It had been cathartic to watch the flames through the furnace door as they burst into life and began licking up the sides of the twin cardboard coffins, finally consuming them utterly in a roar of fiery-orange. Gabriel was finally well and truly gone.

Hoorah. Liz was certain it would sink into her subconscious in a year or two, or rather hoped it did.

Now she was on her way home. Liz put her head back on the seat headrest with a sigh. She wasn’t tired, she was gut-wrenchingly miserable and confused. How could Michael just disappear like that? It didn’t make any sense! He’d stayed at her bedside, by all accounts, unnerving the medical staff with his glowering looks and patent distrust, until she’d been in the clear, and then just buggered off.

Now what was she supposed to think? Was he still angry? Did he care or not? Did he love her or not?

“Tired?” asked Harry from the driver’s seat.

They were in his banged-up street car. Liz was feeling exceptionally fond of the old rust-bucket. The familiar smell of peppermint sweets and screen-wash was comforting to the point of being sentimental.

“No” she answered, closing her eyes. “I just wasn’t expecting to be heading back to my old apartment after I got out.”

“I see.” Harry did see, she could tell from his tone. He cleared his throat and then asked, “Do you want me to take a trip out to the abbey, see if I can find him?”

“No,” said Liz, too sharply. She softened her voice, “Definitely not. Thanks for the offer, but no.”

Harry, bless him, would go and confront Michael for her, but what would be the point? If Michael wanted to contact her, he knew where to find her. She intended to give him a week and if he hadn’t come to her by then, she planned to go to the abbey herself. If he didn’t want her around anymore then fine, that was his prerogative, but he should at least have the guts to tell her so. Her belly cramped in fresh misery at the thought. Her appetite had gone down the tubes since she’d woken up and found him gone.
A few minutes later, Harry pulled up outside her apartment building. It was raining again. The canopy over the entrance was dripping with water. Liz leaned over the central console and planted a kiss on Harry’s cheek. “Thanks,” she told him, meaning it.

“You’re welcome.” Blue eyes warm with concern searched her face. “Are you certain you’ll be okay on your own? I really don’t mind taking the couch at my place. If nothing else, it’ll help keep the media from hounding you.”

“I’ll be fine, honestly. My apartment is unlisted, so the reporters won’t be able to find me.” Liz gave him another kiss, just for being the man he was, and opened the passenger door. The gulley between the kerb and the tarmac was gushing with rain water. She got out of the car, waved a brief goodbye and dashed under the canopy. Harry left the car idling at the kerb, waiting until she turned and waved again before indicating to pull back out into the light, midday traffic.

She was soaked to the skin by the time she’d run up the steps and through the stone archway into the foyer. Ruth had neglected to bring her a coat when she’d dropped by with street-clothes, and Liz’s hair was wet enough to send dribbles of water down her neck. Shivers racked her as the elevator climbed towards the nineteenth floor. Cold, aggravated, and with a headache brewing behind her eyes, Liz keyed in her entry code and braced herself to enter her apartment. She hadn’t been here since Michael had dragged her away nearly two weeks ago.

There were still bullet holes inside the lift and along the corridor walls.

Liz opened her door, entered and slammed it shut behind her. She groaned the moment she got a good look at the inside. Harry had arranged for a specialist clean-up crew, but even from the door she could see the damage Michael and Gabriel had wrought during that first fight, and that was just what she could see from the door. Her entertainment screen was gone. There was a hole in the wall between the living room and the hall, and the living room door was entirely missing.

Wonderful. Liz took a fortifying breath and began walking down the tiny hall towards her bedroom. She was just wondering if she should send Michael an invoice for damages when a hand clamped down over her mouth, and she was dragged back against a hard, tall body. Liz’s heart leapt up into her throat.

“How many times did you kiss Gillespie?” Michael rasped against her ear.

Dizzy with mingled relief and fury, Liz fantasised about elbowing him in the gut, before ditching the idea as predictable, and therefore liable to fail. Instead, she waited patiently for him to let go of her mouth and turn her to face him.

He did. Liz was ready to let loose with both barrels, fully prepared to lambaste him for abandoning her at the hospital, until she got a good look at him. Damn, he was gorgeous. There was no use denying it: she was a pathetic, weak-willed female. He was holding her against him with his hands linked behind her back. His dark brown eyes were crinkled with laughter and warmth and he was wearing his crooked smile. He wasn’t angry, he was winding her up. The blasted vampire had gone and got himself a sense of humour.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, yourself.” She’d forgotten how deep his voice was. It rumbled through her nervous system like some bizarre, auditory cat lick.

Regardless of weak-female-melting, she leaned back in his arms, scowled and voiced some complaints anyway, “Would it have been too much to ask for you to stick around until I woke up? I didn’t know if you were okay, or if anything was wrong. I’ve been worried sick.”

Michael’s hands moved to cup her ribs, lifting her. The next thing Liz knew, they were in her living room sitting face-to-face. He’d chosen a large, squashy leather armchair and arranged her so she was sitting across his legs. Her back was supported against the armrest and her right side was tucked into his left side. They were close enough for her nose to brush his jaw. His body heat surrounded her, warming her through their clothes.

“I had to sort out a few loose ends in the old quarter,” he told her. “I wanted to check things are back to normal before you went near it.”

Liz frowned. “My job involves the old quarter. I work missions there, remember.”

“Exactly,” he said, patiently, “Which is why I had to check.”

“It wouldn’t have hurt to wait a day. Cabrera has signed me off from active duty for three days. Is everything back to normal?”

“Far from it,” he admitted, “but nothing dangerous.” Michael shrugged a shoulder. “They seem leery of me. The press this side of the corridor are setting me up to be this misunderstood white knight, and they know better, which basically means they don’t know what the hell to expect anymore—makes folks nervous.”

“And I bet you’re enjoying that, aren’t you?”

Michael’s lips curved into a smile, conceding, “A little, yeah.”

It hit Liz then, this was the first time she’d seen him since the big fight. She ran her palm over his shirt-covered chest. “Are you okay? No after effects from breaking half the bones in your body?”

“I’m fine. No problems. Bones heal quicker than organs and I still had your blood in my system, speeding up the healing up even more.” He left a pause and then asked, “How about you?”

“You fixed me up good as new. I don’t even have any scars to brood over thanks to you.” When she went to pull her hand back, he placed one of his own over it, keeping it in place.

“I’m not talking physically, but mentally,” explained Michael. “What he did to you must linger in your mind,” he added.

“Ah,” Liz pulled a face. “You know, it’s odd and admittedly out-of-character for Gabriel, but I really don’t remember that much about it. I remember being scared stiff you’d been blown to smithereens, I remember wanting to kill Gabriel so badly I could taste it. I even remember shooting at him and him coming at me, but the rest is hazy until I woke up on that bloody chain. He must have drugged me so I wouldn’t slow him down by struggling.”

Michael gave her a look that screamed sceptical. “You’re right, that is totally out-of-character. He liked to terrorise, not just inflict damage.”

“I’m fully aware of that,” she agreed, “but he didn’t have much time and I think, in the end, getting another crack at you was more important to him than torturing me. You didn’t give him a chance to have his cake and eat it, so he had to chose, and he chose you.”

Michael’s chest expanded with a long in-take of breath that was surprisingly ragged. “Promise me you’re not just telling me what I want to hear.”

“Pinky swear.” Solemnly, Liz held up a crooke’d little finger. “Waking up upside down on a chain hanging a hundred meters off the floor, while bleeding like a stuck pig hurt like hell if that helps convince you.” Liz tugged free her captured hand and framed his jaw, leaning in to press her forehead against his and glare. “Get it through your thick skull. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

His dark eyes never left hers. He left a pause, then said, “It wasn’t a hundred meters. Maybe, twenty or twenty-five, tops.”

Liz resisted kissing the lips quirked so close to hers and pulled back. “Whatever. It seemed like a hundred to me.”

“Okay. As I wasn’t the one hanging up there, I’ll bow to your expertise.”

“Good of you.”

“Are you sure, one-hundred-percent, that you’re okay?”

Liz rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Find me a bible and I’ll swear on it if it’ll help convince you.”

It was only when he relaxed did Liz realise just how tense he’d been. He confirmed it when he told her, “I lied. Needing to check things out in the old quarter wasn’t the only reason I left before you woke up. I was terrified you’d take one look at my face and start screaming. I couldn’t stand that… the idea of it ripped me up inside until I had to get out. I bolted like a scared kid.”

Liz had to swallow a sudden lump in her throat. Michael wasn’t hiding his emotions. He was undoubtedly a hard, intimidating man and yet he loved her enough to fall to pieces, and not try and hide it. “So you left the hospital in favour of sneaking up behind me in my own flat?” She dropped a kiss on his lips, and said, “You’re an idiot. Yours was the face I was desperate to see.”

“Good to know. Marry me, Liz.”

“Excuse me?” Liz snapped her head back to stare up at him, almost rapping his chin as she did so.

“You asked me and I turned you down, so now it’s my turn—quid pro quo.” He gave her a rueful smile. “By the way, I’m banking on you not seeking revenge for my lack of tact.”

“Correction, ‘tactless’ is a major understatement: you freaked on me,” said Liz baldly. “What happened to the ‘I’ll turn feral in ten years and so saying no for your own good’ schtick you tossed at me?”

“According to Aaron, I won’t turn feral, not while I’m with you. I figure I either trust him, or go crazy trying to stay away from you.”

“You wouldn’t be able to do it. I’m too irresistible,” said Liz. “Did he happen to mention why you won’t go feral?”

“Love is the magic bullet according to the angels of Almighty God. Apparently you driving me crazy is the way to stop going literally crazy. The deal is you have to marry me. He was very specific on mentioning ‘wife’.”

Liz was relieved, but she’d been prepared to take the risk anyway. “Remind me to thank Aaron the next time I see him.”

“Sure. So does this mean you’ll marry me?”

Liz tucked her tongue firmly in her cheek and said, “I’m still thinking about it. What happens if you fall out of love with me?”

“I won’t fall out of love with you. I may want to throttle you every now and then, but I’ll still love you. What’s your answer?”

“And the stalker deal you warned me about?”

“Hello. Vampire. I’ll stalk you regardless.” He jiggled her, demanding, “What’s your answer, Liz?”

o~O~o

Lady Helen Stanley sat in the chair behind her desk. There was a tremor in her hands, Cabrera had never seen before. The dark circles under her eyes emphasised her pallor. The press conference had taken a lot out of her, especially coming so soon after her ordeal at the hands of Sauvage and his fundamentalist cronies. Cabrera had big plans for the men who had yet to face the music. They would feel the full measure of his wrath.

“I knew about Caroline,” she said abruptly.

“Excuse me?” Cabrera felt the jolt to his toes.

“I always fully vet my key personnel,” she told him. “I was aware of your history and your searches for her. I didn’t blame you, and more importantly, you didn’t let it affect your work. Who could ask for more?”

“Oh,” Cabrera didn’t know what else to say. He’d always assumed he’d been clandestine when it came to his off-duty investigating.

“This Gerry Roland character,” she continued. “Did your angelic friend give you any ideas if we should expect more from that quarter?”

“Aaron believes the city can return to normal, but we should always be vigilant. He can’t promise Roland won’t be back or pulling strings from afar. He also pointed out that Satan has been here all along, in one guise or another. These past few weeks have been harrowing for us, but its business as usual for evil.”

“I see,” Lady Stanley nodded and sighed, “Of course, he’s right. We must continue as we were except for putting safeguards in place to avoid such connivances in the future.” She sat up straight in her seat, visibly stiffening her spine. “I’ve called an emergency meeting of the Privy Council. I expect you to be there to support me.”

Cabrera left a pause. “Are you sure? It’s bound to come out how close I came to putting us all in peril. I screwed up in a big way.”

“We’ve already discussed your proposed resignation, Carl. I’m not accepting it. If I thought you weren’t fit for the post, I wouldn’t hesitate to tell you. I believe we’ve none of us come out of this experience whiter-than-white, myself included. You faced the ultimate evil; we didn’t. You made the right choices when it counted and I’m satisfied.” Her pale blue eyes dared him to contradict her statements. “I suggest we leave the detailed analysing for the Privy Council.”

“Fair enough.” Carl met her stern gaze, wanting to convey more than words. “Thank you.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “No thanks are necessary. You are aware, I hope, of my plans to propose the Constabulary take charge of the militia, rather than leave them as a separate jurisdictional function?”

“I don’t have any problems with the proposal. The militia, fresh from having their asses whupped on the battlefield, are now getting those same asses kicked in the papers, and they’re braced for another from the Privy Council. Captain Ickle is suspended from duty and potentially facing charges after ordering the attack on the Star.”

“Make sure the charges stick.” Lady Stanley’s expression hardened. “I do not lay much credence on the captain’s claim that Sauvage had ordered him to attack from beyond second-death.”

“Personally, I suspect the command came from Gerry Roland. Not that I’m rushing to the asshole’s defence.”

“A man who cannot think beyond his own ambitions does not deserve to be in a position of authority,” said Lady Stanley. “Let’s move on. What’s being reported on the special constabulary having planned Michael Thane’s hostage-taking? Is there a backlash building?”

“Not so far. Thane’s character, having been maligned through mistaken identity and the machinations of Sauvage, is going through a white-wash of epic proportions. The journalistic world seems to be suffering a guilt-trip for their part in the scheme. They’re turning him into a hero. Much is being made of his ‘teaming up’ with us to return peace to Gehenna. The hostage-taking has morphed into ‘protection from Evil Gabriel’.”

“Hmm. All very useful for improving vampire-human relations don’t you think?”

“Very,” agreed Cabrera with a smile. Humanity’s capacity for mass self-delusion never ceased to amaze him. “His relationship with Elizabeth Grant is something I’m hoping to exploit. Liz works for me and I’m considering asking him to join us in a consultancy capacity. He’s overprotective and I think the idea will appeal to him as a means of watching over her during working hours.”

“Such considerations will need to be put to the Council before an approach is made to Thane,” reminded Lady Stanley.

“Of course.”

“However, I agree with you.”

Which, of course, meant his proposals would be agreed forthwith. Letting the briefest of grins curve his lips, Cabrera got to his feet and bowed. “I’ll see you at the meeting.”

o~O~o

The south chapel in the abbey had undergone a transformation. Thick, white candles and wall-scones danced and flickered, adding warmth and light to the mellow stone walls. Flowers perfumed the air, and added an impromptu alter full of rich colour and natural beauty.

An unknown individual, purported to be an angel, was performing the ceremony. Ruth Burgess of the MCRHD and Harry Gillespie of the constabulary were acting as witnesses, along with a nervous Justice of the Peace called Declan Foley.

The images were not numerous, but they were clear. Godric had paid handsomely for them to be taken and delivered. In life, he had been a powerful and respected Saxon nobleman, holding the title of Thegn of Pherlmere. He had not died a young or happy man, though, and lines of suffering had already been carved into his face when death had delivered him to Gehenna nine centuries before. Not so the man in the picture he held in his hand: this face was smooth and handsome. Dark hair was cut short in the modern fashion, the style reminded the old thegn of the Normans, only without the ridiculous shaving of the lower head. Michael Thane, the name resonated in the old man’s head. He knew both the name and the well-formed face all too well. The girl standing next to Thane would be pretty under most circumstances, but she’d made a truly radiant bride.

Osmund had brought in the package and now waited patiently for Godric to give him his next task. Godric trusted Osmund implicitly. He appeared young, although he was the same age as Thane. But whereas Thane was dark, Osmund was blonde and wore his hair long. He was the only vampire the old man had ever met who was capable of complete loyalty. Even so, he had no idea of Godric’s relationship with Michael Thane.

Grandfather to Grandson.

On the screen behind Godric’s desk, a frozen image of the last moment of Gabriel Tracey’s evil life was shown in vivid detail. The crystal spikes were ripping through flesh and shattering bone, having only just entered his body. Godric had frozen the recording so he could gaze on the agonised, soundless scream of Tracey’s gaping mouth.

Such a fitting end.

Godric laid the photographic image of his grandson’s wedding on his desk, and folded his hands over it. When he spoke, his voice was steady and careful, “I want to be kept informed of all activities undertaken by Michael Thane and his new wife. Pay particular attention to developments involving the constabulary and the Privy Council, as well as reactions here in the old quarter. Ensure no one suspects. This surveillance is to be discreet. Do you understand?”

Osmund rose to his feet without any discernable change of expression. “I understand. All shall be undertaken as you instruct.”

“Thank you, Osmund. You may leave me.”

Once the heavy oak door had shut behind Osmund, Godric lifted his hands and once again took up the picture of his grandson. Shame, bitterness and guilt sat heavily on his shoulders.

“No matter how much you might wish otherwise, you can’t undo the past,” he murmured out-loud.

“Why would you want to?” asked Gerry Roland. “He’s not done too badly for himself, all things considered.”

“That’s hardly the point,” retorted Godric gruffly. “You may leave me too. I’m tired and wish to think.”

Roland stiffened, his pale, sallow face going tight with anger under the low lying hood of his cloak. “You play a dangerous game, Thegn.”

“I don’t think so.” Godric flicked an impatient finger. “Go. I have no daughter here for you to threaten me with.” He smiled when the Evil One remained silent. “Yes, I have access to the Lady High Constable, and Cabrera through her. Not that I plan to let you take advantage of that fact.” The old man tipped back his head, letting his aching eyes close. “We’re finished you and I.”

“I decide—not you, old man,” Roland hissed. “Even a fat old spider with many threads spinning all over Gehenna must face facts. You’re still a vampire on the cusp of going feral. Time is not your friend—friend.”

“I may be a vampire, but I can still exercise free will. I have a choice. Gabriel is dead. We’re finished. It was a mistake to get involved. I want no more of your petty schemes. I’m too old and too cold to fear you. Begone with you.”

“And Michael?”

“I plan to wait and see what kind of man my grandson can become under the right circumstances. God knows, I didn’t give him the opportunity when we were alive.”

“Repentance, Godric?” sneered Roland.

“I don’t think so, more like curiosity.” Godric abruptly dropped his head back down to glare, “Now get out.”

o~O~o

The fire in the grate had banked down. Most of the candles had guttered out. Beyond the glazed balcony and thick drapes, the morning sun was climbing a deep blue sky. The huge bed was reduced to a nest of sheets, blankets and furs. Liz was toasty warm and lying boneless, and fast asleep on top of Michael. He ghosted a caressing hand down the delicate bones of her spine. He had never felt such contentment. He’d dozed but couldn’t sleep. He was too full of surging, swirling sensations; they filled his chest to bursting point. Every breath stoked them higher and warmer. Her scent, their scent, wreathed around him. Her heartbeat thudded languidly against his own. Even his fingertips felt sensitised.

In the end, it was mundane hunger that drove him to slide out from under Liz. Naked, he padded over to the fireplace and fed the fire, stoking the embers to get a good blaze going again. Dragging on loose, black lounge-pants, he headed for the kitchen.

With that appetite satisfied, he did a security check on the house and grounds and then returned to his chamber—their chamber now.

In the interim, Liz had kicked off the sheet and covers, and stretched out with one arm behind her head and the other flung over his pillow. Her face was relaxed and flushed with sleep. Standing over her, need punched him in the gut and rooted Michael to the spot. The maelstrom of emotions she caused him was too intense for desire to stand alone, but it could certainly spike to breathtaking proportions. Liz filled a gaping hole he hadn’t known he had and then flooded the rest of his being. Not taking his eyes off her, Michael perched himself on the bed next to her hip. Starting at her toes, he ran his hand, hovering minutely over her skin, all along her body, over her abdomen and ribcage, into the sharp curve of neck and jaw, stopping at her lips. Green-gold eyes cracked open and she smiled sleepily at him. Michael cupped her jaw and kissed her.

He would never get enough of her.

FINIS

Author note: Thanks for taking this fictional journey with me. I sincerely hope you enjoyed the ride and got something worthwhile out of it. Please do leave comments. I would love to know your thoughts.

Helen Taft xx

2011-02-16T23:55:00.013Z

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

From the moment Roland touched him, the bottom dropped out of reality. Visions chased one another through Cabrera’s mind. Here, inside his head, was a true hell of torment. Cabrera didn’t hear his own screams, nor did he feel the pain of his desperate attempts to ‘wake up’ and escape the horrors searing his mind. The mind’s eye couldn't be closed and never slept. There was no relief, not even for a blink of an eye. Nails he kept neatly clipped did their best to tear out his own throat. He needed it stop so badly even death would do. How do you endure the unendurable? You can’t. It had to end.

Finally, it did end. Cabrera hit the carpet of the study with a thud and his injured skin burned at the contact. Gasping and shuddering, he curled up in a foetal position. His body and clothes were drenched in sweat. Blood coated his hands and seeped into the carpet under his head. He’d caused his own injuries, just as Sauvage had.

Cabrera now understood how Sauvage had died. Roland hadn’t been lying when he’d said the special commissioner had ‘happened to himself’. It was certainly one way of looking at death by self-mutilation.

He didn’t know how long he lay there. When he came around enough to roll over, Roland was nowhere in sight. The son of a bitch hadn’t needed to stick around. In the visions, Roland had made it clear what he wanted Cabrera to do. He’d also make it crystal clear what the reward would be for success, as well as the consequences of failure.

Cabrera stole a faster, more powerful car from the villa rather than use his own. His driving was reckless in the extreme. He dodged around air traffic with suicidal ruthlessness, especially considering the state he was in. He was a mess: he was shaking and his thoughts were disjointed. Normal seemed surreal to him now. The city he could see through the windscreen no longer seemed quite real to him, he felt disconnected from all of it. Cabrera wasn’t stupid, he recognised the symptoms of mental trauma. He was unstable and irrational. He was also in pain and dehydrated with shock. He licked his lips, or tried to, and found his tongue was swollen and numb. At some point during Roland’s torturous visions, he’d nearly bitten through it. More blood welled, forcing him to spit.

The pain meant nothing. His mental state meant nothing. Sanity would probably never feature in his life again. Cabrera couldn’t turn back the clock and unlearn what he’d learned. He had to see it through to the bitter end, for Caroline.

He landed the car as close as possible to his destination. Miggs was holed up in a little-used substation, down in the bowels of one of Gehenna’s thousands of satellite transmission relays. The powerful transceivers were helping the E-AID tech to hijack the data-feed from the Didascalium. The transmitters would then allow him to send the feed onwards as a signal too powerful for the media stations to filter out.

That had been the plan anyway. Cabrera was about to undo it all.

The landing bay was empty of people. He pressed for the elevator and waited for it to arrive. When the doors opened, however, a lone man already occupied it.

He was tall and lean and wore his hair down to his shoulders. A short beard enhanced a lean face of clean, Nordic lines. His clothing style was ancient with a modern twist in the choice of materials; a popular compromise for many of the older citizens of Gehenna. The open-necked linen tunic was knee-length and belted at the waist. Tall boots and a hooded cloak completed the ensemble. He was leaning casually against the far right corner with an elbow braced on the hand-bar. After a brief glance out of deep blue eyes, the man looked disinterestedly away.

The cop-trained part of Cabrera’s brain recognised the guy didn’t belong at the transmission relay. For one thing, he didn’t look like a tech. Forget him. You don’t have time to mess around. Ignoring the other man, Cabrera stepped inside the elevator and pressed for level eight, one hundred and twelve floors down. The tremors in his hands were worsening. The doors slid shut and the elevator began its descent. The cage had mirrored walls and Cabrera avoided looking at his reflection after the first glance. His face and neck were covered with gouges and scratches. He wished he’d picked up a scarf or something at Sauvage’s place to hide the damage.

"You need to consider very carefully what it is you’re planning to do," said the stranger, abruptly breaking the silence.

Cabrera looked over. "Excuse me?"

The stranger was now gazing steadily at him. "He lied. That’s what he does." His stance remained the same, casual and unthreatening. "Everything he told you, including what he showed you, was all lies. The Evil One is using you, Chief Constable."

The elevator continued to descend. Cabrera’s sense of dislocation increased. He sounded only mildly interested when he said, "Really, and who would you be?"

"My name is Aaron." The stranger straightened up to hold out a hand with a brief bow. "I believe Ms Grant mentioned me to your group yesterday."

Cabrera ignored the hand. "You’re the angel?"

"Yes."

"Can you give me proof he lied?"

"No, but I can give you my word that your daughter never came to Gehenna.”

“How can you know that?” grated Cabrera. “Do you keep tabs on every soul entering Heaven or Hell?”

“Of course not, but as you’re one of mine, I made it my business to find out about your history. I know about Caroline. I know how she died. I also know she was in the arms of the Lord before her soul even left her body. She neither suffered alone, nor died alone.” Aaron left a pause, radiating sincerity. “The love of Christ was with her at every moment. She resides with Him now."

The dislocation shattered. Pressure built in his head. There was a sharp buzzing in his ears and a red haze descended over his vision. Cabrera lashed out with a swinging right hook. The punch landed with a sickening crunch. "You son of a bitch!” he roared, “I would have given my life to hear you say that just one damned day ago!”

He threw a second punch, this time a short-armed jab that rammed the bastard’s head against the back of the elevator cage. “Goddamn you! You’re too late, too damned late. I have to have proof.” Panting hoarsely, Cabrera backed away, mentally scrabbling for the slippery reins of self-control. His knuckles throbbed. Fury and pain coursed through his veins. “This is about my daughter. You can’t imagine what he showed me. I can’t…I’ll never forget it.” He stabbed a finger at his own temple. “The things he put in my head are like spikes in my goddamned brain."

There was no blood on Aaron’s lip. He rubbed his jaw but showed no other hint of pain. "I’m truly sorry for your torment and wish I could allay it. I can help you, but you have to trust me.” He sighed, hinting at frustration, before saying, “If I could show you Caroline I would, but I can’t. She can’t come here anymore than you can go to her."

Feeling wild as more of his self-control went up in smoke, Cabrera smacked his own forehead. "Screw that! Show me here in my head, like he did. Show me how happy and safe she is. Give me something!"

The intense gaze didn’t waver. "I can’t, Carl. Such manipulative practices are forbidden to my kind, even when the objective is good. This safeguard is for your own protection. If you hadn’t let The Evil One touch you, you wouldn’t be in the state you’re in now. Under no circumstances is mankind to be coerced or compelled—this is God’s law."

"Yeah?" The escalator stopped and the doors opened. "Screw the law," Cabrera snarled and strode out into the night air.

The access route to the substation was via an exterior, grated walkway. The long blocks of towers lining the street acted like a wind tunnel. Cabrera was forced to hold tight to the handrail to avoid being blown backwards. Aaron joined him, raising his voice to be heard over the howl of the wind, "Do you honestly think you can cold-bloodedly murder Eugene Miggs, a young man with every chance of redemption, or Harry, your only true friend? What about Ruth? You have feelings for her."

The words were like needle jabs in Cabrera’s brain. "Right now, I only have feelings for my daughter. Ruth can be explained away as a lunatic after being attacked by Thane. Harry will be collateral damage, as will Miggs."

Aaron sped up and stepped into Cabrera’s path, forcing a halt. "Listen to yourself. This is not the true Carl Cabrera speaking. I know you. I’ve watched over you since you came here. You’ve been infected with a madness that will fade. I swear you will regret any actions you take. Satan doesn’t have Caroline to be able to give her back to you.” Aaron must have seen the look of surprise Cabrera gave him. “Yes, I’m aware he’s dangled her as the carrot. Answer me this: if he’s been telling the truth, why has he demanded you ensure the war does go ahead, that you sabotage your own plans for averting it?"

The substation was only a few meters ahead. Cabrera side-stepped around the angel to pass. "I don’t know and I don’t care."

"Satan is not weak and he hasn’t orchestrated this crisis as an elaborate scheme to bring you to him." Swinging around, Aaron grabbed his arm, once again forcing Cabrera to stop. The wind whipped the angel’s hair around his face. His voice turned sharp with urgency. "You’re just another tool and once your usefulness is over, you‘ll be destroyed just like Sauvage. Lies and deception are his stock-in-trade. The aim is mass destruction. His aim is always to inflict pain and terror, and to keep people from turning to God by using every means at his disposal."

Unmoved, Cabrera pulled out his pistol and pointed it in Aaron’s face in stark warning. "I can never turn to God, because I can never repent,” he said flatly. “If you know my history as you claim, then you know I hunted down my daughter’s killer and ended his life in cold blood. If you can’t give me proof that Roland lied, then I have no choice but to do what I couldn’t back on Earth, and save her."

Cabrera didn’t wait for an answer, but carried on down the weather-beaten walkway. He knocked on the rusted substation door, shouting, "Open up. It’s me."

"Who’s ‘me’?" said the familiar, nervous voice of Miggs.

"Chief Constable Cabrera. I need you to hurry up."

The E-AID Tech opened the door with an expression of relief. "We’ve got problems. Gabriel's turned up—"

Cabrera pistol-whipped him across the face and stepped inside the substation. Miggs staggered back a few steps before collapsing to the grated floor. Blood was spurting out of his broken nose. By-passing him, Cabrera walked over to the array of consoles, power conduits and Miggs’ laptop, and opened fire. The substation was little more than a metal shack attached to the lower levels of the relay tower. In such an enclosed space the gunshots were deafening. Sparks spat out in every direction as the equipment needed to expose Gabriel was put permanently out of commission.

"What the hell are you doing?" yelped Miggs from the floor. He had his hands up to his face, trying to stem the flow of blood. He was staring up at Cabrera as if he was crazy. The kid wasn’t wrong.

o~O~o

Ruth’s heart stuttered with horror as she watched the smoke gradually clear inside the Bethlehem Star. As the worship centre for the campus, and an acclaimed building citywide, the Star was well covered with cameras. Inside the mobile ops centre, they had an excellent view of what was going on within the glass and crystal building.

"Please tell me that’s not Gabriel," said Harry beside her. The bleakness of his voice made it clear he already knew the answer.

"I wish I could." She had to order herself to take a breath. Ruth checked the multiple screens showing dozens of different angles. "Is Michael alive? Can you see him?"

"I want everyone to try and spot Michael Thane," barked Harry to the assembled operators. "Take a screen each and scrutinise every bloody pixel until you find him."

Ruth didn’t take her eyes off the pair they could see: Gabriel and Liz. The sprinkler system had been triggered, making it appear as if it were raining. She felt sick. Guilt turned her belly into a pit of writhing snakes. "We should never have let her go in there, Harry. Michael was right."

Harry didn’t reply. She saw Gabriel walk behind a piece of debris and haul a slumped body out from behind it. She pressed her hands to her face in despair. "Oh. Oh. Crap. There’s Michael. Harry, quick, look…Gabriel’s got him."

Harry looked as grim as she felt. All the operators turned back to see. Some had to crane their necks to be able to view the one screen. Harry swore inventively. Everyone inside the centre held his or her breath. Michael wasn’t moving. Liz fired several shots at Gabriel who effortlessly evaded being hit. Gabriel left his son sprawled on the floor and headed directly for Liz.

"No! No! No!" cried Ruth. She whirled away from the screen, digging her fingers into her scalp in despair. She just couldn’t stand to watch a second longer; her vision was greying at the edges, threatening her with a panic attack. She knew all too well what it was like to be at the mercy of Gabriel. Hysteria laced her voice when she said, "There’s nothing we can do to help her. We don’t even know if Michael is dead or just unconscious."

"Either way he’s no good to Liz," said Harry. He spun on his heel and strode over to the weapons storage locker at the rear of the ops centre. "I’m going in there. I can’t leave Liz to her fate."

"Sir!" One of the operators interrupted, "We have a problem."

"You think I don’t know?" snapped Harry, outraged.

"No, sir, we have another problem," clarified the operator tersely. "The media stations were getting the data-feed being fed to them by Officer Miggs, but it stopped abruptly after only a minute. They’ve realised something is going on and they’re howling for it to be put back up. I’ve tried, but I haven’t been able to contact the substation to ascertain the problem."

Harry threw up his hands. "Wonderful!"

"Will they have received enough to be able to see there are two of them—both Michael and Gabriel?" asked Ruth.

"Unlikely, ma’am," replied the operator. "The segment doesn’t show the two of them together clearly enough. It’s not solid enough proof."

“Record everything,” snapped Harry, making a rushed decision as he geared up. “Then call around some of the media stations and offer an exclusive. In fact, drag in a few of those reporters and let them transmit live from in here. Either or both will do. It won’t have the same impact, but it’s better than nothing.”

Harry looked at Ruth. “I have to go.”

She nodded and took in a deep, calming breath. It took all her courage to say, “Of course you do, and so do I. I’m coming with you.”

o~O~o

“This war has to go ahead, Miggs. I found out things while I was at Sauvage’s place, information we didn’t have before. Do you understand me? You can nod your head. Come on, Miggs, wake up. I have to let this plan of his go ahead. We were wrong to try and stop it. The vampires have to die. Do you understand, son?”

A white-faced Miggs was on his knees. He was nodding his head as if his life depended on it. His eyes were almost wheeling in his head through stark terror. There was blood all over his mouth and jaw from where Cabrera had hit him.

Behind Cabrera, Aaron remained framed in the doorway. His presence was intensely aggravating. “You might as well leave. I’ve done it,” snapped Cabrera over his shoulder.

“You’ve killed some computers,” replied Aaron calmly, “but, so far you’ve hesitated to kill Eugene here. The true damage isn’t done yet. I’m not giving up on you, or leaving either of you alone. I care about Mr Miggs too.”

Kill Miggs. Kill Miggs. Oh God! Help me! He’s just a kid.

Cabrera tried to squeeze the trigger, but couldn’t. Miggs’ face swam before his eyes as tears stung. “Caroline’s been through enough,” he cried, voice raw. The buzzing in his head was deafening now. “How can I let her go through more?”

“Your daughter is in Heaven. It’s you who’s suffering in hell.”

“Prove it!” The roar grated against his raw throat.

Instead, Aaron pushed away from the doorway and came closer. He moved slowly and cautiously, wisely avoiding becoming a threat. “Tell me something, Carl. Why did you think your daughter might have come to Gehenna at all?” He continued without waiting for an answer. “You raised her alone after your wife’s death, but you brought her up with love for God, as a believer and follower of Christ. The idea shouldn’t have even entered your mind.”

Cabrera had to think back to his recall his reasoning. “She went to meet her killer. I was never sure what her relationship had been with him. She was sixteen and curious. I didn’t know and he…” his throat closed. He couldn’t finish

“Caroline went to confession the morning of her death,” said Aaron, “didn’t the priest tell you? She was sorry for lying to you and asked for forgiveness, and she got it. Her relationship with her killer was limited. He was grooming her, gaining her trust, but they hadn’t met alone before. Surely the priest hinted at this to comfort you.”

“He tried. I was out of it.” Cabrera shook his head. The disorientation was back and he was beginning to feel dizzy with it. What was real? Until Roland he’d managed to put Caroline to the back of his mind, never forgotten, but not the obsession she’d been at the beginning. He hadn’t found a single trace of her and he’d tried to take comfort from that. Work had been his balm. He’d worked his ass off to be a good chief constable. Roland had shattered that comfort.

Could he trust Aaron?

He should have just shot Roland.

Aaron changed tactics. “You realise, don’t you, that Mr Miggs, Harry and anyone else you’re forced to kill today will only be the start. You’ll have to take Sauvage’s place as the driving-force towards war. The murders were simply the catalyst, a way of making it seem necessary for relations with the old quarter to change for the sake of safety. They wouldn’t have been enough on their own, which is why your plan to expose the lies would have worked. Even now, it will take sustained effort before millions of lives will be lost, and the Evil One appeased.”

Millions of lives…Satan doesn’t have her to give to you…Lies are his stock-in-trade

“Just…shut the hell up. I can’t—I need to think.”

It hit Cabrera then: he couldn’t kill Miggs, or Harry. He couldn’t campaign for a war that would annihilate millions. He couldn’t do it, not any of it. He’d been fooling himself.

The epiphany was shattering. It physically hurt to lower the pistol and Cabrera fell to his knees before he managed to do it. Tears were tracking down his face. He didn’t recognise the ragged, keening moan he heard coming out of his own mouth. The pistol hit the metal floor with a clang. Every ache and scratch started to burn, even hotter than before. He felt worse than when he’d first come around on the carpet of Sauvage’s study.

He turned reddened, sunken eyes on Aaron. “Are you an angel?”

Aaron knew what he really wanted to know and took pity on him, saying, “I am, and I would never lie to you.”

Caroline was okay. Cabrera had to believe it. With proof out of his reach, what other choice did he have?

“Okay. Okay.” Sucking in a shuddering breath, Cabrera reached down and flicked the pistol away from him and towards Miggs, saying, “Take it.”

The E-AID Tech picked up the pistol, but didn’t aim it at Cabrera as he’d half expected, or meet his eyes. Cabrera felt both ashamed and grateful. The kid’s face was swelling and bruising spectacularly.

Aaron hunkered down next to him. “Now what?” asked Cabrera tiredly.

“Your technical officer is a careful and conscientious man, Chief. Aren’t you, Eugene?”

Miggs looked confused and discomforted to be the centre of attention. “Er, I think so. I guess…how do you mean?” The swelling of his nose distorted his voice, making him sound congested.

“You have a spare laptop with everything downloaded onto it. In fact, all the software you need,” said Aaron. “It’s an exact mirror of the one over there, is it not?”

The confusion doubled. “You mean my backup? Er, yeah. I do, but it’s at my apartment…miles away.”

“It was,” agreed Aaron with a slight smile, “Now it’s in the second substation on the opposite side of this transmission station. If we run, we can be there in a few minutes. In fact, there’s every chance we could have the Didascalium data-feed back up in less than ten minutes.”

Aaron was a solid, comforting and unflappable presence. Cabrera stared at him, bemused. “You’ve come prepared. How did you know all of this was going down?”

“When necessary, I can catch glimpses of multiple possible futures for particular situations, but only for very short spaces of time. I got enough to work things out and cover the bases.”

Cabrera nodded. “Good job for us.” He looked over at Miggs, “Are you up to the task, Mr Miggs.”

“Sure, let’s go.” Miggs got to his feet, making a show of tucking the pistol into the back of his over-tight jeans, ostensibly leaving his superior officer unarmed. Cabrera winced at the bad practice but held his tongue. It wasn’t his buttock in peril.

Straightening up too, Aaron held out a hand to Cabrera. He accepted. The strength in that steely grip was palpable as Aaron pulled him to his feet, making Cabrera grateful the angel hadn’t punched back in the elevator.

o~O~o

Michael came around with a deep-throated groan. It was the vibration of that groan in his chest that dragged him closer to consciousness; memory did the rest. The lectern had been booby-trapped and he’d barely been able to leap away in time to avoid being blown apart. Liz was alone and unprotected. Liz! He bolted up into a sitting position, groaning again when his head throbbed viciously.

“Liz!” Calling her name produced no response.

Where the hell was she? His sense of smell was screwed up by the lingering smoke and gases.

He dragged himself to his feet and then stood swaying on the spot. Sticky blood clung to the right side of his face and matted his hair. Michael was soaking wet. The denim of his jeans felt like a dead weight and, under his jacket, his grey t-shirt clung to his chest like a second skin. The Star’s emergency lights were humming and flickering. Outside, it was dark enough to be night, despite not yet reaching mid-day. Muscles and nerves protested against moving so soon. Ignoring the pain, he sloshed through puddles to get back to the stage where he’d left Liz.

She wasn’t there anymore. Liz had proved time and again she wouldn’t ditch him in favour of her own safety. She wouldn’t have left without him.

Michael’s belly clutched in dread. His head spun so hard he had to clutch the side of the stage. He’d failed her. He’d promised he wouldn’t let Gabriel get his hands on her…and he’d failed. He was in a crappy physical condition just when he needed to be lucid and clear thinking.

Screw that! Concentrate. Think and find her. Gabriel couldn’t have had her long, and the Didascalium was crawling with humans. Where would he take her? Think, damn it!

There was a heartbeat. He could also smell blood, just a hint of it under all the other crap lingering in the air. Okay, so follow it through, Michael told himself. Where could the heartbeat be coming from. He couldn’t see anybody and it sounded too close to be coming from outside? He looked up and the breath froze in his lungs.

The blood scent was coming from the crystal stalactite-esque lights. The longest crystal was in the centre of the cluster and blood was slowly running down it. He backed up, eyes glued to the light feature. The crystals were attached to a huge silver-alloy ring. The ring was in turn attached to a thick chain dropping from the soaring height of the uppermost pinnacle of the roof.

Gabriel hadn’t taken her far at all. Liz was hanging upside down on the chain. Her arms were outstretched and the wrists were tied to the ring’s inner support struts. Blood was sullenly pumping from both sides of her neck and both wrists, slowly but surely draining out of her. The first drop of it fell from the middle crystal and hit the marble floor twelve meters below. She wasn’t moving.

No! Anguish speared out of his heart and wrapped around his chest, constricting sharply. “Liz!” Michael bellowed her name.

He saw her eyelids flicker and then open, and the pain in those green-gold depths raked his soul, but it was the cloudy confusion that made his gut clutch with fear. How much blood had she lost, had the bastard taken? Knowing Gabriel had bitten her made his hands shake with rage. Adrenaline obliterated his own pain. He wanted to peel the flesh off his father’s bones, and fully intended to. But Liz came first.

“Hold on. I’m coming.” His voice was hoarse, breaking in the middle. God, just let her live! I’ll do anything. It was a prayer—his first ever. She was the only thing in his Godforsaken afterlife he’d ever cared about. He needed her to live; if she died, he’d have to be put down like a rabid dog because he’d be the next best thing to feral.

Liz was conscious, and she had a heart beat and blood pressure. Michael grimly hung onto those facts. He couldn’t see any likely controls to lower the crystals and didn’t have time to search. He needed to stop the bleeding now. If he couldn’t bring her to him, he’d have to go to her. He took a running leap and stretched as high as he could. The crystals were too high up and he couldn’t reach. Cursing, he tried again, this time running at the stage to use it as leverage to twist and push up, leaping higher. His fingers skimmed the longest crystal, but couldn’t get any grip. He’d barely landed back on the marble floor before Michael was sprinting for the stairs to the first-floor mezzanine.

He needed some height as a boost. He had to get to Liz. It was a litany circling his mind. If he got to her before she lost too much blood he could heal her. Nothing else mattered.

The mezzanine held a spacious café filled with tables and chairs. The balcony was reinforced glass. The mezzanine was still a good distance from the crystals, both height and length-wise, but he stood a decent chance of at least latching on to one and climbing up. Reaching deep for speed, arms pumping, Michael raced for the balcony, intending to use it as launch pad to get to Liz.

His foot hit the balcony, ready to launch. At the exact same moment, Michael felt the rush of air to his right too late to avoid the collision. Gabriel got him in a body-lock and they both toppled off the balcony. They fell, plummeting to the ground floor. Gabriel released his hold. Michael braced himself for the impact. He hit the ground, rolled and flipped back onto his feet. His swords were already in his hands. Gabriel, armed with an oriental katana, rushed him before the liquid metal had fully formed. To gain time, Michael met the son of a bitch with a high, spinning kick to the face.

Gabriel staggered back, whipped around and charged again. Michael released his fangs, eyes changing as he gave a guttural roar. The swords met with a vicious, ringing clang.

“You didn’t think I’d make it that easy did you?” Gabriel taunted. “I’ve waited a long time for this.”

The bastard wasn’t going to let him get to Liz. He’d thwart every attempt. Michael peeled back his lips to bare his fangs. “Just shut up and fight.”

There were no preliminaries or grand-standing. The fight began as it would continue: raging at a speed human eyes couldn’t follow. Using alternating horizontal and slanted strikes, Michael advanced, raining blows with a savagery that Gabriel could barely block and parry while retreating.

“I didn’t even bury your body last time.” Michael told him. “I left it rotting—food for crows. This time, they’ll probably want to dissect you and take a look at that sick brain of yours.”

“An illuminating fantasy, but you get ahead of yourself,” Gabriel growled. “I heard you drowned in a ship off the coat of Syria. How unexciting.”

“Not for me. I was pretty interested at the time.”

Finally, Gabriel managed to break his rhythm and change from defence to attack. He came in with a flurry of blindingly fast stabs at Michael’s head, then abruptly swept low with the speed of a striking snake. Michael deflected, pivoted on his heels, flipped overhead then retaliated from the rear, aiming high with one sword and directing a kidney-thrust with the other. Gabriel deflected the thrust and ducked to the side to avoid the high slash, ending with a body-spin to get out of reach.

A heartbeat later, Gabriel launched a counter offensive that tapped into the katana’s sheer velocity. Michael was forced to retreat. Even with two blades, he struggled to counter and deflect. They were too evenly matched.

Aware of every precious second passing, Michael lost patience and made a reckless move. Dropping to a squat, he lashed out with ankle sweep that knocked Gabriel off balance and then vaulted over his head. Gabriel spun too, seeing the opportunity. He sliced an over-hand chop at his son’s exposed back. Michael blocked the strike with both blades crossed and slapped the katana aside with his right blade as he whirled. Being so easily rebutted wrong-footed Gabriel. Now, he was forced to give ground as Michael’s lunges, slashes, power strikes and overhand chops battered him with raw, brutal power. He could find no break to exploit to counter effectively. Michael just kept coming. The twin blades were a flurry of inexorable rage.

In the time it took for another drop of Liz’s blood to fall from the crystal and splatter on the stage, they’d crossed back twenty meters. Slash. Parry. Strike. Strike. Block. Spin. Chop.

Michael’s heartbeats were a ticking clock. No time. He needed to get to Liz! She could bleed out if he didn’t get to her soon.

Gabriel must have guessed his thoughts. “Liz will die before we’re finished, Michael,” he taunted. “We’re too evenly matched.” Stacks of moulded plastic chairs were kept in an alcove. As they passed, Gabriel snatched up a few chairs and lashed them at Michael in an attempt to slow him down.

The tactic failed. Michael knocked them aside without slowing and increased his strikes. He wasted no effort, focused on winning. He rained power blows that tapped into every ounce of strength. The clang of metal hummed up his arms. The ring of steel on steel was constant, overlapping, resonating.

“She’s fading even as we speak,” added Gabriel, grunting under the violence of the assault. He was hugging the wall now in an attempt to protect his weaker left side and visibly tiring. He’d always been quicker, but Michael was stronger.

Michael’s answer was to feint to the left, snap his right blade up in a back-handed, upward slash and follow with a kick to the face from the left. Gabriel blocked and parried, but had no time to evade the kick. He staggered back, stumbled against the wall and barely managed to keep his balance. A large tapestry of silver and gilt thread hung on the wall. Gabriel snatched it off and threw it. Michael had to evade or risk getting tangled up in the heavy fabric.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Gabriel sprinted for the central, circular stage, bounding up the steps and leaping up on to it before Michael could stop him.

“Taking a breather?” snarled Michael. Frustration boiled his blood. His father now held the advantage of height. He couldn’t risk following until Gabriel moved further back and gave him room. “You always were weak.”

Gabriel grinned and shook his head. “Sticks and stones, Michael…I don’t care what you think. You’re nothing.” He shrugged. “You’ve always been nothing. I should have killed you back when you were in your mother’s belly. My mistake, but at least I have Liz, dying overhead, to act as a balm to soothe my ruffled pride.”

Michael began to prowl in front of the stage, eyes narrowed and waiting for a chance to re-engage. “You shouldn’t have laid a hand on her,” he said flatly.

“No? I beg to differ. It’s you who shouldn’t have sweetened the pot by falling in love with her, as insane as that notion is for the likes of us.” Gabriel laughed now. “Come on. How could I resist such a temptation?”

Michael bared his fangs. “That’s bull crap. I wasn’t in love with her when you first went after her.”

“You were obsessed with her and you didn’t even know it, or refused to accept it.” Gabriel lifted the katana, and used it to point at his son. “I think you enchanted yourself with that moment of mercy. In fact, that night in Uruk was the start of it all. If you hadn’t saved her, you’d never have come to anyone’s attention. The story spread far and wide. I was already on my way when I was enlisted for this delightful little job.” He canted his head enquiringly, “Does she know you love her?”

“Like you know anything about it.” Michael’s snarled response was knee-jerk. Liz was over their heads, dying. He couldn’t look up at her. Seeing her would rip into him and he needed to concentrate. The smell of blood was much stronger now and his nostrils flared. Panic tightened his chest like a vice.

“Au contraire: I’ve seen your dreams,” mocked Gabriel, “So emotional. Really, I was quite moved. One criticism though, you should have just bedded her. All that stoic self-restraint was making me want to puke, not to mention frustrating my voyeuristic tendencies.”

Michael kept his face expressionless. Gabriel was trying to make him careless. Instead of wasting time with a reply, he deactivated his swords and picked up a chunk of debris, the upper half of an eagle, and launched it straight at his father.

He’d known Gabriel would avoid the makeshift missile easily, but it did force him to move back. Michael was up on the stage in a heartbeat, swatting music and sound equipment aside without taking his eyes off his father. His swords were back in his hands. His snap-kick to the gut sent Gabriel stumbling backwards. Michael lunged, stamping down where his father’s head would have been—too late. Back on his feet, Gabriel slashed at his neck with the katana and when Michael evaded, reversed his swing to backhand him across the face. Michael retaliated with a smashed pommel in the teeth before Gabriel could move out of range, shattering several fangs.

“Guess who won’t be biting anyone until those repair?” Michael taunted.

Gabriel spat out the broken pieces and gave him a tight, feral grin. “Too late for Liz.”

Michael ripped a speaker from its moorings and lashed it at his father. Gabriel punched it aside. Michael did the same with the next speaker. Gabriel growled in fury and back-flipped off the stage.

Michael was just about to go after him when two figures burst in through the main entrance doors. Harry and Ruth. What the hell? He didn’t have time to do more than scowl. Harry was waving an urgent arm and pelting down the choral hall, helping a limping Ruth. “Get down, the militia are right behind us,” he hollered.

Un-frigging-believable!

Michael felt another spike of frustration. He shouted back, “Find the controls for those crystals and get Liz down. I’ll deal with Gabriel and the militia.”

~o~

Miggs had restored the data-feed to the stations not long after Harry and Ruth left the Ops centre. They’d seen the fight between Gabriel and Michael shown, larger than life, on the city’s aerial media-screens. Several of the massive screens were floating hundreds of meters above the skyline as they raced through the campus to get to the Bethlehem Star.

The media stations were in full hysterical flow. Parts of the battle were being repeated in slow motion so the viewing public could actually see what was going on. The fight was a visually stunning display of destructive, demonic power. The incipient rioting was stopped in its tracks. The public address system inside the Star had been activated too. They weren’t just getting images, but sound as well. The people lining the campus were watching the screens, spellbound, and breathlessly awaiting the next revelation.

Ruth had been relieved to see Michael alive, and utterly terrified for Liz. It didn’t take a genius to realise Michael couldn’t help Liz before dealing with Gabriel, not without endangering both their lives. She and Harry decided to keep going to try and help. However, they hadn’t counted on nearly crashing into a militia troop transport also en-route to the Star.

If that wasn’t surprising enough, the next thing they’d known was they were being fired at like fugitives. They escaped by the skin of their teeth. After that aborted confrontation, the race was on to get to the Star first.

She and Harry had won, by about thirty seconds. Now they were pinned down at the side of the stage.

“I’m a technophobe,” Ruth confessed to Harry over the racket of his returning fire. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas where the controls for the chandelier might be?”

“No idea,” Harry shouted back. “Use your mobile. Contact the Ops centre and get them to bring up the buildings plans. They should be able to point us in the right direction.”

“Right. Okay. Good idea.” Keeping her head down, Ruth pulled out her mobile phone and began punching in the numbers.

“While you’re at it,” Harry grimly continued, “tell them to send in a few units. I doubt this is the only entrance and we could do with some help.”

Once the call was answered, Ruth relayed their requests. It took long, tense moments for her to receive the information they needed. She ended the call and tapped Harry on the back of his right shoulder, then leaned in to speak into his ear. “The controls are behind a panel at the front of the stage, facing the main doors.”

Smoothly, Harry slammed in a new magazine into the rifle and laid down another line of fire. He grimaced at her words, “In other words, we’ll be sitting ducks the moment we try and get Liz down.”

“I know, but we have to try,” shouted Ruth. “I could go, with you covering me from here.”

Harry gave an emphatic shake of his head without looking at her, “No! Too risky. We’ll think of something else.”

Ruth didn’t let herself hesitate. Thankfully the militia didn’t terrify her as much as Gabriel did. “Sorry, Harry, but we don’t have time for that.”

She flattened herself to the floor and began to worm her way over to the centre of the stage-front facing the main entrance. A fresh hail of bullets peppered the stage over her head. Ruth heard Harry cursing and shouting after her, and ignored him. She didn’t see any other choice. If they didn’t get Liz down now they might not get a chance later. Harry was right, the Star would have other entrances and the militia could be coming at them from every angle at any moment. It was a wonder they hadn’t already. She figured they had Michael to thank for that fact.

Either way, Liz had saved her from Gabriel and it was her turn to return the favour. Ruth was scared stiff but resolute.

It took her terrifyingly-long minutes to crawl to the middle of the huge stage and then scrutinise the panels to find the right one. The battle continued around her unabated. At last, she found something that looked promising. With shaking fingers, she depressed the button and gave a sigh of relief when the panel front slid up to reveal a control box laden with switches, dials and buttons. There she hit another snag. The control panel didn’t just deal with the crystal lights, but a thousand other things to do with the stage and the productions.

Squinting, she tried to make out any labels. Ruth was wishing she had a torch, heck, even a pen-light, when she remembered her mobile phone backlight. Lying on her back, she dug her phone out of her pocket and activated it. The light wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing. More bullets zinged over her head. She reached for a switch labelled ‘LGHT LOW’ and flicked it up. At the same moment, she heard something heavy landing next to her head. With her heart lodged in her mouth, she looked up and saw the face that haunted her nightmares. A demon’s face twisted with malevolence was looming over her.

Gabriel.

Ruth screamed; something long and metallic flashed before her face. There was a clang of metal. Gabriel snarled and pulled back. Another face, almost, but not quite identical appeared over hers.

Michael.

A hard hand grabbed the front of Ruth’s smock, dragged her around in a tight semi-circle and then sent her sliding all the way back towards Harry and relative safety. Trembling like the proverbial leaf, Ruth rolled over onto her front.

She looked back at Michael. She could only catch glimpses of the fight, blink-like flashes of vision not unlike a movie reel on fast-forward. He was using an automatic rifle with one hand, aiming at the militiamen cowering down at the entrance, all the while battling with Gabriel using a sword. Unbelievably, the swords were faster. He was at a disadvantage though and reduced to using only a single sword. In one of those odd flashes of real-time movement, Ruth saw Gabriel slip under his son’s guard and slice at his ribs. Michael’s fangs flashed white as he gave a bellow of pain. Following through, Gabriel pivoted, aiming an elbow at Michael’s face. Just in time, Michael reared back. His sword went clattering out of his hand. Ruth screamed again, expecting that to be the end of the fight. She was wrong. Her jaw dropped when Michael and went airborne, flying over Gabriel’s head to land behind him. Another blur-blink-moment. Michael had Gabriel in a head-lock.

She felt a hand grab her ankle and haul her closer to the corner of the stage. It was Harry, and he was still ranting. Ruth gladly let herself be dragged back towards cover.

~o~

Gabriel flipped him over his shoulder. Michael rolled, avoiding the stabbing katana before it could impale his chest. Disarmed of his sword and with Ruth in the clear, Michael used the rifle as a last resort. Gabriel ducked and weaved around the molten rounds of metal spat out by the rifle. Michael back-rolled towards his sword, but Gabriel got there first and kicked it further out of reach. Michael dropped back to the floor, spun on the small of his back and lashed out, toppling Gabriel, then lunged for his sword. A stray bullet caught it just as he was about to grab the hilt. He missed. Back on his feet, Gabriel stabbed with the katana, aiming straight for the gut. Michael twisted, throwing himself backwards, and felt the razor-sharp metal slice his skin open again, this time across his abdomen, and lost his temper.

Dropping the rifle, Michael ducked under his father’s next swing, put his back to Gabriel’s front and used his left hand to grab the katana’s hilt. Reversing the move and using all of his superior strength, Michael hauled Gabriel around so his back was to Michael’s front, and grabbed a fistful of hair to yank his head back. The move would have worked if Gabriel’s hair had been his own. The wig came away in his hand.

Gabriel did snap his head back, in a head-butt that gained him his freedom.

“Nice wig,” growled Michael, tossing it away in disgust. Blood trickled down his jaw from a cut on his lip. He swiped it away with the back of his hand.

Bullets were buzzing around them, forcing them to keep moving to avoid being hit. There were sounds of gunfights outside the Star too. Harry must have summoned more SC units as backup. Grinning maniacally, Gabriel put the katana through a complicated set of swings, emphasising he was armed and Michael wasn’t.

“Make your move and stop screwing around,” Michael told him. “I don’t have all day.”

He forced himself to relax, jettisoning his anger and lengthening his breaths. His fists were unclenched, hands resting at his sides. From experience, Michael knew he needed to be calm for this to work. He dropped to one knee, placing his hands on either side of his legs, like a sprinter at the starting blocks preparing for a race. Gabriel gave a laugh that was high-pitched with glee. Michael closed his eyes. Images flashed over his closed lids. He felt the air churn, disturbed by the speed at which Gabriel came at him.

In his mind’s eye Michael saw the katana strike, chop-chop-slash, before any move had even been made—a brief vision, but enough. Still with his eyes closed, he rose fluidly and twisted his body in a complicated serious of evasive manoeuvres. He felt the cold wash of air sliding off the blade just missing his flesh. He struck with his now closed fist at the exposed wrist as it was carried past his right bicep by the momentum of a missed lunge.

The bone snapped. The katana dropped to the floor. Gabriel gave a cry of pain and skidded back on his heels. Eyes snapping open, Michael lunged, wrapping the fingers of both hands around his father’s throat, and squeezed. If Gabriel had been human he’d have died then and there, but he wasn’t human. Gabriel let himself fall to the floor, rammed up a hand between them to slam the heel of his palm into Michael’s chin, at the same time bucking hard and flipping his legs up. Anticipating the move, Michael had tightened his neck muscles and bore down, braced for the blow, but he still saw stars. He lost his grip. A microsecond later, he landed a few feet away.

They got back to their feet, breathing hard.

Gabriel dived for his sword. Michael caught him with a full-on kick to the face, crunching cartilage. The sword spun away and hit the bottom of a column supporting the roof. Gabriel rolled and lashed out with ankle-kick. Michael evaded and hooked a hand on the foot, then lifted and swung his father bodily for a full three hundred and sixty degrees before letting go. Gabriel went airborne and crashed into a statue of the Blessed Mother and Child.

The gunfire inside the Star was sporadic now. The crystal lights had lowered almost to the stage. Michael wasted precious seconds watching Harry Gillespie risk his life to climb up and cut Liz down. Ruth was keeping him covered with a pistol but there were few militiamen in sight. Those seconds allowed Gabriel to get back to his feet. Using his sleeve, he swiped at the blood pouring out of his nose. His face was tight with seething fury, eyes ablaze with it.

Michael watched him feed that fury, cranking up his rage to tap deeper into the demon. They squared off again, continuously moving, but always with the other in full sight. Over on the stage, Harry was finally lowering Liz to the floor. Squatting next to them, Ruth was tearing strips off her smock to bandage the bite wounds and staunch the flow of blood. The weight off Michael’s chest was immense. Liz’s friends were seeing to her, caring for her. They were the lucky ones.

He had to battle the intense temptation to risk going to her himself. Gabriel was lighter and faster than he was; in a race, Michael would lose.

Nothing had changed. He still had to kill Gabriel first. Michael lowered his chin, eyes level and voice flat. He raised a hand, beckoning with his fingers. “Let’s finish this.”

Gabriel dropped his jaw and gave a long, guttural roar. Michael returned the favour and they flew at one another. There was no civilised veneer left, no connection to humanity or history through swords. Now, like the ferals, they were reduced to using bare hands. Michael’s heavier frame gave him the advantage when they collided. Gabriel slammed into the stairwell leading up the mezzanine, shattering the clear safety glass. The fight up the stairs was brutal and intense.

Pain had always infuriated Michael in whatever form it came. When Gabriel shattered a rib with a powerful, short-armed punch to his right side, he saw a haze of red and retaliated with a savage back-handed punch that knocked Gabriel on his ass. Still snarling, Michael gripped his father’s face with one crushing hand, lifting him off the top stair, and launched him in the air. Gabriel landed on the glass topped buffet bar and grill in the centre of the café.

When Michael saw his father gathering himself he braced, expecting Gabriel to come at him. Instead, Gabriel raced for the same balcony he’d knocked Michael off earlier. Michael’s first thought was that Gabriel was going after Liz again. He thundered across the mezzanine and followed, launching himself across the space and catching hold of the wildly swinging chain. He looked up. Gabriel was climbing up, not down. What? Michael looked beyond his father to the glass and crystal roof.

Unbelievable. The coward was trying to get away. He was moving fast too. He was already nearing the top of the chain. There was no chance Michael could catch up. No. Damn it. Not happening. If Gabriel got out, he’d be gone. He was too good at hiding himself until he decided to surface again. There would be no peace or security for Liz.

Michael looked down. Liz had been moved. A woman in paramedic’s uniform was tending to her. Cabrera and a few others had joined Harry and Ruth. More SC troopers were milling around, staring up and watching him and Gabriel.

He couldn’t let Gabriel get away. This nightmare would go on and on if he did. If he couldn’t get to him, then he had to get the bastard to come down.

A wild idea came to him. The crystals were thirty meters directly below him. The stage was now empty of people. He had one chance and the possibility of success was slim at best.

Michael let go of the chain and let himself fall. He heard warning shouts and knew he’d been seen by the humans below. The stage rushed towards him. Michael tried to get his feet under him, but was only partially successful. He felt rather than heard the shattering of crystal as he landed on his knees on the ring holding the monolithic-sized cluster together. The ring snapped under him. White-hot agony lanced through his body. Splinters of crystal sliced into his face and hands as he slumped. Groaning, he forced himself to move. He fell off the shattered light feature, hitting the stage with a fresh wave of sickening pain. He heard a shout and cracked open his eyes. He was lying on his back. It took a second to focus on the young, fresh-faced trooper leaning over him.

Michael lifted a hand, saying, “Give me a pistol.” The trooper looked blank. His chest struggled to rise with the pain wracking his body, but he managed to bark, “NOW!”

A pistol was placed in his open palm. The chain and Gabriel were directly above him. Every nerve was screaming in protest at the punishment he’d put his body through. It took too long, but Michael finally managed to sight down the pistol. He fired three times in quick succession. The first shot caught the roof. The second shot hit what he was aiming at—the top of the chain—the third hit the glass ceiling, shattering it.

The chain, Gabriel, and parts of the glass roof plummeted towards the stage and Michael. If he could have, he would have moved out of the way, but he couldn’t do a damn thing. He could only lie there and watch as Gabriel grappled with air. Michael felt intense satisfaction at finally seeing terror on that face. For once, he didn’t recognise his reflection in the mirror.

At the last possible moment, someone grabbed hold of Michael and roughly hauled him out of the way as the chain, jagged shards of roof and Gabriel smacked into the remains of the crystal light with a tremendous, earth-shaking bang!. It took a few seconds of blankness before Michael recognised the bearded face framed by shoulder-length brown hair. Aaron. Ignoring his saviour for the moment, Michael turned his head to look back at the ruined crystal cluster.

The central crystal which had been bathed with Liz’s blood was now soaked in Gabriel’s. The crystal had broken into two jagged, razor-sharp pieces from the sudden, intense pressure of Michael landing on the outer, supporting ring. Gabriel was impaled by both of them, one through his sternum, and one through his pelvis. Blood was pouring from a slack mouth and sightless demon eyes were staring up at the broken roof.

“Gotcha again,” he murmured, more to himself than to the angel by his side.

It was nearly over. Michael soaked in the sight for a few moments, and then asked Aaron. “How’s Liz?”

“In need of your tender ministrations,” Aaron answered bluntly. “Do you think you can move?”

No, but he was going to anyway.

“Help me up.” Michael gave a long, agonised groan when Aaron put an arm under his shoulders and lifted him into a sitting position. Getting off the stage and onto his feet was pure torture. He stumbled after the first step. Instantly, another shoulder came under his to prop him up on the other side too. Cabrera’s dark eyes met his. “I owe you an apology,” said the chief constable.

“Later. Get me over to Liz.”

A crowd had gathered around Liz and it parted as they approached. Liz was on a stretcher with a thin silver sheet tucked around her shoulders. All he could see was her white, still face. Michael shivered at the sheer intensity of his relief. There was no sign of blue around the lips. Harry was on his knees next to her hip. Ruth was sitting on the floor by her head, stroking her hair. They both looked up at him with an air of relief and hopeful expectation.

Aaron and Cabrera lowered him next to Liz. Michael didn’t know if he’d broken all of the bones in both legs, but it sure felt like it. Screw it. It didn’t matter. He could smell Liz: her blood as well as the unique scent that was all hers. He could hear her heartbeat too—it was too fast and thready. Harry gently tugged off the silver sheet. Her wrists were wrapped in bandages and huge plasters covered her neck to the point of overlapping. They’d cleaned her up as much as they could. There were no obvious signs of blood, but he could still smell it.

She was alive though.

Michael lifted her arm. His fingers were dark against her ultra-pale skin and filthy with blood. The cuff of her sleeves had been sliced to allow the medic access to the bite wounds. Michael ripped the left one further until he could get at her inner elbow. The crowd in the Star was silent, waiting. All eyes seemed to be on him. Michael lifted the arm to his mouth. He caught Ruth smiling encouragingly at him at the same moment as he sank his fangs into Liz’s skin, giving the woman he loved what she needed to heal.

Now it was over.

onto EPILOGUE

2011-02-07T16:34:00.009Z

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Not long after joining the special constabulary, Liz came to realise she had a fatalistic disposition. Waiting to walk straight into a danger-zone was nerve-wracking to the point of controlled panic, but once she was there, her nerves would settle. It was as if her subconscious would throw up its hands, saying, ‘well, it’s too bloody late to worry about it now’. The same phenomenon happened once she was inside the Didascalium. All jitteriness disappeared. She was here with an objective to achieve, and the sooner she got it done, the sooner she could leave.

The flesh-coloured communicator in her right ear was too small to be picked up by the CCTV cameras, and allowed her to keep in touch with her escort. When she needed to speak to them in turn, Liz’s voice was transmitted via a microphone tucked into the high collar of her mission suit.

“We’ve lost Thane. I repeat, we’ve lost Thane.”

Liz came to an abrupt halt, “What! What do you mean lost him?”

“He’s ditched his comm unit and tracker. We don’t know where he is now. He could be anywhere.”

Brilliant. Michael ‘could be anywhere’. No kidding, Sherlock; including headed this way!

The jitteriness returned with a vengeance. They’d been on campus for less than twenty minutes, and steered well clear of any areas Michael and the other constables might foreseeably use for their ‘battles’. When they’d first arrived, they’d been able to hear sporadic gunfire in the direction of the Religious Arts department and faculty apartments. There were now three constabulary units pretending to try and liberate the hostages and corner Michael. Liz was both impressed and terrified by the illusion of realism they’d managed to create. The Didascalium really did seem like a miniature war-zone.

None of which explained why Michael had ditched his communicator. Dread pooled in her belly. This was not good. “Could he know we’re here—I’m here?”

“We don’t know. You’ve already been sighted by Channel 44 and a few other media stations illegally monitoring the data stream from the onsite security cameras. You’re publicly known to be present onsite. Job done. We should get out of here.” The trooper sounded nervous, and so he should.

“Agreed.” Liz did an about turn and started to jog back the way she’d come. The entrance hall to this library wing acted as an open-plan cafeteria too. The building was vast, echoing and dark except for the orange glow of emergency lighting. “I’ll race you back to the scriptorium,” she said. “Whoever reaches the shuttle first warms up the engine, okay? Do me a favour, no dawdling.”

“But, we can’t just leave you...our orders—”

“Don’t argue, just go! More bodies mean more scent. You’ll draw him right to me.”

Liz picked up her pace. Her temper had cooled, abandoning her just when she needed it, damn it! She was no longer so sanguine about facing a furious Michael. It suddenly occurred to her he hadn’t been in a great mood to begin with, and he’d be pumped with adrenaline waiting for Gabriel. Her actions might be a small betrayal in the scheme of things, but he was not an easy man to reason with at the best of times. What excuse could she use for keeping him in the dark? ‘Cabrera asked me to make sure Gabriel hot-footed it straight here, and you got me angry so I agreed?’

She could just imagine his reaction. Actually, no, she couldn’t and didn’t want to try. Lord, please let this be a false alarm!

Liz reached the double doors leading to the ground floor auditorium. She yanked one of them open and lunged through the gap. Her heart was racing. If her memory was correct, this diversion should provide a shortcut to avoid some of those long, dark corridors. Plus, if Michael had somehow picked up on her scent, strictly doubling-back on herself was a bad idea: she needed to diversify the trail.

Liz had known from the start he’d find out she’d deceived him. The whole point of her presence here was to get that fact out on the news, and it would still be public knowledge afterwards. However, Michael confronting her after the fact, when this was all over and she was safely away from Didascalium, seemed vastly preferable to being nabbed in the act. Liz was happy to admit pride and self-preservation played their part in keeping her feet moving and arms pumping.

On the far right side of the presentation platform was another door. The seats were fixed in aisles of descending rows. Liz took the quickest route she could through the hip-high maze. The door opened into a small, dark corridor with signs pointing to a ‘mood suite’. These turned out to be a series of four interconnecting rooms. The first room was crammed to the rafters with furniture and loud décor. The next was less cluttered and more subtle. The last was minimalist with three cream walls and one entirely made of glass panels. The last ‘room’ was outside. Beyond the glass was a courtyard garden. Like the rest of the campus, the doors were unlocked. Liz pressed the pressure pad to activate the opening mechanism and the glass slid silently back on the tracks. Outside was grey and damp with thick, sullen clouds obscuring any efforts by the sun. The damp air felt good on her flushed face.

The garden had an artificial stream winding through it, with stepping stones to reach the other side. Liz crossed them and reached a second sliding glass door which led to the same reception area they’d used to enter this wing. The scriptorium lay on the left. The shuttle was parked right outside the doors and nestled under an overhanging shelter

Tossing caution to the wind, Liz pelted across the reception area so fast she had to check herself at the automatic exit doors to avoid colliding with them.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered. They finally opened enough for her to dart through to outside.

Her first thought when she saw the bodies was that Michael had beaten her here and knocked a few heads together, then she saw the dark pool of blood under the dangling feet of one constable. He was hanging from the shuttle’s stubby and broken wing by his utility belt. Another trooper lay directly in her path; he was sprawled on his back, staring glassily back towards the doors she’d come through. The position of his head was so grotesque it couldn’t possibly still be attached to a spine.

The trooper was dead. They all were.

Liz’s breath guttered in her chest. God have mercy. Gabriel’s already here.

The wave of sick horror swept up from her toes in a tidal wave. Step by step, she began to retreat, hardly aware of moving. Icy fear locked the muscles of her neck. She couldn’t turn her head, terrified if she did he might lunge for her from the shadows. With a trembling hand, Liz tugged her sidearm free of its holster. Her eyes darted from side to side, searching and praying she wouldn’t find anything. Gabriel was here somewhere. The thought was a hot brand on her mind.

Move! Run!

The door sensors picked her up and began to reopen. She spun on her heel and raced back through them. She headed right, pounding up a short flight of steps and flinging herself through a set of double doors. If a vampire was hunting you, trying to be silent was useless. Only speed and distance could help her now. The corridor was short and ended with another set of double swing-doors, leading her to a T-section joining a much longer corridor running the length of the building. There was a freight lift thirty metres away on her right. Liz was still a few feet away when the lights went out. The corridor’s few windows were at the other end, too far to do her any good on a dark, stormy day. She was plunged into a gloom so thick it may as well have been night.

Her hand smacked the lift call-button. At the same moment, a piercing alarm began to screech. Heart hammering, Liz squeezed herself into the corner, between the lift door and the wall, so she could see the whole length of the corridor. The pistol was heavy in her clammy grip. Where was Gabriel? Was he close? The lift was taking forever and she couldn’t hear a thing over the alarm. “Come on, come on, please!”

The doors slid apart. At the far end of the corridor a large, dark figure burst through the swing-doors, streaking towards her. Liz’s heart nearly stopped. She flew into the lift cage and hit the button for a floor—any floor! He’d covered half the distance in a few seconds. He bellowed something, but she couldn’t hear anything over the shrieking alarm. Wide-eyed and near to hyperventilating with fear, Liz lifted the pistol and aimed it at the figure bearing down on her. Gabriel or Michael, she couldn’t tell. He was running so fast; a dark, furious blur. He might actually beat the lift doors. She could make out features now. Demon eyes the colour of obsidian bored into hers. His scorching fury seared her mind. The doors slid shut and the cage gave a tiny jolt as it began to descend.

A heartbeat later, she heard a tremendous clang of abused metal. The lift continued to descend. Liz closed her eyes and sagged against the rear wall. Her legs were shaking so hard she had to brace an arm against the side to remain upright.

The ordeal wasn’t over yet. A heavy thud on the ceiling jerked her head back to stare at the backlit tiles illuminating the cage from above. Her heart gave another lurch of terror. Was it him? Could he get through? She got her answer when a fist punched through the ceiling. She screamed. The lights went out with a hiss of spitting sparks. Simultaneously, the lift stopped and doors opened. She stumbled out, swinging around to cover the cage with her sidearm. The alarm hadn’t abated at all. Her ears were ringing with the constant din. Nobody dropped down from the lift ceiling.

Liz couldn’t afford to find out if it was Michael or Gabriel: by the time it was obvious, it would be too late. She had to keep moving.

She was on the platform of an underground subway station. She vaguely recalled reading about an automated train system serving the whole complex in a continuous loop. One of the trains was about to leave, and Liz darted onboard just as the doors slid shut. The train moved off, pulling out of the station. The platform disappeared and the train gathered speed with smooth efficiency. There were six carriages and she was on the middle one. Once the platform was no longer visible, Liz gave in to rubbery knees and slid down onto the bench seat opposite the doors.

She’d never been so scared in her life. Post-adrenaline crash was playing havoc with her nervous system. A fine tremor was running through her body. The same thoughts kept running through her mind.

If it had been Michael, she’d just made a stupid mistake, because even when angry with her he was her best means of protection.

If it had been Gabriel, she’d just had the luckiest escape ever.

She wasn’t sure what made her crane her neck to look down the carriage. There were partially glazed doors between each carriage. She spotted movement and froze. Someone was on the train with her, in the next carriage. The blood drained from her head, leaving her dizzy. She used the nearest pole to pull herself out of her seat and propel her down the aisle, heading up towards the front of the train.

A blast of seething emotion coming from behind hit her with the power of a body slam. It was him. Incredulity tangled with despair. He’d chased down the train. Would he never stop? This was insane! Why weren’t the two of them hunting each other down? Why keep after her? Cabrera’s warning echoed in her head. Don’t underestimate your impact on both of them.

Liz yanked the carriage door open, darted through and slammed it behind her. There was a locking mechanism and she activated it. She was panting and her breath misted the glass in front of her face. She saw the opposite carriage door buckle, then explode inward. Shattered glass rained down on the floor. A dark-clothed figure stepped through the twisted frame. They locked gazes, demon and human. The familiar face was brutally carved with no hint of mercy. Liz felt her courage quail under the incandescent rage he was directing right at her. Whichever one this was, he knew she was empath and was using it against her. Both Gabriel and Michael understood her abilities. He could still be either of them. Was there a mole? She couldn’t tell!

Liz turned and fled down the carriage. Using the emergency brake was an option she swiftly discarded. If he could chase down a train, he’d catch her easily in the tunnels. Swearing with rising hysteria and frustration, she fumbled with the next carriage door. He was already at the one she’d just locked. Bang. Bang. Bang. Liz finally dragged it open. Before she could slam it closed, the one behind her gave way, kicked out of its frame with such savagery it literally flew down the train.

She didn’t look back.

Knowing it was a useless gesture, she activated the lock before running on again. Dark, primal fear clawed up from her gut as she sprinted down the last carriage. Glass shattered behind her. Without slowing, Liz tried to get him to identify himself.

“Michael! Damn it! Stop this!”

No answer. Liz raced to the door leading to the train’s control cab. She strained and tugged at the handle but it didn’t budge. It was locked tight. Hysteria finally broke through. She hit, kicked and yelled at it, but didn’t make a dent.

She was trapped. There was nowhere else to go.

Panting, Liz spun and put her back to the locked cab. Her heart was trying to beat its way up her throat. She watched as the final barrier between them was heaved out of the way. He stepped through the wrecked doorway. The hands at his sides were bloodied and covered in cuts. Utter terror rooted her to the spot. Liz lifted the heavy pistol in the standard double-handed firing position. The barrel of the pistol was shaking. Could she shoot him? The bodies of the slaughtered troopers flashed before her minds eye. That was Gabriel’s work, not Michael’s. Tears stung.

She didn’t know who she was aiming at.

Oh God. Oh God, please help me. Please!

“Michael?” Her voice quavered and wobbled. She gritted her teeth and tried again. “If you don’t identify yourself, I’m going to shoot you.”

The same fury he’d chased her with smothered her now. Liz struggled to suck in air. Her vision turned hazy. Those dark eyes never left her face. He ignored the gun as if it wasn’t even there. She saw his body coil and tense. He was going to come regardless. Her finger tightened on the trigger. She saw a blur of movement and aimed low, hoping to catch his legs. The sound of the gunshots hadn’t even faded before Liz felt the pistol being wrenched out of her hands.

The speed of the attack was stunning. In a blink, she was pinned to the cabin door. The handle dug into her spine. Her hands were caught in a steely grip over her head. She didn’t know where the gun was now, and she could hardly breathe because of the heavy weight pressing against her chest and abdomen.

Nerves stretched taut, Liz waited for the pain to start.

And waited.

Nothing.

His head was next to hers. Warm wafts of breath heated her neck, raising goose-bumps.

“Two mistakes. You shouldn’t be here, and you shouldn’t have run from me.” His voice was little more than a guttural growl, but the accent was definitely American.

Liz caught the scent of his skin. She knew his smell. Michael.

She turned her head to look into his face. No mole. Liz erupted. “Michael!” She yelped in protest, squirming to break free and trying to buck against him. “You terrified the life out of me!”

He didn’t budge an inch. His flinty expression and demon eyes remained unchanged. “I meant to.” Liz couldn’t miss the flash of his fangs when he spoke. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t sedate you now and have done with it.”

Michael’s mouth was so close. Liz eyed the tips of his fangs uneasily. He hadn’t gentled his grip one iota. He was as serious as a heart attack. Her temper drained.

“Gabriel’s here,” she told him.

“I know, and you shouldn’t be.” Michael released her hands and pushed himself away, emanating wrath like a palpable force. There was a muscle ticking in his jaw. “What part of ‘don’t leave the abbey’ did you not understand?”

Liz spoke with calm deliberation. “Cabrera was afraid Gabriel wouldn’t turn up if I wasn’t here too. He asked me to come. He wanted me to get caught on CCTV to sweeten the lure. I had an escort. It was only supposed to be a short mission. I was on my way out.”

“Not soon enough.” His sarcasm was acidic. Michael’s face went even harder. “You lied to me.”

“What!” Liz blinked. “I did not” she shot back, then challenged, “When?”

“That touching scene in the chapel. It was a set-up wasn’t it?” The low, expressionless tone he used raised the fine hairs on her neck. “You made it all up to distract me.”

His eyes were black ice. She could literally feel him withdraw. He was getting control, shutting down his emotions. Not good. She’d rather he was hot than cold.

Liz looked him directly in the eyes and spoke the absolute truth. “Wrong. I meant every word. I was planning to bring it up afterwards, when this was all over. All I did was bring it forward. Yes, I admit, I did it to distract you. I didn’t want you asking for promises I couldn’t give.”

He said nothing for several long seconds. The train began slowing. Michael lifted his head, expression alert and arrested, their argument apparently forgotten.

“What is it?” Liz asked.

“I can smell smoke.” Michael snagged her arm and pulled her back through to the carriage.

Liz had to trot to keep up with his longer strides. “From inside the train?”

“No. From outside.”

Through the window, Liz saw another station platform coming into view. “Where are we?”

Michael ducked to see the station sign. “Bethlehem Star.”

The doors to the platform slid open. Michael stepped up to it, paused for a moment, then tugged on the arm he still held. “Come on. We’re getting off.”

“Why? What if the station is…”

“The smoke is coming from the tunnel ahead.”

“Oh. Are you sure?”

“Yes. Move.”

Michael ignored the lift and headed for the archway leading towards the stairs. They took them at a run. The Bethlehem Star was so renowned even she’d heard of it. It was the crown jewel of the Didascalium and the worship centre for the whole campus.

The subway station serviced the Bethlehem Star exclusively and led directly inside the choral hall. Liz tilted her head to goggle at the immense, soaring glass and crystal ceiling. She had to look up a long way as the Star was multi-levelled. “Did you know they designed the building to look like a star erupting out of the ground—inspired by an architectural wonder back in the living world. I forget which one.”

“Hence the name,” retorted Michael. He snagged a visitor guide off a convenient stand.

So much for making small-talk and trying to lighten the atmosphere between them. Fine. If he could be business-like, so could she. “Do you think it was Gabriel who set the fire in the tunnel?” asked Liz.

“Yes. Stop talking and let me listen.” The visitor guide had a floor plan printed on the back page. Michael studied it as they marched deeper inside the Star.

Liz felt a spurt of anger at his brusqueness and smothered it. He hadn’t wanted her here for very good reasons. He now had to protect her as well as fight his father. He was entitled to be ticked off.

A flight of marble stairs led up to the art gallery situated on the right, and a massive, raised and central stage. Music and sound equipment were stored at the rear of the stage and covered in transparent plastic sheets. Michael led her past a complicated sound deck and underneath a set of huge triple screens towards the far side. Dozens of illuminated crystals, as thick as tree trunks and clustered like stalactites, hung several meters above their heads. As an architectural feature and lighting solution it certainly fit the theme of a star.

Liz was still eyeing them with awe when Michael clamped her to him without warning and launched them into a high, arching flip. Her vision went black and her mind blanked in shock. It was a few seconds before she heard the rapid, ear-splitting bangs of repeated gunshots. They were getting shot at! They’d landed in the middle of the stage. Michael flipped them again, this time landing on the far side, behind the stage. It was a substantial means of shelter.

“For someone from his time period your dad really likes guns,” Liz pointed out shakily. She was crouched next to him with her back to the stage. “At least we know where the bastard is now. Can you pinpoint him?”

“Yeah, rear right, behind a stone lectern. Can you remember if those troopers still had rifles back at the shuttle?” asked Michael. He spoke right by her ear in a voice so low she only just made out what he was saying.

Liz thought back and shook her head. Leaning in close enough to brush cheeks, she answered, “I’m sorry, I can’t remember. You think that’s where he got the gun?”

“Possibly. He’s not using a pistol—bigger and faster rounds.”

Liz tried to think, but panic was seeping back in at the edges. “Can you use your super-speed to get over to wherever he’s holed up?”

“Probably, but that means leaving you here alone.”

The idea terrified her. Icy sweat broke out all over her body. The coward in her wanted to insist they make a run for it back to the subway, but that wouldn’t get rid of Gabriel. She had to swallow to speak. “Do we have another choice?”

“No.” Michael gave her a filthy look stating clearly at whose door he was laying the blame. Liz’s pistol materialised in front of her face. He presented her with the butt. “Here take this, and don’t shoot me when I get back.”

“Funny—not! How will I know it’s you?”

“I’ll whistle.”

Liz blinked and he was gone. Her heart was pounding sickly. She shuffled over to peer around the end of the stage. The bursts of gunfire picked up again, seeming to rattle the very air with the sheer noise. She held her breath.

For a heartbeat, she didn’t register the much bigger and even more violent bang. A wave of heat sent her stumbling as Liz scrambled to her feet and, heedless of the danger, ran around the stage. Clouds of dust and smoke choked the air, reminding her of Uruk. The auto-extinguishers were triggered and the sprinklers drenched her. There’d been an explosion. How? Damn it, she couldn’t see Michael. In full blown panic, Liz yelled his name. She carried on running. Ten metres, twenty metres, thirty…how far? She made out the remains of the lectern Michael had mentioned. It must have been big considering the amount of debris. The remains of a sculptured eagle hung drunkenly off one side.

“Michael! Michael!”

Liz didn’t see him approach: Gabriel just appeared right in front of her. She ran into him. He might as well have been made of stone too. She rebounded off him and fell on her backside. She was too numb to feel fear. She stared up into a face the image of Michael—and yet so different. Gabriel wore all black, and slacks instead of jeans.

Liz’s face felt frozen. The pistol was in her hand. She made no effort to raise it. She managed to ask, “How?”

“You SCs carry some interesting hardware in your shuttles, Liz. I utilised some to suit my purposes.” He gestured towards the debris. “The gun was mounted and worked by remote. I didn’t even need to be there to pull the trigger, and the gases from the constant gunfire stopped Michael smelling the explosive. Neat, don’t you think?”

The voice made her want to vomit. It was so wrong: too silky, too smooth and self-important. Gabriel the psycho worked hard at sounding cultured.

Liz felt a cold wetness on her cheeks and realised she was crying. “Is Michael still alive?”

“Let’s check shall we?” The bastard winked at her. “Don’t go anywhere, will you.”

Gabriel showed no signs of wariness as he approached the wreckage caused by the explosion. He stepped over a large chunk of marble steps and bent down. He lifted an arm and began to drag the body of his son out from behind the obstruction. He was so contemptuous and uncaring. Liz saw brilliant and bloody red. Without thinking, she yanked the pistol up and fired with smooth and deadly precision.

Gabriel laughed. He’d moved without her seeing. The bullets went where she’d aimed, but he was no longer there; useless.

“Is Michael dead?” Liz grated out. He lay at his father’s feet, in one piece but with blood matting his head. He wasn’t moving.

“No, still alive,” answered Gabriel cheerfully. “He’ll come around again in a few minutes. He got clear enough to avoid being ripped into pieces.”

Liz twigged then. “You’re not going to kill him are you? Not yet.”

“Of course not; I want him conscious for such a momentous occasion. No, this is to allow me some time alone with you. I only need a few minutes.”

o~O~o

Sauvage hadn’t been seen by his staff since the night before. The city’s newly assigned Special Commissioner was non-contactable and not returning calls according to his irate personal assistant. Cabrera didn’t blame the PA for sounding agitated given the furore over the siege at the Didascalium. He’d managed to get an address for an apartment close to the border between Keltoi and Illyria. The apartment wasn’t listed as Sauvage’s primary residence, but Cabrera followed a hunch. The apartment was a sprawling old villa in the Roman style that had been split into three separate residences. There was a swimming pool and private docking bays. The security was top-notch, and not activated.

The entrance door swung soundlessly open when Cabrera tried it.

The foyer was in darkness. Cabrera took out his sidearm and stepped cautiously inside. To protect his back, he shut the door behind him again. There were three further doors leading off from the spacious, mosaic-floored hall. Flickering light and muted sounds were coming from the first door on the left. Hugging the wall, he made his way over to it and stepped inside a living room. A pale, plush carpet masked his footsteps. This room was in darkness too.

An entertainment screen dominated one wall. The flickering lights and sounds were coming from it. Cabrera has to divert his eyes and swallow back bile at the scenes being enacted in larger-than-life size. He couldn’t shut out the sounds, though. There was a long sofa directly in front of the screen. Cabrera made out the shape of a man’s head and shoulders. The utter stillness of the body, and the unique smell of damp metal he associated with fresh blood, warned him. Cabrera wasn’t surprised when he walked around the sofa to find Sauvage spectacularly dead. The extensive damage to the body made pinpointing the cause of death impossible to ascertain visually. It looked as if his skin had been scraped off. The sofa was leather and blood had dripped down to soak the carpet by the corpse’s bare feet.

Cabrera stared mystified at the body. "What in hell?"

"A very appropriate reaction. Come into the study, Chief Cabrera."

Cabrera swung around, pistol ready and hackles raised. The voice seemed to come from right beside him. How? There was no one else in the room. He crossed back to the hall. Warm lamplight spilled out from across the marble expanse. The lamp hadn’t been lit when he’d first entered the apartment.

He walked into a study. The pistol was steady in his hand. A man was seated behind the far desk. Aiming squarely at the man’s chest, Cabrera edged closer, shaking his head with incredulity. "Roland? Gerry Roland?" He could hardly believe his eyes. “Shouldn’t you be in Le Jardin manning the control room?”

"Ah, I did enjoy playing that role." The young, round face registered pleasure. "Plus, I got to know you a little better. Here’s a tip. The nerdy tech who loves to play with his techno toys is always a good cover. People view you as unthreatening."

Ever seeing Roland as harmless seemed the height of blindness now. Maybe it was the fact that Cabrera had just viewed Sauvage’s body, but there was an air of cunning malignancy around the man in front of him, his youth only made it worse.

“If Roland was just a role, what’s your real name?” asked Cabrera

“I could be coy and say ‘I have so many; pick one’, but I’ll be blunt. Call me Satan.”

“You’re Satan?” Ice solidified in Cabrera’s gut.

Roland spread his hands and shrugged a sheepish shoulder, totally at odds with the gleam in his eyes, “Yup, hard to believe isn’t it? Folks are always surprised when I ‘fess up. Must be my baby-face.”

"What happened to Sauvage?" Cabrera tried to sound casual, but figured he wasn’t fooling anyone. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this wet-your pants terrified and freaked out. Even living in hell didn’t prepare you for meeting the original fallen angel.

"He happened to himself, with a little help from me." Roland waved a dismissive hand. "Don’t worry about him. He was only ever a tool; a bit player in this little drama. I never worried about losing him. He was always going to be mine." He tapped his temple. "Sick in the head, y’know, which wouldn’t normally be a problem, but he was rational with it."

"If Sauvage was so expendable why go to all this trouble? Why kill him now. I don’t get it—the war…"

Roland interrupted him with a laugh. "A war between vampires and humans? Come on, it’d never happen. My old comrades wouldn’t let it. Don’t be fooled by that ‘no direct interference’ line. Gehenna is closely monitored. Even now, Chief Cabrera, the hairs on your head are counted. No, that was merely a bit of fun." Roland tilted his head, still smiling. "Actually, Carl, the point was you."

"Me?"

"You interest me so much." Roland sat forward, leaning on his forearms. "I know all about you, of course. I know about your daughter: tragic Caroline, sweet sixteen and with her whole life ahead of her. I don’t blame you for losing your infamous temper with the little toe-rag. He was careless with her. In fact, I admired your work. I lap up a good vigilante story—all that righteous-go-to-hell fury is just delicious."

Cabrera had to unclench his jaw to speak. "Thanks for the endorsement. Wouldn’t it have been easier to walk into my office and simply so?"

"I can’t. It’s against the rules. You have to come to me. You have to want to find me. It’s a human will thing." Roland pulled a face and shrugged. "No cheats allowed."

"I thought that only applied when it came to God, not you."

"I wish. It would make things so much easier. My powers are not what they were. Let’s just say my investments took a tumble a few millennia ago and I’m still recovering."

"I still don’t understand: why me in particular? There are billions of souls in Gehenna."

"I’m older than humanity. I’ve changed names so often even I can’t remember them all, but it doesn’t mean I don’t get bored and lonely every once in a while. It makes a nice change of pace to concentrate on individuals every now and then—it’s so much more intimate and fun. I’d picked out my playmates and all I needed was a game to put them in." Roland wagged a playful finger at him. "A change really is as good as a rest, Carl, remember that."

“You were bored?” said Cabrera slowly, trying to assimilate what he was hearing. “All of those women were tortured and killed, because you were bored? You’ve got everybody stirred up and preparing for war as entertainment; is that what you’re telling me?”

Roland heaved a mournful sigh. “And now you’re angry at me, I can tell. I have to say this is not how I envisaged our first meeting.”

This whole interview was surreal to the point of insanity. Cabrera said, "If you’re so weak, there’s nothing to stop me turning around and walking out of here. Is that right?"

Mud brown eyes went innocently wide. "Of course you can, but you don’t really want to. All this self-righteous fury you’re fanning in a smokescreen for what you really want. Come on, Carl. You know you’re just dying to ask me the question. It’s the real reason you came alone."

The ice crawled up Cabrera’s spine. He felt sick. "What question would that be?"

"Don’t try and kid a kidder. The question that has obsessed you from the moment you got to Gehenna. Why else would a burnt-out cop turned vigilante-suicide scramble up the ranks to become Chief Constable, a position with enough influence and power to search? Where is your little girl now? Where did she end up?"

Cabrera didn’t bother to deny it. "Don’t waste your breath. I wouldn’t believe any answer you gave."

"Ah, I think you would, if I offered you proof." Roland let a pause build before laying his hand on the desk, palm up and fingers open. Nestled in his palm was a delicate silver chain and butterfly pendant. "How would I, as evil as I am, get my hands on this pretty trinket if not from Caroline? I’m persona-non-grata in the Kingdom, Carl. No day trips for bad old Satan.”"

The sight of the necklace was a slap in the face. "We don’t reform with physical possessions. She can’t have brought it with her."

"There’s a roaring trade in Gehenna for replicating lost earthly possessions. Who else would commission such a design?"

Roland tossed the chain and pendant at Cabrera. Against his will, he caught it. He felt dislocated. His voice sounded far way when he asked, "All right, say I believe you. Where did you find her? Where is she now?"

"I found her in a brothel in Tarsus called Raptured. Nasty place. It used to specialise in female novices. I see you recognise the name. Our very own Michael Thane worked there. I assume it was on his unofficial résumé. You know, I believe one of his duties was guarding the girls. Although, and I hate it say it, there are rumours that he…trained them too. Our anti-hero has a sordid past, Carl. I have to question your judgement in teaming up with him."

"You’re lying!" Cabrera’s voice cracked. He felt locked in a nightmare. He tightened his finger on the pistol’s trigger, and found he couldn’t take it all the way, something stopped him. "I would have found her if she’d come here. I checked and double-checked every novice who arrived at the time she died. I visited them all. She wasn’t here."

"You need more proof?" asked Roland, unfazed. He stood and walked around the desk. "Fine. I can give you all the proof you need."

"How?"

A smiling Roland advanced and held out his hand. "Just think of me as the Ghost of Christmas Past," the smile turned into a smirk, "just not your past."

Every step the bastard took, Cabrera swore he’d shoot. He was aiming for the smirk, but he just couldn’t pull the trigger. God, help him. What if?

onto CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

2011-01-15T16:39:00.010Z

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Once Michael’s suggestion of staging a fake showdown with special constabulary troops was agreed, the planning went terrifyingly fast. Carl Cabrera got on the phone, and within hours both the time and location were set: dawn at the newly built ‘Didascalium’, a catechetical seminary of immense size in the heart of the Cathedral quarter. As a public institution it would be well covered by CCTV and easily quarantined. Troops loyal to the chief constable would choreograph the set-up, and ensure the militia was kept out of the fight zone. Their apparent deadly intent to finish Michael, and the complication of hostages, should keep Sauvage and Ickle happy enough to leave the constables to do the dirty work. To Liz, it all felt rushed and fraught with pitfalls. Any scrap of influence or control over events she’d gained in the last week had evaporated. Michael had neatly manoeuvred it so she had no part to play in this plan.

Pride was a false and dangerous friend, and kissing cousins with resentment. Liz battled with both as the three men went through the final preparations before leaving the abbey. To top it off, she was worried sick, making for a turbulent mix of emotions. More than once, she’d considered complaining, only to realise this was no time for a sense of entitlement or pique because she was no longer an active player. The consequences of failure were simply too dire to screw around with. In the bigger picture, it didn’t mean a thing that she’d been through hell just to survive this far. Her part was done, the curtain had come down and it was time to take her bows. Michael was alive and the SC knew he was innocent. She couldn’t fight Gabriel and had no credibility to go up against Sauvage and the Privy Council. She was useless now.

If she kept repeating it to herself, Liz was hoping acceptance would sink in.

She was furious with Michael. He made no effort to talk to her, which was probably a good thing. Every time she saw him, she wanted to heave the nearest suitably heavy object at his head.

In her less rational moments she brooded and then seethed. Who the hell did he think he was? Why were his feelings more important than hers? Why wasn’t she allowed to take any risks while he took them all?

Her emotions were in mid seesaw when Cabrera pulled her to one side. “There’s a big flaw in this plan and I need you to plug it,” he told her bluntly.

Liz’s gaze swept the cavernous hall, instinctively searching for Michael.

Cabrera noticed and enlightened her. “Thane is outside with Harry, giving him a quick training session on the vehicle model Harry will have to fly. I waited until now so we wouldn’t be overheard.”

“All right,” Liz said, “What’s the hole and how am I the plug?”

“Michael is wilfully blinding himself to another possible reaction by Gabriel. Instead of going after his son, the asshole may realise that since you two have split up, you’re now unprotected and vulnerable.”

Liz frowned, doubtful. “You think he’ll come after me instead of Michael?”

“It’s not out of the realms of possibility, Liz. Psychopaths like Gabriel live to gloat. Given a choice, he’ll go for you first, trust me. Hurting or killing you would be the ultimate goad to Michael, and probably tip him into doing something dumb. Don’t underestimate your impact on both of them.”

“You seem to know a lot about psychopaths,” noted Liz, dryly. “Also, you’re forgetting something. Gabriel doesn’t know where I am, but he will know where to find Michael. He has no choice but to go for him.”

“True, but he may decide to waste time looking for you and we don’t have the time to waste. We need this over quickly. If the onsite siege goes on too long, the constabulary could be pulled out in favour of the militia, and then we lose all control.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Gabriel needs to be certain you’re both there. If he thinks he can get you both, he won’t hesitate.”

“Have you mentioned this to Michael?”

Cabrera shook his head. “We both know what his reaction would be. He’s determined not to let Gabriel get so much as a look at you. For this to happen, Thane will have to be kept in the dark until it’s too late.”

Liz felt a chill and crossed her arms to counteract against it. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind when she’d imagined thumbing her nose at Michael and his over protectiveness. “If I turn up out of nowhere, Michael will see it as a betrayal. I don’t want to even imagine what his reaction could be.”

“I’m as aware of the risks as you are,” said Cabrera. “The question is, are you willing to take them?”

It didn’t matter if she’d just spent the last few hours silently steaming about being made to feel useless. Every instinct, every thought and feeling said this was wrong.

“It’s not the risks I have a problem with,” she returned, shortly, “It’s the lying. I’m not even talking morals here. I stink at evasion and deception. I give myself away every time. Not to mention, I don’t like lying.”

“I don’t like lying either, but sometimes we have to do things we don’t like.”

Liz gave a humourless laugh. “You don’t get it. Michael would see straight through me.” A thought struck her. “But it wouldn’t be a problem at all if I’m not here to have questions asked.”

Cabrera caught her meaning. “If you up and disappeared, Thane would suspect something was going on. The whole plan would fall to pieces while he concentrates on finding you and not Gabriel.”

His scenario played all too easily in her mind. She sighed. “You’re right. Bad idea.” Liz shook her head as frustration welled.

She had to choose between honouring Michael’s need to keep her safe, or betraying his trust. It was a stark way of looking at the situation, but he wasn’t a modern man no matter how he dressed. She loved him, but she wasn’t blind to his faults. After nine hundred years of harsh, autocratic living, a few decades of modern gender equality had barely blipped on his radar.

When it comes to your safety, I don’t do democracy. He hadn’t been kidding. Michael was going to be seriously pissed when he realised she was there too instead of safely tucked up in the abbey.

God help her! Her gut swooped with dread. “I’ll do it. I’ll just have to avoid him, or find some way of distracting him until he goes. Speaking of which, how are you planning on getting me there?”

“I’ve got an ACV on standby,” said Cabrera. “Once Harry and Thane have safely arrived at the location and separated, it’ll return to pick you up from here. Harry knows to expect you on site. He’ll keep you safe and under wraps until it’s time for the media crews to ‘sight’ you. By then it’ll be too late for Thane to do anything about the change of plan.”

“So you hope,” muttered Liz. “Two vampires on the rampage I could really do without.”

Cabrera went to move away. Liz stopped him. “What about Ruth and Nicole?”

“They don’t know anything about this yet. Once Thane and Harry have left, they’ll be given the choice of staying here or joining you in the ACV.” He quirked a heavy brow in irony. “I may end up being the only one sticking to the original plan by going after Sauvage.”

~o~

Liz had been avoiding him. With the time to leave approaching, Michael went searching for her. She wasn’t in her room, the living areas, library or long gallery. An aggravated Dr Keller was alone and pacing in the basement kitchen. He didn’t bother searching the sub-basement where he kept his training suite and armoury, as access was restricted to him alone. He found her in the south chapel.

The chapel dated back to the original monastery. He hadn’t touched it and never used it. The walls and floor were bare stone. There was no altar or religious paraphernalia, but it was still unmistakably a place of worship. Liz was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. She’d taken a fur throw off her bed and wrapped it around herself to ward off the chill.

Michael didn’t hide his approach. She heard his footsteps and said, “I expected you to use a chapel for storage or something, or at least leave it abandoned, filthy and covered in cobwebs. Why have you kept it clean?”

She didn’t look at him. His gaze swept over the clean flags, walls and window frames. “I employ a manservant. The upkeep of the chapel must be his doing.”

“Really?” She tossed him a sceptical glance over her shoulder. “Where is he now?”

“I sent him away before locking up the house. I haven’t called him back yet.” Michael stopped directly behind her and hunkered down. He ran a hand over her loose hair from the crown of her head to the tips. Her hair was cold and silky and he could smell her shampoo. “Now, I have a question. Why are you hiding in here?”

Liz didn’t lean into his hand, but neither did she shrug away from his touch. From what he could see of her profile, her expression remained pensive and unreadable. “It’s called sulking,” she finally replied. “It’s a nasty habit of mine and I prefer to do it in private.”

Crunch time. Michael grimaced and stood up again. He walked around her, careful not to crowd her. It was the first time he could remember tiptoeing around a woman. “I owe you an apology for earlier. I’ve been a little off-balance since we got here. I guess I’m not used to having a house full of humans.”

She kept her face averted. “And you wanted to make sure no one was in any doubt over who was in charge.”

“That too,” Michael admitted, watching her. “I shouldn’t have said what I did, especially the way I said it.”

Liz didn’t reply for several beats. “Nice apology, much better than your last. You’re improving.”

He couldn’t suppress a smile at the mild sarcasm. “I thought it was a fairly good one.”

“I’ve been thinking too,” she told him.

Crap. “About what?”

“You and me.” She clarified, “Us.”

He stiffened, instantly wary. “What about us?”

Liz turned her head to look directly at him for the first time since he’d entered the chapel. “Aren’t you going to sit down?”

There was a bench-seat, partially crumbled, along one wall. Michael obediently sat on the cold stone. “I’m sitting.”

“Do you love me, Michael?” she asked starkly. “I’ve been wondering, because you’ve never actually said the words.”

He hesitated, sensing her intensity, but unable to decipher it. “Yes, I love you.” He left off, ‘for what it’s worth’.

“Good, so I’m not alone in this.” Liz looked back at the empty altar space. “Scripture says perfect love drives out fear. We don’t have that kind—I don’t have that kind of love. A part of me does fear you,” she told him bluntly. “I’m afraid of your temper, of your determination to control everything, and our differences in outlook. From my perspective, you’re not a good prospect, especially as women here don’t have the protection in law we enjoyed back in the living world. Western women, anyway.”

Michael didn’t know what the hell to say to any of it. “My temper isn’t easily provoked, so I wouldn’t worry about it. I can’t comment on the rest.”

“I know,” she returned, still pensive, “That self-control of yours is impressive.”

It wasn’t a compliment. Where was she going with this? Michael frowned. He couldn’t place her mood and it was starting to aggravate the hell out of him. “Do I take it you’re considering testing my self-control by provoking my temper?”

“Nothing so specific,” Liz shrugged a shoulder. “I was musing about what might happen after Gabriel’s dead and gone, of what would happen to us—our relationship.”

“If I’m such an ogre, are you sure you want one?”

Liz didn’t prevaricate and she finally looked squarely at him. “Yes, that’s just it. The way I feel about you may not be perfect, but it’s real and it’s potent and that makes it precious. I want a chance to find out if we can make a relationship work outside of all this craziness.” She laughed. “Most women of my time would call me crazy, or worse, and they’d probably be right. I must have a masochistic streak. Any sensible women would run a mile from a chauvinist like you.”

He felt stung enough to defend himself, sort of, “I don’t see women as worse, or better, than men. Humanity is what it is, male or female. If a woman wants to throw her last chance at life away, that’s up to her. I only care if that woman is you—then, yeah, I probably am a chauvinist.”

“Both of those statements are wrong on so many levels, but I think you know that.” Amused, Liz cocked her head. “Will you marry me?”

Michael’s mind went utterly blank. She laughed at his stupefied expression. Yanking his wits back into some semblance of order, Michael raked stiff fingers through his hair. “What kind of crazy question is that?”

“It’s called a proposal, Michael.” The gold of her eyes seemed to catch every stray speck of light and warm it. “Come on, you have to give me an answer. It’s the rule.”

“I’m a vampire. You’re a human.” Michael’s reply began slow and careful, then he lost patience and got to his feet, continuing roughly, “Hell, I’m lucky if I have a decade left before turning fully demon. Jesus! You have no idea what you’re suggesting.”

“Don’t blaspheme. I have a clue and that’s enough for me. I had to die and come to hell to find love. I’m not willing to give up on it so easily now, and I can’t have a relationship with you without marriage—ergo, I’m popping the question. Besides, I’d rather have a decade than nothing. Marry me, Michael.”

He paced away from her, still reeling. “Liz…”

“Just say yes!” she cajoled.

“I can’t.” It came out as a snarl. Her recklessness and dumb optimism astounded him. Michael sucked in a breath and tempered his tone. “You don’t have a clue what you’d be getting into. You only think you do.” He shook his head, smiling humourlessly. “Remember me saying how vampirism makes human traits worse? I was possessive and territorial as a human. I killed a man for a damned ring, how do you think I’d be with a wife? Chauvinism is the least of it. The idea is insane. You do not want to marry me, Liz.”

Liz said nothing, but her gaze slid away, looking anywhere but at him. She’d honestly expected him to agree and now she was hurt, again. Damn it! Michael’s insides twisted sourly. Never would he have dreamed she’d want to marry him. If he survived, he’d probably lurk around the edges of her life, keeping an eye on her, maybe even attempt a little seduction, but marriage—no.

“I learned self-control because I had to as a man. The demon hadn’t even come into it yet.” His voice was harsh but he was powerless to soften it. “I’m not husband material. I’m not a nice or a good man, and never will be. If I was, I wouldn’t be what I am.”

She looked over at him with narrowed eyes. “I never said you were nice or good. I’m not blind. Stupid is under assessment.”

Michael lost his grip on bitterness and tossed up a hand. “For crying out loud, even if I beat Gabriel there’s no happy ending for me. In the time we’ve spent together I’ve got worse. Don’t kid yourself, feeding off you had consequences, Liz. My future is insanity, blood and death, and that’s it.”

“You weren’t so concerned with that last night, or earlier today,” Liz snapped back. “You would have bedded me—in the biblical sense—if I’d hinted I was willing.”

Michael said nothing, he couldn’t deny it. His silence only seemed to raise her ire further.

“Do you honestly think I’d agree to shack up on a casual, temporary basis? Been there, done that. I’m tired of crappy relationships that go nowhere. I want something real and intimate, something substantial—a husband, not a quick lay.” Fury tightened her face. “And, you wouldn’t be the first person to tell me you’re booting me out of your life ‘for my own good’.” With a growl of frustration, she shot to her feet. “Newsflash, Michael. I can decide these things for myself!”

Steaming now, Liz stomped over to him, wearing the fur throw like a cloak. “Fine. Have things your own way. Let’s just pretend this conversation never happened.” She startled him when she went up on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his jaw. “Consider that a parting kiss. Good luck with Gabriel. I won’t be here when you get back.”

A moment later, the chapel door slammed shut behind her. In the ringing silence that followed, Michael shackled the uncivilised instincts her parting words had unleashed. Bitterness and pain swarmed and curdled in his gut. When he had himself under control again, Michael took a deep breath, turned on his heel and headed for the door.

o~O~o

The cathedral quarter’s most distinguishing characteristic wasn’t the wide array of ecclesiastical centres, but its regimented blocks of towering, multi-storey buildings. Millions of people lived in the quarter, and most were crammed into these neighbourhood blocks, comprising living units, recreational areas, chapels and stores. Each tower was like a cramped, ugly, self-contained village.

In the commercial sector, covered skyways for pedestrians criss-crossed the streets like spider webs. Sky traffic was thick with few travellers sinking lower than the tenth floor. The streets themselves rarely saw daylight. Streetlights were necessary by mid-afternoon.

With an hour still to go before dawn, it was pitch-black outside the car. Rain was coming down in sheets and running in thick rivulets down the windscreen. The stately Daimler was roomier than most, but the atmosphere was tense and bordering on hostile. Harry Gillespie was not a contender for Michael’s preferred-company list. The feeling seemed mutual. Arriving early and having to sit and wait wasn’t helping.

"Is there a reason you wanted to leave so abruptly?" Harry asked, breaking the chilly silence.

“Consider that a parting kiss… I won’t be here when you get back.”

Way to go to prod the stalker, Liz. Next time, just wave a friggin’ red flag. He’d had to get out. Seeing her again, probably wrapped up in a chilly haughtiness, would have been guaranteed to tip him over the edge.

"I was ready to go," Michael kept his tone even, "Seemed pointless to hang around."

"Fair enough." Recognising a brush-off, Harry got down to business. "Sergeant Nichols is the commander of the SC unit who will be ‘pursuing’ you into the campus grounds. He’s loyal and capable, and none too pleased to have Lady Stanley ousted by Sauvage. We can trust him."

"So Cabrera assured me. Who are we waiting for, the whole unit or just Nichols?"

"The whole unit,” Harry confirmed. “You need to get a look at them and, more importantly, they need to get a good look at you. We don’t want any mistakes. Each constable has been handpicked on the basis of competence and experience. None are trigger-happy."

"And the other units who’ll be joining in the fun later?"

"The same calibre," Harry assured him stiffly. "The only issue will be if the militia decide to stick their oar in."

"Let’s hope your boss is right to think they’ll prefer to let the constabulary take all the risks."

"The Chief Constable is likely right on this occasion. The matter of hostages will make things stickier—too sticky for an organisation with ambitions to replace the Special Constabulary."

"If it gets out that we’ve planned this together, staged all of this—including a vampire taking human hostages, no matter what the reason—the militia’s ambitions will be the least of your problems."

Harry’s expression went from discomforted at the mention of hostages, to granite at the notion of their clandestine planning coming to light. "I don’t see how it can get out, unless you were to say so."

Michael let his lips curve in a mirthless smile. "I have no intentions of blabbing, not my style, but crap this hot has a tendency of finding a fan without help."

"Possibly,” Harry relaxed and his tone went dry, “but I’d rather take a public furore over my actions than mass annihilation lasting eternity."

Michael looked away, conceding, "Good point."

He heard the sound of approaching engines. They were parked at street level, next to a laundromat with shutters so badly rusted they were barely holding together. Headlights came into view in the rear-view mirror. Two unmarked vans drew up behind the Daimler.

“They’re here,” announced Harry unnecessarily, and opened the driver’s door of the car.

Michael waited until Harry had greeted one of the men from the first van before he too got out of the car.

To give Sergeant Nichols his due, he was business-like and didn’t waste time with prejudice. He acknowledged Michael with a nod and proceeded to introduce his team. There were fifteen men in the unit. The briefing was short and to the point. Everyone knew the plans of the campus. Michael was quietly impressed to receive only a few nervous sideways glances from the humans. Cabrera was a good judge of men.

The constables got back in the vans. Harry was going with them, but hung back until it was just the two of them left standing on the wet pavement. “Does it bother you, to have to kill your father?” he asked.

Michael quirked a brow, darkly amused, “It only bothers me to have to do it again. I thought once would be enough.”

“By that, I take it you’re the one who sent him here in the first place?”

Michael nodded, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Well, it’s good to know you’ve got plenty of experience.” Harry hesitated, and then held out a hand. “Do try your best to repeat the result won’t you?”

Michael hesitated and then shook the hand. “Sure.”

It was still raining heavily. Michael was drenched as he settled into the Daimler’s driver’s seat. Raking back wet hair from his face, he watched as the nearest van’s lights came on, waiting for him to do the same. He buckled himself in and turned the ignition. It was only a few kilometres to the Didascalium. The plan was to race the whole way; the chase had to look realistic. He punched it. The Daimler screamed away from the kerb and shot down the street like a bolt. Both vans followed. Luckily, the streets were empty of all other traffic. If they were really lucky they’d reach their destination before the traffic cops noticed them all the way down here.

The Didascalium campus was the newest jewel of the Cathedral quarter. It was surrounded and intertwined with landscaped grounds and tree-lined avenues. The point was to create a tranquil retreat for the students in the midst of the crowded city. Tranquillity was shattered when the Daimler crashed through the east security gate and roared up the winding drive. His pursuers followed hot on his heels. Michael could hear alarms beginning to blare in the distance and rammed the accelerator to the floor. The big car shot forward in a burst of additional speed. The two constabulary vans fell behind, apparently unable to keep up.

The outline of St Mary Magdalene’s accommodation block came into view, growing rapidly into a stately, colonnaded building. The driveway widened directly in front of the entrance and flowed around a large, central statue. They’d picked this block because it housed the newer students and was not far from the boundary. Simply because it would be good drama, Michael sent the Daimler into a controlled, side-ways slide and crashed into the statue; it was of an angel tenderly lifting up a redeemed soul towards Heaven. Stone shattered, metal crunched and ripped jaggedly. The angel’s upper torso went airborne and collided with the glazed reception door, cracking the security glass with a sound like a thunderclap.

Michael got out of the unmarred driver’s door. The rain had stopped, but the wind had picked up and now whipped across his face. More alarms were ringing. Lights were coming on all over the accommodation block.

Good. At least he wouldn’t have to wake his first set of hostages up out of a sound sleep.

Engines were screaming up the drive. The vans were bearing down. In the distance, he heard the distinct sound of turbines. Others were on the way too and they weren’t approaching by road. Michael jogged towards the damaged door, stepped over the remains of the angel, and kicked the remaining glass the rest of the way out of the frame.

Mimicking Gabriel during one of his early kills, Michael smiled and saluted the first surveillance camera he passed. There were several corridors to choose from and all contained confused, sleepy humans. He took the first corridor; a human shot out of a room on his right, still dragging on a thick robe. She turned to look his way just as he reached her. Her eyes flared in shock at suddenly finding him right before her. She reared back, tripped on the back of her robe and fell on her ass. She was Asian and young, barely twenty. She was also delicate, timid and scared. Damn it, too young and too scared. Instead of grabbing her, Michael walked on by and carried on down the corridor.

A man with shaggy hair and skinny shoulders stumbled out of a room, yawning and sleepy-eyed. Without slowing, Michael snagged him roughly by the nape of his neck and took him along with him.

o~O~o

Well, she’d certainly distracted Michael from insisting on any awkward promises to stay safely in the abbey. Promises Liz wouldn’t have been able to make.

Oh sure, that’s one way of looking at it, but don’t kid yourself. You were serious. You wanted him to say yes.

Of course she’d been serious. It would have been a tad awkward to try and slide out of an engagement she’d instigated after the fact. Michael turning her down made it easier to do what she was doing.

Face facts, you’re hurt and pissed off and so you don’t give a crap anymore that he’s going to be pissed off too. Heck, you want him to be pissed off.

It did make it easier, definitely. Husbands-to-be had more rights than kidnappers to insist their intended stay out of harm’s way. No, she amended. As far as she was concerned, he no longer had the right to care about her safety. Michael Thane was an idiot in more ways than one.

Nice justification.

“Oh, shut up!”

Ruth touched Liz’s arm, drawing her gaze from the nightscape beyond the passenger window of the large ACV. “Did you say something?”

“Sorry, no. I was talking to myself.”

“You’ve been very quiet, which is totally understandable. We’ve got another ten minutes or so before we get to the Didascalium. Do you want to talk?”

Nicole had opted to remain at the abbey, so it was just the two of them. The driver was out of earshot in the front cab. Ruth’s homely face was filled with warm concern. Impulse had Liz saying, “I asked Michael to marry me just before he left with Harry. He turned me down flat.”

Ruth blinked in shock, then recovered. “The swine. Did he say why?”

Liz ticked them off on her fingers: “He’s not a nice or good man; he’s possessive to the point of making a stalker seem rational; and he’s only got ten years or so before he goes feral.”

“All good reasons for a sensible woman not to marry him,” Ruth pointed out. “From his point of view, it must seem peculiarly hellish to have the woman he loves watch him deteriorate into a crazed demon—not to mention the risk to you.”

“I know. He got his point across.” Liz laid her head back on the headrest with a sigh and turned back to the window.

Ruth patted her shoulder in sympathy. “From the short time I’ve spent in his company, I can imagine how it went.”

Liz appreciated the lack of platitudes and lectures. The temper still simmering inside her refused to let fear build. She was feeling reckless and jittery. Liz was back in mission-uniform and a shoulder holster kept her sidearm nestled next to her left breast. A full-length white smock with a hood disguised both uniform and weapon. Her hair was tied back and constrained in a tight braid.

“Do we know what the status is at the Didascalium?” she asked Ruth. “I take it there’s no sign of Gabriel yet?”

“He’s not been sighted, no, but the situation is totally manic. The crowds are so big they’re threatening to break through the barriers. Thankfully, sheer weight of numbers is keeping the militia busy. Harry says the entire seminary has been evacuated, except approximately three dozen hostages. Numbers aren’t confirmed yet. Meanwhile, Thane and the constables are making a good show of trying to kill each other. I do not want to see the repair bill after this is over. Miggs is on standby to stream the CCTV footage direct to the largest news stations the moment Gabriel makes an appearance.”

“Wonderful. It sounds like a circus. Let’s hope Gabriel doesn’t get stage fright.”

Liz felt some stage fright herself when they landed. Naively, given the fact it was only dawn she’d anticipated perhaps a few hundred gawkers, not a couple of thousand or more. It seemed they weren’t the only ones desperate to see an end to the recent strife and tension. Traffic was thick and competition fierce for even the stingiest gap. Siege lights glared up from portable ground mounts, sweeping over the Didascalium grounds. Armed and armoured militia troops were swarming all around the edges, doing their best to keep the heaving crowds back. Their unmarked ACV landed right in the middle of the pandemonium.

Liz pulled up the hood of her smock and exited the ACV. Their driver led the way, threading through the crowd ahead of them and towards a mobile field-ops base: a massive motor home-type deal with a full suite of electronic monitoring equipment. The noise and confusion pressed in from all sides. It was a relief to step inside and away from the chaos. Harry was waiting for them. He wasn’t a happy man.

He skipped his usual courtesies. “It's absolute bloody chaos. None of us anticipated a reaction on this scale. They’re near to baying for blood. Mark my words, they’ll be rioting soon.”

Liz blinked in shock. She’d never heard Harry swear before.

“Let's get this over with. I don't know how long the militia can hold them back,” Harry told her grimly. “Are you ready?”

Banks of computers, screens and communications equipment lined the interior of the ops centre. Operators were manning buzzing radio links and multiple cameras. The new arrivals were universally ignored.

“I’ve got everything I need, yes.” Liz hadn’t been able to concentrate on the site plans she’d been given to familiarise her with the campus. She had them with her to use when she needed them. “Is the team ready to go?”

Harry nodded tightly. “They’re waiting for you. They’ve been fully briefed.”

He led the way towards the right rear office. “They’ll tail you, keeping back out of view so they aren’t picked up on the CCTV. Once your presence at the Didascalium is established with the media, they’ll bring you safely back here.”

“I know the plan, Harry,” said Liz tightly. Nerves were creeping in.

“Yes, well, I’m repeating it for both our benefits. If nothing else, it makes me feel better. Promise me you’ll be careful, Liz. Take no unnecessary risks.”

In other words, take only the necessary risks. Liz found it ironic that Michael and the special constabulary had swapped positions on using her as bait. Michael refused to entertain the idea and the SC now required her to act on it.

“I promise,” she said, by rote.

Harry guessed her true line of thought. “If it was up to me you wouldn’t be going,” he told her gruffly and keyed in the door code. The door slid back to reveal her escort.

o~O~o

“You lied to me! Everything, all of it, was a lie! You took advantage of my nightmares. Oh God. Did you actually cause them? Was I supposed to lose my mind? That angel wasn’t even an angel was he, or not anymore. You bastard! I saw their bodies. I looked down on the victims and knew it was my fault. I could have helped, but I believed you, so I didn’t. That’s on me. I didn’t even really question it until you targeted Ruth. I deserve everything I get, but you deserve so much more. I want a meeting. No, I demand a meeting. If you refuse, or stand me up, I’ll go straight to the media. Your plans will come to nothing. I’ll fry you in public, you son of a bitch!”

The female voice spoke English with an American accent. Emotion laced every syllable: rage, despair, bitterness and guilt. Such drama! Such intensity! Gabriel was impatient to meet her.

She’d insisted the meeting take place at her office. Possibly, she thought using her territory would give her a position of strength, of control.

He was looking forward to shattering the good doctor’s illusions. Gabriel played the telephone message again, listening through tiny white headphones as she walked into the room. Out of courtesy, he muted it when she called for the lights and headed for her desk.

She didn’t notice him sitting on the corner sofa of her office until she sat down and looked up. When he saw her eyes, he understood why she was so sluggish. She’d sedated herself, perhaps a little too heavily. She also had a pistol resting on the desk in front of her. Presumably, she’d planned to avenge herself on Sauvage.

Amused, Gabriel quirked a brow, smiling through steepled fingers. “The problem with issuing threats, Dr Keller, is it gives your opponent time to consider options. Sauvage chose to send me to kill you.”

Nicole Keller might have been sedated, but she still had a survival instinct. Gabriel sucked in appreciative lungfuls of pungent fear. It was instant and electric, the way human skin could instantly sweat out terror. He could also smell: coffee, the faint whiff of vomit, and a lingering hint of dear Liz.

“I know who you are,” she told him. She was almost breathless with fear. Her chest was rising and falling with each jerky, guttering breath. “You’re Gabriel. Ruth was right. You’re not all that alike when you get really close.”

“Flattery,” he told her, “will get you nowhere.” He canted his head to the side, as if musing over something he had yet to decide. “Sauvage wants me to just kill you, no mess no fuss, but that would be boring, and besides, there are I answers I want from you.”

Gabriel dug out a packet of cigarettes, drew one out and lit it. Exhaling the smoke, he gestured to Nicole. “You don’t object, I hope.”

“So long as you don’t use me as an ashtray, no.”

“Good answer, but no promises. Where is Liz Grant?”

She didn’t hesitate. “With your son.”

Gabriel wagged an admonishing finger at her. “That’s not what I’m hearing, Nicole.”

“If she isn’t yet, she soon will be. Liz left with Ruth just before I set out for here, headed for the Didascalium. I watched them go.”

Body chemistry was incredibly revealing, and not just for fear. The very action of telling a lie produces all sorts of remarkable physical responses in a human, all detectable by a vampire. She was telling the truth. Gabriel found the doctor more and more interesting.

“Ah, now there is a name that raises my ire. Ruth was my second humiliating failure. Sauvage tells me we have you to blame for misleading us.”

Anger flashed across the pale, pretty face. “What did you expect me to do? You attacked my friend, someone I knew. I couldn’t just hand her over to you again. Ruth was not part of the plan as told to me.” She calmed. “Michael healed her, did you know that?”

It amused him that she was trying to bait him. Humans, you had to love them. Gabriel slowly exhaled and watched the smoke stream out into the air. “A neat trick don’t you think? I use it myself. Prolongs things,” he shrugged, “until the blood runs out, then it’s ‘game over’ as you Americans would say.”

“You’re evil.”

“Some would say the same about you. I have an excuse of sorts. I’m a vampire who merely likes to play with his food. I heard your message.” Gabriel adopted a mockingly high voice. “Boo hoo. I stood over the bodies and it’s all my fault.”

Nicole’s head jerked back as if he’d slapped her. “I was lied to—tricked. I thought it would be better…” she trailed off with tears of self-pity sliding down her cheeks.

“What would be better?” he mocked. “Your life, if all vampires were euthanized? Tsk Tsk. Just think how bored you’d be.” He waved an expressive hand. “You’d have no work.”

“My work is useless,” she spat. “There is no cure. Nothing I did made any difference and I’ve tried for so long. Once a demon always a demon. My dreams tormented me. I worked on vampires during the day and had nightmares about them at night, year after damned year. Sauvage played on my fears. He made me think they could be prophetic. I had to do something.”

“Excuses, excuses. Is the Didascalium a trap?” he asked abruptly. “Are the games my son is playing with the humans a lure to draw me in?”

“Yes, but if you don’t turn up they’ll kill him anyway.” She tilted her pretty chin, over-bright eyes glittering with challenge. “They have to, to calm the mob.”

Now she was lying. Not that it mattered, as Gabriel had the answers he wanted. He was going anyway. He was finished here, except for what he’d been sent to do. He flicked the butt into a corner and stretched, limbering up. It was a pity he had to rush, but needs must when the Devil drives. Or not, as the case may be. It was almost time to slip his leash. He smiled. “You might want to pick up your pistol. Time to die, Doctor.”

onto CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

2010-11-11T19:12:00.031Z

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

*Passage taken from the New International Translation of the Bible.

"I heard a rumour you’d absconded," said John Paul Sauvage to his master. "I wondered if perhaps you were becoming tired of your confinement."

The query was brushed aside. "It was only for a day or two: a short busman's holiday. Indulgent of me given the delicacy of the current time, but I enjoyed myself."

Sauvage caught the hint to drop the topic. “I’ve been busy too,” he said with a tight smile. “Lady Stanley has been forced to step aside, and the Privy Council has elected me as Special Commissioner.” The smile widened. “My ‘supposed’ remit is to control the increased threat from the old quarter. More importantly, however, I now have the power to order an invasion, as well as implement a curfew for the entire quadrant.”

The chubby, deceptively-young face lit up with pleasure. “Oh yeah. That’ll go down well with the vampires: early bedtime and a grounding all in one.” This was said with mild sarcasm and strong amusement. He gave a rusty laugh. “Get creative on what you expect to achieve and how you plan to achieve it, then leak the details to the press. Give the demons plenty of time to work up a head of steam before the troops arrive, should make for a warmer welcome.”

“Do you have any suggestions for this creativity drive?”

“You hit the nail on the head in that council meeting. I really liked the bit about the wheat and the chaff, that was a good one. Using scripture as a rallying cry should raise some blood pressures in the OQ. The lancing and cleansing bit was another solid comment. Try polishing up the victims too. Make ‘em seem like they were a hairsbreadth from being bloody saints. Publish the autopsy photos. Stir things up.”

“You make it sound as if we’re going on a crusade.”

“Exactly. A crusade against the demons, ‘the blight on our society’. Love it. I can see the headlines now. Make it happen, my friend.”

Sauvage had to take several surreptitious breaths before he could speak, “Certainly…and what do I get for all my efforts?”

The round face tilted, surprise was feigned in over-bright eyes. “What’s this? Are you not enjoying yourself, beloved?”

Sauvage felt his innards tighten with anticipation. He always felt this way when that rough English accent smoothed out, taking on an older, finer rhythm of speech. He knew what it heralded. “I’m entertained, of course,” he managed to respond, “but I had expected more of you.”

“Expectations will be the death of you, John. I had expectations once,” Delicate hands were spread to indicate the condition he now faced, “and look what happened to me. We’re alike in so many ways, are we not?” He stood, not taking his gaze from his servant. “We neither of us fit in. We want what we shouldn’t and our consciences are as silent as the grave, doubly condemning us. You require constant stimulation in order to feel something, while I crave fear and reverence. Bad, very bad.” He shook his head with mock sadness. “We’re both of us abominations, John, cast away like filth. Unwanted.”

Sauvage tilted back his head as the other man approached on cat-like, silent feet. The guards would not come to investigate any screams, not to this cell. Even the dimmest of them could sense this prisoner was bad for their health in ways far beyond the physical. He knew no answer was required. Sauvage had his orders and this was his reward. He had to swallow a whimper when his vision was utterly eclipsed by a smile that was evil incarnate.

The first wave of pain was exquisitely drawn out.

o~O~o

Cabrera was not a nervous man. He didn’t scare or intimidate easily. Even so, the steady rise in tension inside the abbey began to get to him as night closed in. Would Thane see the broadcast and get the message? It was a question never far from their minds, or their conversation, along with a variety of scenarios featuring his possible reaction to their presence in his home.

Miggs had left hours ago. Harry and Nicole had opted to remain at the abbey rather than risk being picked up by the militia. They were using the study, as it was comfortable and well equipped. No one wanted to be alone, and by unspoken agreement, anyone needing to leave the room was accompanied. It was now close to midnight and pitch-black outside. Everyone jumped when the cloister, visible beyond the French-doors, suddenly lit up for no apparent reason. They looked at one another with various degrees of alarm and confusion.

“We’re all here,” Harry pointed out. “None of us could have tripped a security light.”

“What about wildlife?” suggested Cabrera as he walked over to the glazed doors. His gut was telling him it wasn’t anything so harmless, but he didn’t want anyone panicking. They’d done their best to lure Thane here to talk. There was no point in getting hysterical because he’d been obliging enough to accept the offer.

Cabrera had spent several hours in the cloister earlier. It was pretty and peaceful. There was a lush square of lawn in the centre, surrounded by a roofed walkway. Benches were dotted here and there on the grass. Now the cloisters were in utter darkness, highlighting even more starkly the figure of a man clearly visible in the bright patch of security lighting. He was sitting on a bench with one arm lightly resting along the back of the seat.

“He’s here,” Cabrera announced bluntly.

“Are you sure? Is Liz with him?” asked Harry, joining him at the doors.

Ruth and Nicole came over too. “I thought he’d go for a bigger entrance,” joked Ruth, failing to hide her spiking tension. “This is far too subtle.”

“I can’t see Liz.” Cabrera answered Harry. He unlocked the doors and pushed them open. “Let’s go and ask him where she is.”

Ruth was wrong, thought Cabrera, as he led the small group out into the dark walkway. He wasn’t surprised Thane had chosen this way of advertising his presence. This tactic forced them to come to him, drawing them out from under his roof, and essentially exposing them. Smart and, yes, subtle. Under other circumstances, Cabrera would have appreciated such an understated power play.

Thane’s dark hair was cut short. He had a powerful, athletic build highlighted by a t-shirt a shade too small. Long legs were dressed in dark combats and finished off with military style-boots: militia uniform no doubt taken during the failed ambush. Even sitting, it was obvious he was a good deal taller than average. Cabrera noted the details by rote the closer he got to the bench and its occupant. His initial impression was the same as when he’d first read Thane’s stats—he was a big bastard.

Now, for the first time, he could look right into Thane’s eyes. The dark brown of his irises looked black in this light. They also revealed intelligence and deep mistrust.

And there was no mole.

Cabrera halted with Harry at his side. He left a two-meter gap for politeness’ sake. Considering the circumstances and recent history, he skipped any pleasantries. “I’m glad you caught our message,” he said simply. “We need to talk.”

“Why would I want to talk to you?” Thane’s accent was definitely American, with no obvious regional connotations.

Cabrera had been prepared for hostility, and was damned grateful there was none in evidence. Was cold indifference preferable? “It’s in everyone’s interest to make the truth known about you and your father.”

Thane quirked a brow sardonically, saying, “You mean you want to clear your name?”

“No, I want to clear yours,” Cabrera returned evenly. “Mine is less important. No one’s threatening mass violence over my supposed actions.”

“Where’s Liz?” interjected Harry. If Thane seemed distrustful, Harry Gillespie was his match.

“Safe.” Thane spared Harry only the barest flicker of a glance before locking gazes with Cabrera again. “You’re suspended from duty and wanted for questioning by your own people, and your boss isn’t doing much better. The media is ripping you to shreds and the public is lapping it up. What possible use can you be to me?”

Cabrera couldn’t deny the logic or truth about any of those concise statements. “I have contacts you don’t. I have loyal people who won’t sit idly by while injustice is allowed to destroy everything they’ve tried to build. I also have allies who have allies, unlike you, who can only count on Ms Grant. There are many ways I can help you; we can help you.” He gestured at the other three ranged alongside him. “If we work together, we stand a chance of fixing this mess before the city starts tearing itself apart.”

“What makes you think I gave a damn about the rest of the city?”

“Elizabeth Grant will care,” said Cabrera. “I’m hoping that’ll be enough for you.”

Thane’s expression didn’t change by so much as flicker, or give a hint of what he was thinking. The man who’d shown grief, despair and crippling pain was nowhere in evidence.

Many times over the last twenty-four hours, Cabrera had entertained serious doubts over his judgement and this plan. Had he made the right move? Just because Thane wasn’t the killer it didn’t mean he wasn’t a killer.

In point of fact, it was damningly well documented that Thane was perfectly willing to end a life. He was a vampire. He wasn’t fully changed, but the fundamental drives of a demon would be in place and eating away at Thane’s humanity.

Cabrera knew exactly what a vampire could do to a human. The ease with which this man had dealt with Cabrera’s own men, experienced as they were with dealing with vampires on their home ground, as well as the mess made of Ickle’s men, did not make for comfortable recollections.

God help them all if he’d misjudged Thane’s character.

“Michael,” said Ruth from Cabrera’s other side. “I know you can sense our fear, mine in particular, and that probably annoys you. I can only speak for myself when I say my fear is of your father and not you. I’m incredibly grateful to you for saving my life. If possible, I’d like the chance to return the favour.”

Her sincerity couldn’t be doubted. Thane didn’t dismiss her as he had Harry. His head dipped the tiniest fraction, a brief gesture of respect. “You’re welcome. No return necessary.”

“Maybe not,” Ruth gave a self-depreciating smile, “But I’d like a chance to try, and while you may not need us, we need you. Please consider joining us, or letting us join you.” She spread her hands with a grimace. “We have nowhere else to go.”

Thane’s expression remained unmoved, but Cabrera sensed the appeal had some effect. Ruth’s grit and courage in facing a man who was the twin of the one who’d tortured her was immense. Thane recognised it too. Cabrera wondered at the irony of a man with a hidden soft spot for women being accused of torturing them.

“Michael…” Liz’s half-warning, half-cajoling voice floated out of the darkness, coming from the direction of the opposite walkway.

Thane finally showed some emotion. His expression hardened and his brows snapped together. He scowled at the woman now walking into the light. “I thought we’d agreed you’d stay out of sight until I said otherwise.”

“We did, but my heart is breaking here. These are my friends asking for help. I can’t stay out of it.”

The change in atmosphere was instant, electric and centred between Liz Grant and Michael Thane. She walked right up to him. The remote mask was gone from Thane. Liz’s appeal was made woman to man, lover to lover. The by-play was focused, intimate and without fear. The dynamic between them was intense to the point of being both awkward, and intriguing to watch.

Cabrera’s concerns lifted, easing the constriction around his chest. He had to suppress a smile. He’d been right. Thane might be a badass, but he was in love.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. And the greatest of these is love.

Score one to Saint Paul.

Predictably, Thane caved. He stood, adopting resignation like a mantle. “Fine. Let’s go inside. I want a shower, a change of clothes, and food, in that order.”

o~O~o

Once the internal security was disabled, Michael left the others to fend for themselves and led Liz to a suite on the third floor. Like the rest of the converted abbey, it was gorgeously decorated. Liz couldn’t help but goggle. The bed was enormous, sumptuously covered with silks and furs and with an intricately carved headboard that looked to be antique rosewood. The matching furniture was equally as impressive. Subtle lighting was imbedded into the frescoed ceiling and inlaid around the edges of the polished wooden floor. There wasn’t a ply-board, modern ‘fitted’ unit anywhere in sight.

The sandstone walls and fireplace made for a fabulous setting. She even had her own sitting area with leather chairs and sofa. Her socially competitive, trying-to-impress parents would have been green with envy. Liz had thought she’d find it impossible to picture him in this huge old house, only to find it all too easy to imagine him ruthlessly guarding his splendid isolation.

His grandfather had hated him and disinherited him, so he’d gone to hell and found his own manor. Liz understood rejection and how it messed with your mind, and her heart ached for him.

Michael was standing just within the doorway, silently watching her. “You really own all of this?” she asked him.

“For a long time now,” he confirmed. He walked over to join her in the middle of the spacious room and pointed out two more doors. “You have a separate dressing room and en-suite bathroom through those two doors.”

“Seriously, I think you could fit my whole apartment in this one room.” Liz tilted her head back to see his face and changed the subject entirely. “Are you angry with me for leaving you no choice about the others?”

Michael quirked a brow. “I had a choice and I made it.” He raised a hand to cup her cheek, cradling her jaw in his palm. “And, no, I’m not angry. I like seeing you here, in my home, under my roof.”

They were only words, but they were evocative. Heat flared. His fingers slid forward, combing through her hair to her nape, drawing her up to him. Liz stopped breathing and went on tiptoe. Her heart was thudding. Their lips met, brushing skin and tingling warmth that lingered, full of promise. Liz parted her lips, asking for more. His chest rumbled under her palm in a guttural groan. Deep, grinding need made her legs tremble and her head whirl. Liz gasped at the ferocity of that need. She felt the scrape of teeth, an exploring sweep of heat and then it was over. He stepped back, dropping his hand to leave her feeling bereft and dizzy.

The almost-embrace had taken no more than ten seconds.

Liz took a shuddering breath and searched his face with wide eyes. His jaw was set, expression stark and hard. Colour had risen up on his cheekbones. He looked edgy, hungry and a little mean. The need she’d felt had come from outside her body. From him. She’d sensed his hunger, as well as her own. No wonder she’d been sent reeling.

“I’ll leave you to take a shower, or rest—whatever you need.” His voice had gone even deeper, rougher.

She nodded. “Fine. That’s great. Thanks. I may opt to wallow in a hot bath.”

Liz had to tell herself to stop babbling. Once he’d left, she walked on trembling legs to sit on the edge of the bed and stared mindlessly at the floor.

She’d felt Michael’s emotions. It had only been a brief flash, but still…powerful was an understatement. It seemed her empathic abilities were returning just in time for the grand finale.

~

In the end, she took the bath to calm her nerves. She had to borrow a change of clothes. The linen shirt was Michael’s and she teamed it with a white jersey maxi-skirt from Ruth. The shirt had a granddad collar and reached her thighs. She had to roll up the sleeves, but it made for a modest and respectable outfit. The problem was shoes. She had no other option except to keep on using the combat boots she’d worn for the last three days.

She joined the others in the study. The only one missing was Michael. They looked relieved to see her alone. Ruth and Nicole claimed a hug. Knowing Harry’s English reserve, Liz didn’t wait for him to do the honours before grabbing him into a hug too. He patted her shoulder awkwardly, saying gruffly, “We’ve been worried about you. Next time I’d be grateful if you could be more explicit in your emails—might save on misunderstandings, and save me a heart attack.”

It took Liz a moment to grasp what he was talking about. She grinned. “Sorry! Wow! It feels like a lifetime has passed since I sent that email.”

“Strangely, we feel the same,” said Cabrera. He held out a hand and offered a rueful smile. “It’s good to see you safe and sound, Ms Grant.”

Liz thought back over all of the horrors she’d endured, thanks largely to the special constabulary, and bit back a caustic retort. She shook his hand. “Thank you, sir. It’s a huge relief to find we’re on the same side now.”

Cabrera kept hold of her hand. “Tell us what happened. Why couldn’t you tell us what was going on? Why go on the run?”

“Because I wouldn’t let her tell you,” Michael answered from the doorway.

The reaction caused by the sudden intrusion of Michael’s voice might have been funny in other circumstances. All heads swung his way, revealing expressions varying in alarm and uneasiness. His hair was still wet, making it appear almost black. He’d changed into a cream, long-sleeved t-shirt and ancient, wash-softened denim jeans. Liz got the distinct impression the comfortable, relaxed front was a façade, but couldn’t pinpoint his mood beyond ‘ambivalent’. Judging by the stiffness of the others, they were waiting to see if he’d start lopping off heads. She gave a mental sigh and prepared to referee.

“I wanted to explain,” said Liz, bridging the uneasy pause. “Michael convinced me that to do so would be risking all of your lives. In the end it was easier to strike out alone and try and draw Gabriel out.”

“Was that your plan?” Harry and Cabrera asked simultaneously.

“I’d planned to use Liz as bait to try and force him to show himself,” said Michael. He came into the room and settled himself against a sideboard, crossing his arms and keeping his distance. “Except, you guys wouldn’t let up enough for that plan to be put into action, never mind work. The only time he got close was in Ashur.”

“What made you think your father was interested enough in Liz to take that risk?” asked Ruth.

“Because I am,” answered Michael bluntly. “He probably knows I’ve been keeping tabs on her. He also knows she’s the reason why I veered from type and intervened to save a novice. The media hyped up the vampire-does-good angle to death afterward. That would have snagged his interest—then Liz kicked his ass and stopped him from killing me in her apartment. From his viewpoint, he has a major score to settle with both of us.”

“Ashur was when he killed one of my female constables. Any ideas why her and why then?” asked Cabrera.

“Gabriel tortured her knowing we’d find her,” said Liz. She took a seat on a nearby armchair. “He did it to rattle me, to strike at me through my empathic abilities—a sort of torture by proxy. That’s why he left her alive. It worked. What he put her through was unspeakable. I felt her horror as if I was her. If Michael hadn’t got me out, I’d be dead or insane by now.”

There was a stunned pause. Ruth came over to sit on the arm of her chair, offering mute sympathy. Harry went white, visibly stricken. Cabrera’s expression turned dark and brooding.

“He also did it to frame me, confirming me as the killer in your minds,” added Michael. “He knew where to find us because you knew where to find us. He took the chance you’d put two and two together and get five. Knowing I’ve been getting the blame for his kills has been giving him a major charge.”

“Why would he think that would bother you so much?” asked Nicole. “Forgive me, but you are going through the change and your reputation isn’t exactly reassuring, even without the murders added into the mix.”

Michael’s expression became shuttered. Liz decided to answer for him and pay the consequences if he didn’t like her divulging his private family history. “Gabriel forced himself on Michael’s mother. That’s how he was conceived. Michael suffered for that assault all of his childhood. Gabriel is fully aware of how much he’d despise being held responsible for these atrocities.”

A second awkward pause descended. “That explains a lot,” said Ruth. “I’m sorry, Michael, this must have been traumatic for you.”

“More so for the victims,” he returned dryly.

Liz recalled him saying the same thing to her not long after they’d arrived in the old quarter. “You don’t know the half of it. He dreams the kills afterwards as if he had done it—reliving it, step by step—and I’ve seen what those dreams do to him.”

“Liz!” Michael sent her a warning, ‘shut-the-hell-up’ glare.

“You dream your father’s dreams?” asked Harry, frowning. He stopped pacing to lean against the desk, then changed his mind and got back to pacing.

“Vampirism comes with all kind of quirks,” Michael returned. “Killing dreams is one of the more common ones. We all get them at some point; they come with the hunger. Most are disjointed and more like erratic flashbacks, and I can block them easily. These are different. Liz had it right, they’re a moment-by-moment reliving of his kills, and I can’t stop them.”

“But you have dreamed another’s kills before,” said Ruth.

“Like I said, it’s not uncommon. Most of the time it’s unconscious and I can block it out even when I’m asleep. I’m guessing Gabriel has learned to do it at will, and I can’t shut him out.”

“Really, come on! Precisely how does one learn to force dreams on another?” asked Harry sceptically.

“How the hell do I know? I’m just answering questions here,” Michael snapped back. “What you make of those answers is up to you.” He drew in a slow breath and raked a hand through his hair, then grudgingly said, “Turning into a demon exaggerates flaws and jacks up natural abilities. The emotionally volatile get more so, the hot tempered—ditto.” He shrugged. “In life I was good at second-guessing my opponents. Now I get a limited kind of precognition: a split-second advantage of seeing the next move just before it happens. It comes in fits and starts, but it can be useful in a fight.”

“I bet.” From his seat, Cabrera sent Harry a quelling glance. Harry accepted the mute order with a grimace, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking back on his heels.

“Perhaps you can’t block out Gabriel because you’re related,” suggested Nicole. “And you’re more likely to be vulnerable when you’re asleep.”

“Probably,” Michael agreed. “I don’t know for sure.”

“When was the last time you had such a dream?” asked Cabrera.

“After Ashur. He’s been quiet since. Have there been any more victims?”

“None we’re aware of,” said Harry, “but if what you’re suggesting is correct, he may just be choosing not to advertise them.”

They fell silent to mull over what they’d learned so far.

“Okay, so Gabriel can broadcast on a whim,” said Liz. “What about the other way around? What about receiving?”

For a heartbeat Liz saw horror dawning in Michael’s dark eyes, and then he shook his head. “If he could pick’n’mix my thoughts at will, he’d have known I was coming to your apartment that night. The same with the time we found him attacking Ruth—and Ruth still being alive. There are other instances, loads of them. I was an easy target after I got shot. He’d have taken advantage of that if he could. He can’t read my mind, Liz.”

Ruth agreed. “If Gabriel can only affect you when you’re asleep, it would likely only work that way for receiving too. He can influence dreams from afar, but he can’t directly affect your mind, or get you to act in a way contrary to your own will.”

“Maybe, but we can’t be sure,” said Cabrera. “Perhaps he found you in Ashur and Le Jardin because of you and not a leak in the SC. Hell, we didn’t even know you were in Le Jardin. I say we can’t take the risk.”

“Meaning what?” snapped Michael.

“Meaning we might only have one shot at this. We have to act quickly and you have to stay awake and alert.”

Michael brows lowered over narrowed eyes. “That’s fine by me. I can miss sleep and it doesn’t affect me, whatever makes you feel better, but just for the record, I don’t relive my days and conversations in dreams. Hell, who does? My dreams are every bit as surreal and haphazard as the next guy. Gabriel found us in Ashur through the SC. He admitted it when we had a little chat afterward.”

“Good. In that case, I’ll stop worrying, but we still need to move fast.” Cabrera included them all in his next statement. “The longer we take to make a move, the more likely we’ll be too late.”

“What’s wrong with the original plan?” asked Liz. “Dangle me as bait and see if Gabriel bites.”

“No.”

Liz swung to Michael, surprised. “Why not?”

“We’re not just dealing with Gabriel, remember? Things are more complicated now. I can’t predict the actions or reactions of some nameless stranger who may be pulling my father’s strings. I won’t risk it.”

He had a point, but Liz really didn’t like his method of delivering it. “You wouldn’t be the one taking the risk, I would,” she returned sweetly.

Michael went unnaturally still. His eyes bored into hers. “When you came out of your catatonic state you made me promise to kill you myself rather than let him get his hands on you. Let’s get one thing straight: neither of us is ending up in that position.” His tone was cold and implacable. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you think you’ve got backup now with your buddies around you. When it comes to your safety, I don’t do democracy. Get used to it.”

So much for an ambivalent mood. His harsh reaction to her mild challenge shocked Liz to silence. The memory he’d just tossed in her face left her feeling bruised and ashamed. Left momentarily reeling, she couldn’t think of a thing to say in reply.

“I have a name,” offered Cabrera into the ringing silence that followed. “I’m just not one-hundred percent sure of it yet. Does John Paul Sauvage mean anything to anyone?”

“Hasn’t he just been elected as Special Commissioner?” said Nicole, rushing in to help fill the awkward gap left by Liz and Michael.

“It was mentioned in the last news broadcast,” Ruth concurred. “His appointment is supposed to be due to the crisis, and temporary.” She rolled her eyes. “Like that’s believable. I definitely experienced a Star Wars moment. The Lady High Constable was suspiciously absent during the press conference.”

Harry frowned. “He’s also a member of the Privy Council. I’ve seen his signature a few times recently.”

“You’re right on both counts. Sauvage is the new Special Commissioner, and he’s on the council,” confirmed Cabrera. “I’ve met him before. During the last emergency council meeting he was pushing hard for direct military intervention in the old quarter.” He paused. “He’s also the contact Captain Ickle communicated with at the utilities plant. Miggs has just confirmed my suspicions after checking his comms log.”

“That means he has to be involved,” said Harry. “Ickle is definitely a bad egg.”

“Is that all you know about Sauvage?” asked Michael.

“He’s kept to the shadows until recently,” said Cabrera. “I’ve tried digging deeper in the last few days, but got little more than his address and appointments diary. If there’s any dirt out there, I haven’t been able to find it.”

“I know of him,” said Michael, surprising them. “I’ve come across him a few times. He does business with some of the bosses I refuse to work for, on the basis they’re sick sons of bitches and I’d rather kill them than whoever they want taken out. I’ve checked him out when he’s popped up on my radar. He’s made a few investments in the old quarter, mostly sex shops and brothels catering to major sexual deviants. From what I hear, the guy likes pain in a big way. And variety.”

“That makes no sense. Why would he risk his seat on the Privy Council like that?” asked Nicole. “His twisted libido aside, financial transactions in the old quarter are forbidden unless you live there.”

“The forbidden attracts some people,” said Cabrera. “What I want to know is why a council member with eclectic tastes in bedroom gymnastics feels the need to start a war between humans and vampires.” He looked around, seeking their opinions. “What does he get out of it?”

“Maybe he’s not at the top of the ladder,” suggested Liz. It was the first time she’d spoken since Michael had verbally slapped her down. Once the shock had worn off she’d begun simmering with resentment. “Maybe he has a boss who’s calling the shots.”

Cabrera nodded. “All right, so let’s widen the scope. What could anyone get out of it? Who wins if we start fighting?”

“It’s obvious isn’t it?” said Harry. “Gehenna would revert to how it was two thousand years ago. The city would descend into chaos and constant battles, and the lost—us—would stay lost. Hundreds of thousands would die the final death on a daily basis and, for most of us, any chance of being redeemed would end.”

“Michael,” said Liz in a tight voice. “That’s exactly what Aaron told us would happen. Bloody hell, I can’t believe I forgot.”

“Who’s Aaron?” asked Cabrera.

Michael waved the question aside. “An acquaintance of mine. Don’t worry about him.”

Liz glanced at him, wondering why he wanted to keep Aaron’s true identity a secret. His face was utterly expressionless.

“I’m still confused,” admitted Ruth. “Harry’s given us a horrible consequence, not a winner. Why would Sauvage, or anyone, want Gehenna to revert back to being an outright hell? Who benefits?”

Nobody answered, unwilling to name a name. An uncomfortable silence fell. “You’re not seriously suggesting Satan are you?” asked Ruth, breaking the taboo.

~o~

He’d been antsy since the kiss. After the barest taste Michael had no choice but to end it, not if Liz was to have a choice, and she’d already made it clear taking her to bed wasn’t an option. He’d left to take his first cold shower in centuries. His mood hadn’t improved since. Michael knew he’d hurt Liz’s feelings; she was angry with him. All of which made his mood all the more volatile.

He’d been harsh and probably crossed a line, but he needed to make sure there were no false assumptions, especially on Liz’s part. She was too damned impulsive and reckless. He couldn’t stand the idea of her falling into his father’s clutches if something went wrong. He’d lock her up if it was the only way to avoid that scenario.

Since he’d snapped at her she’d refused to look at him, except for that one unguarded moment over Aaron’s revelations. It shouldn’t, but it got to him. Having his home full of skittish, antagonistic humans wasn’t helping his simmering temper. It took a monumental effort to keep himself in check and pretend he wasn’t close to punching something.

The study was filled with a deathly silence following Ruth’s question. The idea that Satan himself might be behind their problems had effectively knocked the wind out of everyone’s sails.

“The only way to find out for sure would be to abduct Sauvage and force the information out of him.” Michael told the group, adding matter-of-factly, “Given how much he likes pain that could take a while.”

The expression on Harry Gillespie’s face suggested he wouldn’t mind making the attempt.

“Has anyone ever met Satan?” Liz asked the others. “I remember asking when I first got here and was told no one in living memory had so much as clapped eyes on him.”

“How would anyone know?” asked Nicole with a helpless gesture. “What does a fallen angel look like? I can’t see him having cloven hooves and horns. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since dying it’s that nothing here is what you’d expect.”

Michael pushed away from the sideboard. “My guess is he’ll look like any other guy. You’d probably pass him in the street without giving him a second glance.”

“What makes you so certain?” asked Ruth, curiously.

“Because I’ve met an angel and only figured out he wasn’t human when I couldn’t break his neck. I don’t see the ‘fallen’ version being all that different.”

“You tried to kill Aaron?” Liz was shocked and appalled. “You didn’t mention that before.”

“We were having a disagreement,” Michael replied. He sat in the last remaining free armchair and tipped his head back on the cushion, closing his eyes. He was resigned and waiting for the deluge of questions he’d hoped to avoid. He didn’t have long to wait.

“Let me get this straight” said Cabrera. “You’ve met an angel and had a conversation, resulting in an argument, and now call one an acquaintance?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Michael lifted his head to look over at the chief constable. “The first time I met him, he warned me about Gabriel being in Gehenna. He later called here to say Liz was in danger—that’s how I came to arrive at her apartment when he was attacking her. The last time I saw Aaron, I was with Liz in Tarsus. He helped us get out of a sticky situation. That’s when he laid out the doomsday scenario if I didn’t manage to kill Gabriel. We haven’t seen him since.”

“Wow,” said Ruth. “Mission impossible direct from heaven. I wish we’d known.”

“Don’t we all,” said Cabrera feelingly. “I wish you’d come to us with all of this at the beginning.”

“I’ve spent centuries avoiding humans and had no plans to change that at the time.” Michael let his lips curve in a humourless smile. “Besides, we both know you wouldn’t have believed me. By the time Aaron clued me in, Gabriel had killed two women and made sure he was caught on CCTV. I was already the killer in your eyes.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourselves,” said Liz. “He refused to discuss it with me and I was right there when Aaron spelled it out.”

Michael ignored the jibe. “We need to take out my father and Sauvage at the same time. Sauvage could have a deputy waiting in the wings to take over if he fails, and the last thing we need is to be back at square one right at a crucial point.”

“Sounds logical,” agreed Cabrera, “But while finding Sauvage shouldn’t be too difficult, your father is another matter.”

“Not to mention we need your confrontation with him to be on public record,” Harry reminded them all. “People need to see there are two of you, that this whole fiasco has been false from the beginning. Once questions are beginning to be asked, the impetus towards military action should slow radically.”

“Gabriel hasn’t had any action for days now,” said Michael. “I know him. He’s got to be chomping at the bit. Whatever leash this Sauvage has on him, he’s going to be close to slipping it and doing his own thing. All he needs is a nudge.”

“What did you have in mind for the nudge?” asked Harry.

“Me, along with a troop of special constables pretending to have me cornered. The press will go nuts. Who knows, it may even pause the push towards civil war. The reports will be both lure and invitation to Gabriel, and through them he’ll know exactly where to find me. Trust me, he won’t like the idea of a bunch of humans getting the jump on him. He wants to kill me himself. He’ll come.”

onto CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

2010-10-14T20:01:00.042+01:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

*Passage taken from the English Standard Translation of the Bible.

The scenes showing on the entertainment screen were dire to say the least. The old quarter in its entirety was now cut off and designated a no-go area. Militia troops were being flown over the border to strategic sites in the corridor. The ancient treaty was being ripped into shreds. Violence had already spilled out and, just to highlight this grim fact, an image flashed up of row after row of filled body-bags.

Michael kept the sound muted until the news report moved on and two photographs appeared. They were both head-and-shoulders shots; one was of an older man, perhaps in his late forties, with a craggy, scarred face that for all its calm expression screamed ‘don’t screw with me or you’ll regret it’. The second was Liz in full SC uniform.

He picked up the remote and raised the volume.

“…the Special Constabulary, and the Chief Constable in particular, are under investigation for perverting the cause of peace and justice. The allegations against Chief Constable Cabrera include those of collusion with the renegade constable Elizabeth Grant—a known empath—whose appointment has been a contentious issue for the SC ever since she took up a position within the once elite division.

“The wide-ranging consequences of these allegations for the Special Constabulary cannot be underestimated, particularly at this time of escalating tensions between the human and vampire populations. The Department for Civil Defence and the Lady High Constable’s office are refusing to comment at this time, citing the inappropriateness of doing so while an active investigation is under way. In the meantime, and as an interim measure, the Privy Council have elected the militia to step in to continue the hunt for the feral vampire, Michael Thane.”

His image replaced Cabrera’s. It was from earlier in the day and taken within the quadrangle of the agricultural utilities plant. He’d thought Liz was dead and his expression reflected his savage frame of mind. The image panned back to reveal the carnage he’d wrought. They showed a video sequence of an abortive attempt by the militia to run him down.

The newscaster came back on screen, embellishing the report with further details of what had happened at the plant. When he heard the shower shut off from the bathroom next door, Michael lowered the volume back down.

“Something smells good,” said Liz, emerging from the bathroom and into the bedroom. The perfume of the shower gel she’d used wafted out after her.

The bedroom was small. Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed. He had to move his legs so she could slide past him. She’d dried off with the towels they’d found. Dampness still clung to her skin though, giving her a dewy look. Her wet hair had been combed back from her face. There were dark circles under her eyes from tiredness and strain. Regardless, she still managed to make his heart beat faster.

He kept his tone casual by dint of effort. “I’ve got stew heating in the kitchen. It should be ready in about half an hour. Hungry?”

“Actually, I am,” she sounded surprised. “Stew sounds great.” Something in his expression must have given him away. Her gaze slid shyly away from his to settle on the screen. “So, what are they saying about us this time?”

“The same old story. You’re a renegade empath and I’m a feral vampire.”

“Hah. They’re behind the times. I’m decidedly unempathic at the moment.” She folded herself into an old armchair with lumpy cushions and a sagging seat. The chair was jammed into the corner by the window and next to a battered dresser. She tucked her bare feet under her hip.

“Do you miss it?” he asked her.

Liz hesitated. “Sometimes,” she smiled wryly, “Although, my gift was never reliable when I really wanted it.”

Michael got the distinct impression she was talking about him. He’d behaved like a bastard to her when he’d broken into her apartment, and for a good while after. Considering her reckless impulses, he was damned glad she didn’t know how much had changed in the last few days. He was putty in her hands now, and they were both better off with her ignorant of such a dangerous fact.

He was going to have nightmares about that damned tower for the rest of his unnatural life. Every time he relived that dive of hers, he literally quaked inside.

He changed the subject. “They’re also saying the Special Constabulary is about to get a public spanking. The chief constable is accused of being in collusion with us.”

Liz stared at him with round, shocked eyes. “What? But that’s insane! Carl Cabrera is the straightest arrow I’ve ever met. Where could they have got that lunatic idea from?”

He told her what he’d got from the news report. “They’re saying Cabrera was at the plant today along with a deputy. The militia captain, whose men we were up against, made a formal complaint after it was all over. He’s claiming he was threatened at gunpoint when his men were trying to ‘arrest us’.”

Liz snorted. “Is that what they’re saying they were trying to do?” She shook her head in disgust, and then paused to think it through. “Cabrera is a good man. He intimidates the heck out of me, but he has strong convictions about the sanctity of last life. He doesn’t like using killing force even as a last resort. If he was there today, he would have objected. They didn’t even try and take us alive.”

“Apparently he did object, at gunpoint, and got his rear in hot water over it.”

“A lot of his men are fanatically loyal. He inspires a great deal of respect, especially within the SC and DCD. There’s going to be trouble if he gets arrested.”

“They’re not talking about arrest, yet, but it’s probably on the cards. Someone isn’t happy and wants him out the way.” Michael stood up. “I’m going to take a shower. I won’t be long and then we can eat.”

Liz’s eyes had flared when he’d stood up. He sympathised. They were both hypersensitive when it came to the other. He seemed to unconsciously register every move she made. He’d had to stop himself counting her breaths while she was in the shower.

Stalker mode much?

The shower stall was rickety and the tiles were turning grey with age. The shower itself though was hot and powerful. Michael was true to his word and finished in record time.

The kitchen of the small, single-storey property they’d found was even tinier than the bedroom. The rental sign hanging in the front yard had been the draw and they were lucky it was partially furnished. There was a foldaway table bolted onto one kitchen wall and they used that to eat the hot food. The market where he’d stocked up on provisions hadn’t been big on fresh or quality, but they were hungry enough to eat it anyway. The selling point for using that store had been the automated teller. Their faces had been broadcast too many times to risk being seen by an actual person. Machines weren’t in a position to ring the cops after recognising a fugitive.

The silence between them hummed with tension. Liz finished first and politely waited for him to do the same. They hadn’t talked about what had happened that day and the subject sat like a boulder between them. Michael didn’t dare bring it up directly. She’d put her life in his hands with that dive. Half of him was humbled at such trust, while the other half wanted to throttle her for taking such an incredibly dumb risk.

“How do you trust so easily?” Michael asked her bluntly.

Liz gave him a questioning look, tilting her head in silent query.

“I don’t get it. You baffle me,” he admitted.

She grinned. “That’s because you’ve never been a woman of average intelligence, poor qualifications, no previous ambition, no super-strength or brilliant skills of any kind. I’m average in every way. When you’re average and need to get things done, you have to trust other people to help you do them.”

Michael shook his head. “That’s not it.”

She laughed, taken aback by his swift rejection. “What do you mean, ‘that's not it’? I should know.”

“I know lots of average people, and have known thousands more over the decades who fit the same description you’ve just given. They’re not like you. I’ve never known anyone like you.”

“Should I be complimented or insulted?”

“I’m still figuring that out. I’ll let you know when you’ve answered my question.”

“Hey!”

He smiled at her indignant expression. “Answer the question, Liz.”

She tossed up her hands. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I trust people because I want to, because to never trust anyone is a horrible existence. My parents never trusted anyone, especially each other. I didn’t want—don’t want—to be like them. I’d rather take a leap of faith, and crash and burn, than be like them.”

Michael found himself needing to know more. “How many times have you crashed and burned, using your metaphor?”

“Lots and lots” answered Liz promptly, “More times than I can count. But, I still put my trust in trust, rather than pride. I’ve tried it both ways. Pride bruises and bleeds too easily and then shatters on you just when you need it most. Trust is more resilient.”

“You’re talking about lovers?” he asked, wanting clarification.

“Lovers, friends, pretend friends—everyone. Relationships in general.”

He didn’t like what he was hearing. It bothered him that she’d been hurt by people she’d been intimate with, who she’d trusted. “How did you end up in Gehenna, Liz? You shouldn’t be here.”

As easily as that, the amusement was wiped from her face. “Oh, yes, I should. Just because I easily trusted all the wrong people, it doesn’t mean I wasn’t every bit as self-centred, ignorant and sinful as they were. I didn’t respect myself or anything beyond my own narrow world-view. I thought morality was for prudes who couldn’t think for themselves. Besides, we know ‘niceness’ isn’t what saves us.”

She picked up both their plates and headed for the chipped sink. “And even if it was, I wouldn’t have qualified. I wasn’t a nice person when I died, Michael. It didn’t occur to me I needed to change until after I arrived in hell.”

“Lots of people suffer the same realisation once they get here, and with a lot more reason.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the sound of running water.

“Maybe, but I had the added bonus of being able to feel their emotions as well as my own.” Her tone was sarcastic. “I was a mess for a long time after you found me and dumped me in the DCD. Trusting people is what got me through.”

He waited until she’d finished soaping and rinsing the dishes to lean back in his chair and say, “I still think you’re nuts. Your thinking is screwy.”

“Gee, thanks!” She relaxed, as he’d intended, and came back to the table to retake her seat. She propped her chin on her hand, her elbow on the table and said, “I think it’s a fallacy that if you don’t have expectations you won’t be disappointed. If I betrayed you over something—think something up—would you be any less upset because you haven’t trusted me…does it make betrayal easier to bear?”

“I’ve been betrayed lots of times and it’s never easy to bear, and your example doesn’t work. I do trust you.”

Warmth and delight lit up her face. “Thank you.” A mischievous light came into her hazel eyes. “Have we just gone around in a philosophical circle?”

“Pretty much. I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“Fine with me. Let’s change the subject. Tell me about the ring.”

His gaze went straight to the wide, engraved silver ring on his right forefinger. “What, this?”

“It’s the only jewellery you wear, Michael, so yes, that one.”

Michael really didn’t want to discuss the ring or its history, especially with Liz. The intent, expectant look on her face warned him he had no choice. “It’s a replica of the ring all the Thegns of Pherlmere wore. The original was handed down from one generation to the next. I told you my grandfather hated me, remember? He bequeathed the ring and the manor to another, in effect, disinheriting me.”

He’d surprised her. “And you accuse me of screwy thinking. Why wear a symbol of rejection?”

“I don’t see it as a symbol of rejection, but of victory and revenge. I got the original in the end, and died wearing it.”

“Go on. If the manor went to another, how did you get hold of the ring?”

She just had to ask that question. Michael sighed, shifted in his seat and finally sat up to prop his elbows on the table too. “Being disinherited pissed me off. I fought the man my grandfather gave it to and took it off him. I wore it on my forefinger instead of the middle as it was taken by force and not given, and I do the same with this one.”

“Did you kill the other man?”

He wasn’t fooled by the casual way she asked. “Yes, I killed him. It was a fight to the death and I won. It was expected. He would have done the same to me.”

“I see.” He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, and then she floored him with her next question. “Do you repent of it, wish you hadn’t killed him?”

“Do I—” He laughed, caught out and bemused. “—No. I don’t know. Maybe.”

Discomforted, he shook his head at her. She quirked a brow in a silent prod for more. “Okay, so maybe in the scheme of things it was a stupid, useless thing to do.” Michael gave an irritable shrug, wishing he’d ducked the entire topic. “I haven’t thought about it for a long time. I hardly even notice the ring.”

Liz still said nothing, just continued to look at him with her chin in her hand and a slight smile on her lips.

She was enjoying having him squirm. Damn it. “Look, it was another time, another age.” He scraped a hand over his face and gave her a disgruntled look. “Only you would even think to ask me that question.”

The scowl just bounced off her. “It’s an important question,” she said.

“To you, maybe,” he shot back.

“But not to you?”

“I’m a thousand years old, Liz. It’s too late for me.”

“I don’t think so.”

Their verbal sparring was giving him the strongest urge to kiss her again, if only to shut her up. “You don’t?”

“No, I don’t.”

She wasn’t giving an inch and the gleam in her eyes was more reckless now than merely mischievous. He tilted his to the side, meeting that mute challenge head-on. “I’m a violent man with a crappy past, and I couldn’t care less about others. How do you figure it’s not too late?”

“Easy. You’re not as scary as you like to make out.” Liz stood, holding out her hand across the table. “Dance with me.”

“Excuse me?”

For the second time in as many minutes, she’d blindsided him. Michael froze, eyeing her warily. Where had this come from?

“You heard me.”

“There’s no music, Liz.”

“I’ll hum.” She was determined. She waggled her fingers impatiently. “Dance with me, Michael. I don’t want to think about today, or the SC or Gabriel. I just want to be normal for a few hours. It could be our last chance and I don’t want to miss it.”

“I don’t dance. I’m too tall, and I was absent the day they gave out a sense of rhythm.”

“I won’t complain if you stand on my feet. Up!”

Michael let her slide her palm over his, clasp his hand and tug him to his feet. His legs felt disjointed and his arms felt like jello. He was nervous for crying out loud. Oblivious to his discomfort, Liz began to hum a soft, slow tune and clasped her hands at his flanks. The heat of her hands burned through his t-shirt.

She led and he blindly followed. Her scent wrapped around him, exactly as he’d known it would. Her hair had dried and now spilled over her shoulders, cascading in a glossy waterfall down her back. When they moved, their legs brushed, parted and brushed again. The age-softened cotton of the high-necked nightgown she’d found was warm under his hands. Her bare toes peeped out from under the floor-length hem. She was so delicate and supple, graceful and feminine.

Continuing to hum, Liz rested her cheek against his chest. Michael closed his eyes. He lifted a hand and twined his fingers through her hair, stroking her scalp. Every move she made he echoed. For once, he didn’t stumble; he was so attuned to her every move he was easily able to follow. The thrum of her pulse was a siren song, making him feel shaky and too warm inside. He breathed her in. A few hours ago he’d been in a killing rage thinking her dead, and now they were dancing.

She was still driving him crazy.

o~O~o

It was Harry who came up with the idea of using Thane’s own residence as a place to hide Ruth, as well as somewhere to set up a secure base-of-operations. It turned out the IT geek Cabrera had clashed with during the initial attempt to breach the ex-abbey’s security, was the same individual Harry had been using for his clandestine log raids and image analysis.

“Mr Miggs,” Cabrera greeted him with a nod and a terse query, “I hope you’ve been more successful with this latest assignment than the first we gave you?”

“Yes, sir.” The kid practically saluted. “I’ve analysed all the images available and have the results ready to present.”

“Okay, let’s have it.”

They were in one of the few rooms the E-AID techs had managed to open. It was a sitting room-cum-study with book-lined walls, a sophisticated entertainment unit and glazed French doors leading out to the cloister and gardens. Beside himself and Miggs, Ruth, Harry and Nicole were present. Other than Miggs, all were seated in burgundy leather armchairs grouped in a loose semicircle.

Miggs’ skinny butt gyrated in the air as he struggled to plug his laptop into the entertainment unit’s wall-sized screen. Once back on sneaker-shod feet, he had to clear his throat twice before managing a simple sentence. “I—erm—grouped the images into two sets. This first image is from group one, I think.” He had to check. “Yep, that’s right, group one.”

The screen came to life. An image of Michael Thane appeared. It was an exterior shot taken in daylight and he was talking with an unidentified male. It was a decent picture for a surveillance camera.

Miggs continued, “This picture was taken nine months ago, so it’s fairly recent and a few months before the murders began.”

He pressed a small remote in his hand. Another image replaced it. This one was a grainy headshot taken at a slight angle. “This is from the second group and taken two weeks ago—you can see the date stamp there, so yeah, two weeks. The victim is actually clinging to his arm in the original. I’ve removed her to limit prejudice.”

More images followed one after another. When Miggs finally paused the presentation all signs of nervousness were gone; he was in the groove. “The first distinguishing characteristic you will have noticed is the quality of the images. One set is of good, clear quality, while the other set are poor and difficult to clean up. That in itself isn’t uncommon. Cameras, particularly surveillance and CCTV, have varying pixel capabilities, and damage or environmental issues can cause problems affecting picture quality.”

“However,” he said, pausing for emphasis, “there are other factors that allow me to group these shots into what I believe are two different individuals. All of the good quality images are one individual, and the grainy ones of another. The one-hundred percent incidence rate for this phenomenon leads me to suspect image tampering, either at source or during download.”

Miggs left a pause. No one dissented from this conclusion.

“What are these other factors” prodded Harry.

A grainy image appeared. Miggs used a long, slim pointer to highlight what appeared to be a dark pixel blemish under the left eye. “The picture is so bad it doesn’t really hit you until you’ve analysed all of the grainy-group of images, but this is a small mole. It’s always in the exact same place, so it’s not a cosmetic patch, and it’s entirely absent on the good quality images.”

He brought up a clear shot of Thane again and zoomed in. They all looked closely. No mole.

“The second factor,” said Miggs “is hairline. The individual in the grainy images is wearing a wig in my opinion.” A new image appeared, this time of a side view. “Here, if you look closely you can see the wig has been disturbed and repositioned badly. This image was taken as the murderer was leaving one of the early murder scenes.”

It wasn’t obvious until Miggs pointed it out. The dark hair was indeed lying oddly around the right ear, as if the hairline around the nape of the neck had jumped up an inch.

“So, you think it’s possible one of the victims yanked at the wig and Gabriel adjusted it before leaving the apartment, not realising he’d done a rubbish job?” said Ruth. She was back to being her colourful, voluble self.

He nodded. “Exactly, and it wasn’t the only time. There are other examples.”

“Is there any hint of Thane wearing a wig in the good quality group?” asked Cabrera.

“No, nothing. As far as I can tell he’s still got his own hair” said Miggs.

“It’s fairly well known that vampires lose their hair as they get deeper into the change,” Nicole spoke up to remind the group. “It isn’t normally the first sign, but it is a strong indicator, and usually begins with body hair, then head hair. The film sequence you showed us from the tunnels, Carl, included a torso shot. That chest had a fair covering of hair, and we know that was Thane.”

There was a pause. “Right, excellent,” said Harry. “Thank you, Mr Miggs. You may retake your seat.”

“Nicole,” said Cabrera. “What else have you found out?”

“Well, I’ve no pictures to show you to liven things up, just dry facts.” Dr Keller held up a manila folder and then tossed it onto the nearby console table. “I redid DNA tests from three of the victims. The results are clear in-and-of themselves. The DNA is not an exact match to Michael Thane, as the first results were, but damned close. A strong genetic connection can be confidently concluded.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” asked Cabrera.

“It means that it wasn’t Michael Thane who killed those women, but someone with a genetic code similar enough to be an identical twin. Also, I have a problem with my lab staff, obviously.”

“Unfortunately, our problems aren’t limited to laboratory staff screwing with tests results. This has to go much higher and further than the MCRHD, and right to the Privy Council.” Cabrera looked around the assembled group. “None of you seem surprised at this latest development.”

“I knew days ago there were two of them,” said Ruth, smiling to soften the words. “It was you who needed convincing. I looked into both their eyes. They might be the same colour and shape, but they’re totally different. Thane bit me to heal me. He doesn’t get off on hurting others. Gabriel does.”

“The videos you showed us were pretty convincing by themselves,” said Nicole after a pause.

“Yes,” agreed Harry dryly. “We rather thought so at the time.”

“At least we know Liz is in safe hands,” said Ruth.

“But the city isn’t,” said Cabrera grim-faced. “We’re heading for a civil war. No, we’re being driven into a civil war on false precepts. This whole crisis has been cleverly engineered right from the start. We need to figure out a way of stopping this before the crap really hits the fan and the changes to our society are irreversible.”

“I still don’t get the motive,” said Nicole, frowning. “What’s the gain here?”

“I’ll ask that question when I find whoever is responsible for setting this up. I’ve already got a few ideas of who to look at first,” said Cabrera. “But, as important as finding the brains behind the plan is, we need to expose this sham to the public first. I have no weight to throw around if I’m discredited.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” queried Harry, tiredly rubbing his eyes. “We’ve fallen from grace, remember.”

“Ruth has agreed to help.” Cabrera turned to Ruth with a smile creasing his scarred face. “Do you want to explain the plan, or shall I?”

“Oh, let me. I haven’t talked anywhere near enough tonight. Carl has called a press conference for tonight,” she announced, “Ostensibly to make a rebuttal of the allegations against him. I’m going to be there too. He’s going to admit why my death was faked and then introduce me. We’re hoping the age-old journalistic drive for a story will keep the cameras rolling while I wax lyrical about how Michael Thane is innocent and saved my life, etcetera, etcetera. As a victim, my words will carry some weight. They won’t necessarily believe me right away, but I can’t be ignored. In the background, we’re going to incorporate something only Thane will recognise as being from inside his own property. With any luck, he’ll come to us.”

Harry wasn’t enamoured of the idea. “Is that a good idea? I can’t see him viewing us in a good light. We’ve been hunting him like an animal.”

“He’ll get over it in the interests of clearing his name," answered Cabrera. "Thane is supposed to be an intelligent man. If he is, he’ll realise we stand a better chance of working something out together than apart. With the Lady High Constable muzzled, and the Privy Council spooked and making idiot decisions, things will speedball, especially with the militia jack-booting around. The best thing we can do now is blow this whole thing wide open to the public as fast as possible. Seeing Thane and his identical father together should help expose the manipulation. We also need a plan to set a trap for this Gabriel.”

“Recording an interview with you and Ruth is one thing,” warned Nicole. “Getting it on air is another. The Privy Council may block it.”

“We just need to get the ball rolling,” said Cabrera. “Media momentum will take care of the rest. It’s what the bad guys have been doing, and what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

o~O~o

Liz woke up in darkness. It wasn’t pitch-black though. The grey light of predawn filtered through the thin drapes of the tiny bedroom window. It was raining outside and pattering noisily against the roof and walls. The double bed was surprisingly comfortable. Although, she thought with an inward grimace, after the hard floor of the van, a park bench might have felt nearly as good.

Wondering where Michael was she rolled over onto her back, and found him. He was a dark shape in the corner. He was slouched low in the armchair with his feet propped up on the dresser to allow him to stretch out his long legs. The moment her gaze settled on him his eyes popped open. You couldn’t miss the twin glow as the meagre light from window caught and reflected in them.

“Wow! Cat’s eyes,” she murmured, smiling sleepily. “Have you gone vampire on me?”

“It’s a habit. I can see better in the dark this way.”

“Fair enough.” Liz stretched and yawned, feeling contentment and anticipation tighten her belly. Just being in the same room with him seemed to produce that effect today.

He didn’t move a muscle, a big cat stretched out and lazily watching her. She turned on her side, propping her head on her hand. “Did you sleep at all?” she asked. In the darkness, the intimacy of him watching over her felt as warm and cocooning as a heated blanket. There was a hushed, languid quality to the atmosphere. Self-consciousness hadn’t yet raised its head, waiting for daylight.

“Some,” he told her. “Enough for me. I don’t need as much as you do.”

His voice sounded even deeper than usual, more of a rumble and as smooth as velvet. The sound of it made her smile widen. He definitely reminded her of a big cat. She made an impulsive decision.

“How’s that superlative self-control of yours this morning?” she queried, tongue-in-cheek.

Michael hesitated. Liz wondered what he was thinking. Finally, he said, “Still in place the last time I checked. Why?”

“I feel guilty about hogging the bed. We could watch some TV. The bed’s big enough and it’ll give you a chance to stretch out properly.”

Again he hesitated. Liz was beginning to think he’d refuse the offer when he slowly lifted his legs down, stood and came over. As he passed the entertainment screen, he activated it and grabbed up the remote.

Liz scooted over to give him room. Michael was still dressed. He toed his boots off before getting on the bed. The mattress dipped and then settled and then a new heat enveloped her, concentrated on her back and legs. She kept forgetting how big he was compared to her. The screen came on, making her blink in the sudden light.

A commercial appeared on the screen, advertising a popular brand of soap with a jaunty show tune as background music. She’d seen it a thousand times. You couldn’t get more mundane. The normality of it was surreal given the last few days. A passage from scripture followed, and the reader had the same deep voice made popular by voiceovers in ‘fifties-era movie epics.

“Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because, God is love. In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. This is love, not that we have loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins.”

“1 John 7,” said Liz. “I didn’t know a word of the Bible when I was alive. Not so now. That’s one of my favourite quotations.” She wasn’t certain why she was whispering. Perhaps she was afraid the bubble would burst if she spoke too loudly.

“It’s definitely one of the more upbeat passages people throw around,” said Michael.

The pillow under her head tipped as he propped himself up on an elbow. He’d curved his large, powerful frame around hers to maximise the limited space. Liz found herself sliding back too. She shifted up so her head rested on his bicep. She had to resist the urge to run her nose and cheek along the skin of his inner arm, warm silk over rock-hard muscle.

It was all too easy to relax against him. Liz didn’t risk turning over to face him though. That kiss in the tunnel was etched into her mind. He proved she hadn't managed to ditch her weakness for bad boys one iota.

Michael was warm and solid against her back, and smelled very faintly but definitely male. She’d missed that smell more than she’d realised, bringing a poignant ache to her chest. Closing her eyes, Liz took in long, slow breaths, memorising him. She refused to regret asking him to join her. This felt too precious for regrets.

She found his hand and linked hers with it. His hands fascinated her with their contradictions: big and graceful, strong and gentle. She brushed her thumb over the backs of his fingers and playfully tapped the ring as a reminder of their earlier conversation, earning a poke for her teasing.

It was a time out of time carved strictly for themselves. Grateful, Liz wallowed in the comfort of closeness, and determinedly buried any hint of a desire for more. She refused to risk spoiling this one stress-and-death-free night. If anything, the refusal to give in to temptation intensified every sensation. With the physical subdued, emotions soared. It was enough. It was wonderful. She only hoped Michael felt the same way.

He gave no hint of feeling put out, or disappointed, and she loved him all the more for not pressing for what she couldn't give. His hands wandered nowhere they shouldn't, settling for thumb-brushes at her hip or inside her palm, sensitising her skin to the point of quivering. He didn't even try and kiss her, and Liz tried not to be two-minded about that fact.

They watched a sitcom based around a Benedictine abbey in modern-day France, complete with Italian misfit and clichéd Irish abbot. Michael translated for her and she reciprocated by explaining any modern slang he hadn’t come across before. When he chuckled, she felt the vibration all the way down her body to her toes. Relaxation, after weeks of strain, had a soporific effect. Liz was just beginning to doze off when a news report came on.

“The whole city continues to be rocked by the astounding allegations and assertions made during a press conference given by the Chief Constable of the elite Special Constabulary. It was during this press conference that Chief Constable Cabrera admitted falsifying the death of Doctor Ruth Burgess, a psychologist at the city’s Medical Centre for the Research of Human Demonology. Even more controversially, Chief Cabrera now maintains that the vampire Michael Thane is not the killer he’s been hunting…”

Liz’s eyes snapped open. She jerked her head up off Michael’s arm to stare at the screen. Cabrera was standing on a podium, surrounded by microphones, and Ruth was standing next to him. She looked well—no, she looked wonderful in comparison to the last time Liz had seen her friend.

“Michael—”

“Yeah, I see it. Let’s hear what they have to say.” Michael turned up the volume with the remote.

The press conference lasted several minutes and the broadcasting station played the whole thing. The content was explosive. Once it was over, Liz shifted around until she could see Michael’s face. He had a knee raised with one arm resting over it. There was a pensive expression on his face.

“This is great! Cabrera himself going on air saying the SC no longer consider you as the main suspect. That’s huge progress,” she told him. Liz couldn’t keep the suppressed excitement out of her voice. Ruth was alive!

“Maybe, but the SC aren’t in charge anymore,” Michael pointed out. “So it’s a moot point.” Smiling to soften the tough logic, he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, asking, “By the way, did you see what Ruth was wearing?”

“I didn’t notice. Ruth always wears outlandish, quirky clothes. She’s a rebel that way.”

Michael quirked a brow, saying dryly, “She’s a rebel in other ways too. She owes me an embroidered map of Illyria. That headscarf she’s wearing is almost as old as I am. I had it framed and behind glass in my west study.”

onto CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

2010-10-11T00:03:00.015+01:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The militia refused to recruit women for active duty. If the guard saw her face they’d be discovered.

While Liz’s mind frantically searched for a plausible reason to decline, Michael stepped closer, as if to inspect the pannier, and snatched the suspicious guard’s pistol right out of his grasp. Liz hadn’t even noticed him reaching for it.

“Take one step back,” Michael instructed. The pistol was now aimed squarely at the guard’s abdomen, held just out of sight of any casual observer.

The guard gave a wry, self-depreciating smile and raised his hands, palms out. “Fast moves there, friend. I guess this means you’re the vamp we’re after?”

“That would be me, friend. Lower your hands. There’s no need to alert anyone else to our little drama.”

The guard did as he was told. He seemed to relish saying, “You should tell your girlfriend to do a better job of hiding her hair. You’d have got away with it if she had.”

Liz’s heart sank at his words. They’d been so close to getting away. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This was her fault. She felt sick. Michael was standing between the two bikes. The guard was standing near her rear wheel. To an onlooker it would appear as if they were conversing. She knew a stalemate was no answer though. They couldn’t stay out in the open all day. At some point, they’d be noticed.

“Michael,” she said tensely. “They wouldn’t kill me straight away, not if I gave myself up and insisted on speaking to the Chief Constable. Give me the gun and get out of here. I’ll keep him quiet until you get clear.”

He refused to even consider it. “Not going to happen. Be quiet, Liz.”

“For heaven’s sake, this isn’t a ‘yes’, or ‘no’ scenario. We don’t have another option—”

Dark, furious eyes slid briefly her way. “Shut up, Liz.”

There was a shout just behind and to the left of them. The guard jerked his head to the side as if in answer to being called. Michael and Liz glanced over as well. Taking advantage of that momentary distraction, the guard lashed out at Liz’s rear wheel. His kick dislodged something that resulted in an explosive hiss of gas. The bike shot drunkenly into the air as if catapulted with Liz still onboard. She saw the armoured aerial vehicle coming into land out of the corner of her eye, but couldn’t avoid the collision. The bike was out of her control.

In that split-second, she saw the AAV driver’s aghast face. He tried to take evasive action and the vehicle did a one-eighty, the rear end slewing through the air towards her. The side passenger door smacked the back wheel of her bike in mid-air. Liz felt a tremendous, agonising jolt in her arms, echoed in her body at the impact. She and the bike were launched across the quadrangle.

~o~

Michael had seen the guard tensing, preparing to do something, but he hadn’t guessed what so he acted too late. He back-handed the bastard with all of his strength, making sure the butt of the pistol caught him full in the face, crunching cartilage and shattering bone. By the time the guard hit the ground, Michael was racing across the quadrangle. Rage was gone, replaced with terror. He’d never felt fear like this before; it was overwhelming. Liz had to be ten meters off the ground at least. The human body had never seemed so horribly frail to him before. Could she survive a fall from that height? He doubted it. God help him. If he could just get close enough, he could leap up and catch her when she fell.

If not…

Don’t even think about!

He wouldn’t let her die. He couldn’t face it.

The AAV came out of nowhere. He hadn’t heard the engine, distracted by Liz. When the vehicle collided with the bike, it sent both bike and rider flying through the air. Michael bellowed a denial. The impact crushed the entire back half of the bike, sending them smacking into the tower on the opposite side of the quadrangle and, a moment later, there was a muffled explosion.

“NO!” Michael’s eyes changed and he didn’t notice. His heart slammed against his ribs. He slipped, lost his footing and stumbled, falling heavily to his knees. “Liz!!” The howl scored his throat.

o~O~o

Roland was lounging in his seat, his head resting on the chair-back, and using his feet to send the chair swinging negligently from side to side. “They did warn you, you know,” he said to Ickle. He gestured to Cabrera and Harry. “Maybe, you should’ve listened to them.”

A tide of red rose up Ickle’s neck, turning his face florid with rage. “Keep your comments to yourself, or I’ll have you removed from this control room,” he snarled.

Unfazed, Roland merely quirked a brow. “Are you finished with me then? I fancy a cuppa. My tea break was hours ago and I’m parched.”

“No, I’m not finished with you. Stay where you are.”

“All right, I was only saying. Make your bloomin’ mind up.” The tech muttered an uncomplimentary name under his breath to finish.

“Shut up!” Ickle rounded on him. “What happened to your so-called certainty you’d be able to keep track of Thane?”

“I was assuming the vamp would let the pod actually stop,” retorted Roland, unrepentant. “How was I to know he’d second guess us and stick to outside. I’m not psychic am I?” He shrugged, “I warned you I can’t keep track of everything going on out there. For a start, your lot are crawling around all over the place.”

“If you two don’t stop bickering, I’ll be forced to do something drastic,” snapped Harry. “In fact, let me put it even more simply—if you’ve nothing constructive to say, shut it!”

The final two words did the trick. In the silence that followed, the sudden blare of a klaxon was like a gunshot in the enclosed room. It was swiftly followed by a burst of radio communication so high-pitched it may as well have been a screech, the words were unintelligible.

Cabrera was closest. He snatched up the radio headset. “Say again. Repeat.”

“He’s here….berserk. Quadrangle, look at the…oh...it…!” The transmission ended on an electronic scream as communication was abruptly cut off.

Roland didn’t wait to be told. By the time Cabrera turned to face the screen, the surveillance feed from the quadrangle cameras was up for viewing.

Wrecked, overturned vehicles lay smouldering. Black smoke belched, billowed and mushroomed. All hell had broken loose. Bodies were lying on the ground. Men were running, cowering behind whatever cover they could find. Cabrera felt his jaw drop in shock. “What the hell’s happened to cause this?”

They knew now that Thane hadn’t killed the squads sent to ambush him in the tunnels. The recon team sent in after them had found the men battered and barely conscious, but definitely alive. The report had made it clear the worst injuries had been from their own rifles. Cabrera had been mulling over that fact for the last hour.

Why this carnage now? What had changed?

“Where’s Liz?” asked Harry, tensely.

“Play the last few minutes again,” instructed Cabrera. “Find Thane and Ms Grant.”

Unnerved at the proximity of what looked like certain death on his doorstep, Roland fumbled with the controls. The recording jumped back several minutes to a scene that seemed, at first glance, to be relatively peaceful. People were looking up at something in the sky. An AAV was coming in to land, albeit at an odd angle. A man lay on the ground and another was…

“Focus in on this figure,” said Harry, pointing at what looked like a man praying in the middle of the quadrangle.

For once Roland did as he was told without comment. When the image cleared there was a single figure in the frame, as clear as day. Nobody spoke. Utter silence reigned. The vampire was on his knees. Fangs were visible in a mouth screaming something they couldn’t hear. The eyes were demon and the anguish in them all the more pronounced for it.

The humanity in that inhuman face was shatteringly eloquent. Cabrera felt his heart constrict in his chest. He recognised the scene. He knew this. He’d felt this. This was his nightmare. Loss, grief, horror—he was intimately familiar with all three. Thane, it seemed, had just made their acquaintance. In that moment, Cabrera had an epiphany. He had no proof, but his gut was certain. There was no-way, no-how he could be looking at the face of a man who could torture and murder women.

“Where's Liz?” repeated Harry, urgency now clear in his voice.

“I don’t know,” said Cabrera. “But I think we’d better find her if we want answers.”

o~O~o

A few feet before hitting the plastic-shrouded scaffolding, both bike and woman separated, but not in time to stop them crashing into the new tower on the other side of the quadrangle.

Liz had had softer landings. Plastic sheets wrapped around her, entangling and cocooning her, and very probably saving her life. Minutes or hours later, she lifted her head and pushed the thick, white sheets away with her arms and legs. She got the shock of her life when she realised she was lying on the edge of a walkway inside the tower. The bike lay in a thousand pieces at the base of the tower a dizzyingly long way below.

Whoa! If she’d rolled over to the left even a few inches she’d have fallen to her death.

Thanking God with every breath, Liz cautiously shimmied back from the edge before gingerly getting to her knees. Sunlight filtered through the thick plastic draping this part of the construction. The tower wall hadn’t been fully built yet and parts were still a shell of scaffolding.

She didn’t immediately register the klaxon, gunfire and screams, or smell the acrid smoke. When it did finally register, Liz crawled to the other side of the walkway, pushing the plastic sheets aside to see. What she saw was the quadrangle in utter bloody mayhem. The sheer scale of the damage was breathtaking.

Someone was on the rampage, and there was only one likely culprit. Why? Did Michael think she’d died? Was he in trouble?

Where was he? Oh God, please, please let him be okay.

Liz watched another AAV, this time in street mode, accelerate diagonally across the quadrangle, dodging still-smouldering wrecks and trying to mow down a lone figure. Gunfire spat from the passenger side. The figure waited until the last moment to step aside, then grabbed the rear bumper as the vehicle skidded into a U-turn, lifting the entire two-ton car off its tracks. Almost as an afterthought, he then sent it careening across the asphalt to crash into a pile of unused scaffolding poles. A man flopped out of the window like a broken doll, trying to crawl away from this latest wreck. Realising that Michael intended to do worse to both vehicle and occupants, she screamed his name to get his attention.

“Michael!”

The dark head jerked up, swinging around towards her voice. He’d heard her yell. The next moment he was a blur heading towards her. Michael was on his way.

He wasn’t the only one. Her yell had drawn other attention. What seemed like a thousand firecrackers started pinging all around her. One hit her armour and knocked her flying. She landed on her hands and backside. Not firecrackers, she realised numbly, bullets.

She was being shot at.

Heart hammering, Liz rolled onto her front. She looked left and saw the walkway was barricaded off. She looked right and saw a set of stairs going up. The tower wall began about fifty feet away and would provide protection from the gunshots. She started crawling. Once behind the wall, Liz got to her feet and began to run. She came to a landing with a passage running off at an angle, leading to an adjoining structure. Militiamen were sprinting down the passage and towards the tower. She didn’t wait for them to start firing at her too.

Liz pounded up the next flight of stairs, and then the next. Her lungs were burning and legs aching. She hadn’t slept or eaten for what felt like weeks. Adrenaline made her light-headed and the helmet didn’t help. Over her own panting breaths, she could hear her pursuers getting closer.

Was this nightmare of a night, and day, ever going to end?

Michael, I need you to hurry up!

The next balcony she came to was another dead end. Exhausted and clinging to the rail for support, Liz looked over the side and down into the tower. Her head swam. She had to be thirty meters up. Michael was far below her. There were no stairs at the lower levels. The tower was funnel-shaped and so much narrower at the bottom. He was running up the inside, bounding from side-to-side when necessary, and using speed and momentum to keep moving up. Impossible, improbable and yet he was managing to steadily climb the tower. The strength and determination of the feat took her breath away.

Her eyes stung and she had to blink away tears. He was doing everything in his power to help her. How could she not love him? The ache in her chest was bittersweet; he couldn’t possibly make it in time. Militiamen appeared at the bottom of the flight of stairs directly to her left. Three rifle muzzles spat sparks, peppering the balcony she was taking refuge on.

“Liz!” She heard Michael’s shout. He sounded pissed off and scared. She was scared too. They both knew she was in deep trouble.

Crouching down as low as she could get, Liz had a wild idea. It was pure insanity. In other circumstances, she’d never consider it, or have the guts to do it…but, if she trusted anyone to catch her, she trusted Michael. What did it matter? She was dead if she stayed here. Her chest was tight and every breath felt constricted. Fear was like a live thing writhing inside her. She dragged the helmet off and threw it away to clatter down the stairs.

Do it. Just do it.

Before terror could freeze her into doing nothing, Liz yelled his name. Praying he’d heard her, she sucked in a breath for courage and braced a hand on the rail to boost herself up.

The ground seemed an eternity away. She breathed one last prayer, “God forgive me!” and jumped.

o~O~o

The klaxon was still going off. They were trapped in the control room. The entire complex had shut down, sealing all doors and exits. Powerless, impotent and all but cut off, the atmosphere had deteriorated inside the small control room.

Harry had Ickle’s own firearm trained on the militia captain. Ice blue eyes watched as a terrified Ickle tried repeatedly to reach his men and order them to stop firing on Elizabeth Grant. No one was listening or answering.

It was rare for Harry Gillespie to reveal the side of himself that was totally at odds with his usually civilised demeanour. This was one of those times. The gentleman had left the building. Ruthlessness now held sway.

Cabrera knew his lieutenant too well to be overly concerned, but Ickle didn’t know that. He left them to it: he owed Titus Ickle no favours. He’d never had much respect for the militia, and seeing them shoot at an unarmed fugitive lowered them even further in his estimation. Roland, meanwhile, knew his work and he was damned good at it. The construction crew working on the tower included robots, and they had built-in cameras to facilitate remote use. Roland gave a whoop of self-congratulation when he finally managed to bring a couple of the ‘bots online, giving the control room a better view of inside the second, partially-built tower.

Even if they couldn’t do a damned thing, thought Cabrera grimly, they could at least see exactly what was going on.

At first all they could see was the bottom of the inner shaft of the tower. The floor was littered with wreckage. Roland made some adjustments and the camera panned slowly upwards. They hit the jackpot when the camera focused on Thane. There was a stunned pause while Cabrera tried to assimilate what he was seeing. “Harry, you need to come and see this.”

Harry, still holding Ickle at gunpoint, looked over at the screen and then promptly did a double-take. “Good Lord. Is that even possible?” he asked. Forgetting himself, he lowered the pistol and came over to stand before the screen.

The question was rhetorical considering it was obviously possible: they were seeing it happen with their own eyes. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” murmured Cabrera, shaking his head.

Michael Thane was running up a vertical wall, using the close, circular nature of the tower and sheer momentum to keep him going.

“Totally crackers,” Roland said, shaking his head in disbelief. “He’s definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic.”

“How far has he got to go?” asked Harry. “Can Thane reach Liz before the militia get within firing distance?”

“I don’t know.” Cabrera doubted it. “I hope so.”

The helmet cams of the militiamen trying to get at Liz showed just how soon they’d close in on her. Cabrera hated to think what Harry would do to Ickle if his men achieved their objective and took her out.

“What the devil is Liz doing?” Harry’s frown turned to horror when she suddenly threw herself off the balcony she’d been using as cover. “What? NO!”

Disbelief rooted Cabrera to the spot, then guilt crashed in. Had he pushed her to this position? Elizabeth Grant worked for him. He was still responsible for her. He was certain the image of the desperate empath jumping into the abyss with her long hair streaming behind her would stay in his memory forever. It was a suicidal move.

His fists clenched. God have mercy on her soul, he prayed. On all their souls.

Nobody breathed. All eyes were glued to Thane still working his way up the tower. Time slowed to a crawl. Cabrera didn’t know what he was expecting, but he couldn’t look away.

Thane had reached the lowest section of the interior scaffolding and levered himself up on it. Just as Liz was about to plummet past him, the vampire hooked his legs on a horizontal pole and swung his upper body up, catching her around the waist as he did so. He literally snatched her out of the air. Her weight and his momentum unhooked his legs; Thane then let them both drop.

“Yes! YES!!” Cabrera’s shout of incredulous relief matched Harry’s. He was giddy with that relief. Harry looked unhinged; decidedly pale, he bent down to grasp his knees as if afraid they’d give way on him. Grinning, Cabrera slapped a comforting hand on the Englishman’s shoulder.

“Bloody hell!” Roland let out an impressed, appreciative whistle. “Talk about impeccable timing.”

On screen, Thane landed on two feet with a solid thud, barely even bending his knees. Liz was held securely in his arms. He appeared in no hurry to let her go. Her face was hidden against his chest. They could see his face though. Relief, almost as unbearable as the earlier grief, closed the vampire’s eyes as he pressed his cheek against the top of her head. The depth of emotion in that brief gesture was revelatory. The next instant, he strode past the robot’s camera and was out of sight.

“He’s in love with her,” said Harry abruptly. There was a wondering edge to his tone.

“Yes,” agreed Cabrera. “I was thinking that too.”

onto CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

2010-10-10T23:56:00.014+01:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

The sound of an emergency klaxon was always unnerving; hearing one go off when you’re hundreds of meters underground, and lost in gloomy maze of tunnels, was downright terrifying. Liz yelped when Michael swept her up in his arms and raced for the rapidly closing gap ahead. An inch-thick metal barrier had appeared between the floor grates and was rising to meet the roof, fast. Michael hurtled them both over it. The barrier sealed behind them with a heavy, reverberating clang.

Michael didn’t stop. Liz clung to his shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut as the tunnels passed by in a dizzying blur. Another barrier was rising ahead. She cringed when they only just made it through this second gap. He didn’t stop or slow down. It didn’t do them any good. He was forced to skid to a stop within a few feet of one barrier they were too late to pass through. His ripe curse rebounded off the walls.

He’d just sprinted over a mile in under a minute and it still hadn’t been enough. Liz’s heart was pounding sickly in her chest. Michael lowered her back to her feet and went to examine the barrier now blocking the way. Liz staggered before managing to steady herself. She was disoriented by the speed of this latest crisis. “What the hell’s going on?” she asked breathlessly.

Michael answered in typical blunt style, “I’m guessing they know where we are and want to seal us in.”

“Can you unseal us?”

“Doubtful. I can’t find a control panel to operate the barrier manually.”

He engaged a sword. Liz wondered what he hoped to do with it—hack a hole in solid steel—until she saw the sharp hook he’d created out of the liquid-metal. He was going to try and prise it open.

Liz felt stupid. She kept forgetting his swords weren’t limited to blades. “All right, so we’re sealed in. Now what?”

“And now they come looking for us.” Michael jerked his chin up at the overhead lights. “I haven’t figured out a way to avoid setting off the lights when we enter a new section: they must be triggered by a sensor. My best guess is that’s how they know where to find us. Stand back a little.”

Once she had, he took a step back and then leaped up high enough to reach the ceiling, trying to find something at the top of the barrier to grip the hook onto. It didn’t work and he landed back on the grating with a loud clang.

Liz meanwhile, tried and failed to summon up the energy to panic. It made a huge difference that Michael was healed and firing on all supernatural cylinders again. Her voice was steady when she asked, “I take it we’re talking ‘guns blazing’ here?”

Michael’s expression was grim. “They didn’t seem to be in the mood for conversation earlier. I can’t see them having a change of heart, can you?”

“Not really.” Liz was reminded of her ignorance about who exactly was chasing them. “Who are they, by the way? I didn’t get a good look before. Was it the SC firing at us in the van?”

“No. I saw a militia insignia on the ACV.”

Following relief, Liz felt a jolt of surprise. “The militia? Out here? That’s odd.”

“It doesn’t matter who’s pulling the trigger. Guns are guns, Liz, except when they’re frigging rockets. Let’s hope they don’t have the bright idea of bringing a couple of those down here.”

Liz found she could panic after all. Crossing her arms and starting to pace, she snapped, “Great. Thanks for putting that idea in my head. Now all I can see are exploding body parts, flames roaring straight for me and tunnels collapsing on top of my head.”

Michael gave up trying to prise apart the barrier and came back over to her. Liz tilted up her chin, seeking reassurance in his face. He was as calm and unflappable as ever. She couldn’t help but notice how he really looked at her now, like he was seeing her and not just a piece of bait to dangle or a tool to use. The notion sparked an odd, squiggly warmth in her belly.

“I don’t know much about the militia,” he admitted. “Are they as well armed as your SC teams?”

Liz dredged her memory. “I haven’t had a lot to do with them myself: the odd traffic violation and the usual gripes from cabbies, maybe a few news reports. They normally work in the lower-risk city quadrants. I can’t see them needing more than a few ACVs in case of emergencies, along with basic side-arms and rifles.”

“Good to know.” He ran a soothing hand up her arm, gently squeezing her bicep. “I’m sorry, Liz. I’m going to need the jacket after all. In the beam of a flashlight bare skin would be a like a damned beacon.”

Without a word, she handed the coat over. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

“We wait for them to get here. Each section has two doors. If they’ve any sense they’ll pick one and stick with that or risk getting caught in a crossfire in the tunnels. I’ll hear them coming before they get to whichever door they choose to open.” Michael shrugged. “Once it is open, we get past them and get out.”

And it was really going to be that easy? Yeah Right. Liz kept her doubts to herself.
~o~

If he’d been alone Michael would have rushed them. By the time the militiamen had picked themselves off the floor, he’d have been way past them. With Liz, he had no choice but to take them all out. He refused to risk a hail of bullets. It would only take one stray round to injure, or even kill, Liz.

He could hear them on the other side of the door, shuffling into position, armour creaking with every movement. He could smell acrid gun oil and pungent sweat. Overpowering all other smells though was the fuel from his lighter. He’d sprinkled the lighter fluid onto a ripped section from his coat lining, then wrapped it around one of his sword blades to create a makeshift torch.

Ready and in position, he was down on one knee with the twin swords held in his preferred reverse grip at the small of his back.

Liz was crouched a few feet away, jammed between the wall and the barrier frame. It was the best position for her: close enough for him to keep an eye on her and next to the only way of escape. Her expressive face was pale and strained. Her job was to use the matches in her hand to ignite the lighter fluid once the barrier was roughly halfway down.

The torch was more of a diversionary prop than a weapon. The lighting was poor and he was betting they’d use night vision goggles. Night-vision equipment didn’t deal well with blindingly bright and fast moving objects. This side of the barrier was dark now that Michael had yanked out the power cables for the ceiling lights. Frayed cables hung down from the ceiling and the grating underneath was littered with shattered plastic.

Right on cue, Michael heard the click of switches, the grind of gears, and then the barrier in front of him began to slide down. A chink of light appeared near the ceiling. The stench of fear was rancid now and all coming from the other side.

Concerned she might freeze or fumble, Michael kept his eyes locked on Liz’s, refusing to let her drop her gaze. He saw her breath hitch. He could hear the choppy, panting breaths of the men on the other side. He nodded to Liz. With shaking hands, she lit a match and dropped it onto the fuel-soaked material.

Ignition was instant. Flames licked up into the air with a crackling whoosh just as the barrier finally slid down enough for Michael to be visible. He didn’t give them enough time to shout an alarm. He launched himself up high in the air, and landed right in the middle of the cautiously advancing troop of militiamen. They reared back, disoriented and panicking at the sudden and flaming assault. Spin-slash-sweep-slash-halfspin-crouch-upslash-strike-strike. For Liz’s sake, he’d created the blades blunt. She’d be upset if he wreaked bloody carnage around her, and he didn’t need them dead, just neutralised. He made each blow brutal, fast and powerful. Shock could be as disabling as a blow, and he didn’t want to give them time to regroup.

Michael estimated at least a dozen men made up the two teams, perhaps a few more. The first team was dealt with quickly and easily. The second team tried to fall back, slowing him down because he had to go after them.

They were in complete disarray, forming into defensive groups and maintaining a tight formation, effectively making it easier to take them out. Conflicting orders were yelled between the two teams as the militiamen tried to adjust to the situation. Each panicked order echoed in the tight, damp confines, adding to the cacophony of sound. A few succumbed to blind panic, firing indiscriminately in attempt to hit him, and hitting other teammates instead. As they were a threat to Liz, Michael dealt with them swiftly.

The humans were slow and fragile despite their armour. The biggest challenge lay in not damaging them too much. The makeshift torch went out as the lining was finally consumed. Using the tunnel wall itself, Michael took two long strides up it and then flipped over the heads of two militiamen before they could get a line of sight. Back on his feet, he lashed out with a kick that caught one in the middle of his breastplate. The armour split and the man was lifted off his feet to fly back several feet, crashing into the tunnel wall hard. The other militiaman he caught by the chinstrap of his helmet, flipping him up and over to slam him onto the floor. Michael stamped a foot on his helmet, shattering the visor to finish him off.

Liz stayed down exactly where he’d placed her. Early in the melee, he’d dumped one of the unconscious militiamen over her so his armour would protect her too.

It was nearly over. There were two humans left, both running back down the tunnel as if the devil himself was chasing them. Michael followed. He’d made a decision and he was sticking to it. No loose ends.

He was back in less than a minute and strode straight to Liz. He hunkered down in front of her and pulled away her ‘protection’. Red-faced, Liz huffed out a breath and glared at him with molten, furious eyes. “Were you trying to suffocate me? Next time just dump a ton of bloody bricks on me and be done with it.”

So much for being afraid. She was spitting mad now.

The sudden spike of desire was like a kick in the gut. Need, sharp and poignant, raked his insides, and this time he simply couldn’t resist. Cupping the nape of her neck, Michael used his thumb to tilt up her chin and kissed her right on her snarling mouth. The scent of her, the feel of her lips under his, their breath mingling, made his whole body burn.

When he lifted his head to end the kiss, all traces of anger had been wiped away. Liz was silent, suspicious and looked distinctly wary. He grinned. “Quit complaining.”

He lifted the admittedly-hefty militiaman the rest of the way off her and tossed him aside, then eyed the man with consideration. He needed a shirt. He glanced around at the other bodies. It was a grim scene, but not a bloody one.

A shirt wasn’t all they needed. Liz could also do with some armour, a radio would be useful, and so would a map showing the way out of here.

o~O~o

Ickle was yelling into his radio, trying to reach the team he’d sent in after Thane. No one was responding. His pale red hair was cut too short to be mussed by the hands clutching at his head in despair. The speed of his pacing, added to the sweat beading on his forehead, was a strong giveaway though. The man was close to hysterical.

Thanks to the control room’s large holoscreen, Ickle had just had the pleasure of watching his men being systematically annihilated by Thane, all in less than five minutes.

Roland kept replaying the short sequence with a fascinated expression on his round, pasty face. He froze the image on the moment when the helmet minicams revealed Thane for the first time. “He might be a bloodsucking demon,” he said, appreciatively, “but, I have to say, that’s a cool shot.”

When neither Harry nor Cabrera commented, he waved a hand at the screen. “I mean, just look at it. The barrier’s not yet lowered fully and he’s right there waiting for them. ’Duh-duh-duhm. The flames are leaping high around the big, bad vampire as he crouches down on one knee’—oddly scary pose, I like it—’The sternly hewn face staring intently at the humans he’s about to slaughter...’”

“You’re a very sick man, Mr Roland,” said Harry, witheringly, interrupting the theatrically deep voice. “Do put a sock in it.”

“I second the request,” grated Cabrera.

“Fine, fine, just trying to lighten the atmosphere.” Roland ended the recording with a flourish. “Blame it on my role-playing obsession back on Earth. I had an affinity for the bad guys.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, nobody’s playing a role and this isn’t a game,” retorted Cabrera.

When Ickle finally gave up trying to get a mission update, Cabrera told him, “You sent sixteen men—a third of your available personnel—after Thane and got nowhere. Are you getting the picture yet?”

“I can admit when I’ve made a mistake. Obviously staging an ambush in the tunnels was one of them,” said Ickle mulishly. “But, that’s as much as I’m willing to concede. I have four more units. We’re only talking about one blasted vampire, and he’s not even fully changed from what I understand.”

“Thane was a bounty hunter in the old quarter,” Harry countered dryly. “Clients, usually the bosses, would contract him to go after the most dangerous vampires, the ones on the very edge. The point would be to eliminate their worst elements before they could become a bigger problem. These recent murders aside, he’s an experienced hunter and his services were much sought after. Underestimate him again at your own peril.”

There was a long, drawn-out pause, finally broken by Roland. “Erm, excuse me! I hate to break up a squabble before it really gets going, but I have movement in one of the transport pods.”

Ickle didn’t get the reference. “Transport pods?”

Roland enlightened him. “The pods they run on tracks at high speed. The same way your teams got out to the field station. Except, hello! All your guys got themselves killed, so who’s using the pod?”

“You think it’s Thane?” Cabrera came over to his console, forgetting Ickle. “Is there a way of checking?”

“I can’t check, no, not without calling through to the pod and warning your vamp we’re on to him. There are cameras all over the main complex, but not outside it. I only know a pod is on the move and heading back here—well, it has to: the tracks only go there or back to base.”

“Could it be one or more of your men?” Harry asked Ickle. “Perhaps a few managed to escape after all.”

Ickle shook his head. “We haven’t been able to raise anyone on the radio links and the men all have backups if their helmet comms malfunction. If they were able to escape they should be able to radio in.”

Cabrera said what they were all thinking. “That just leaves Thane. Do we know where the pod will stop? Does it have multiple drop-off points?”

Roland pulled up a map of the site. “The coppers got on at the main base here, but the pod can make another stop first, at the entomology lab.”

“Entomology lab?” queried Cabrera. Every fine hair on his body was standing on end. Thane was so damned close!

“It’s a bug lab. We test out the pesticides we use to protect the crops on-site. Saves time and the expense of outside consultation,” explained Roland.

“And you have surveillance cameras at this lab?” queried Harry.

“Yes,” said Roland. “Once he gets here at the main complex, and with a bit of skilled jiggery-pokery with the controls, I should be able to keep him in sight.”

“Them,” corrected Harry. “There’s two of them, remember. A woman is travelling with him.”

“How far away is the lab from this control room?” asked Cabrera.

“Not far at all. Maybe a few kilometres by road.”

Cabrera asked Ickle, “Do you have any troops in that area?”

Ickle’s pale eyes skittered away from his hard stare. “Possibly, I’d have to check.”

“If you lost Thane could you find him again?” Harry asked Roland.

“Sure, I just have to follow the alert logs. This is night shift. Nobody else is supposed to be around. The place is usually locked tight and so when there’s movement, openings of doors, say, I get an alert. Same way I located your fugitives just now. Of course, it doesn’t help I’ve got dozens of coppers milling around and mucking things up. I’ll need to check every alert.”

~o~

The transport pod reminded Liz of a miniature railway. The single carriages were a brilliant white with opaque windows, fitted with bench seats capable of carrying four passengers at a squeeze. There were no controls. From what she could tell, you picked a destination by selecting from three buttons. The fourth and final button was an emergency brake.

After less than a minute travelling in the pod, Liz changed her mind about the railway aspect. It was more like a riding in one of those insane fairground rides, hurtling up and down at suicidal angles and taking crazy bends at breakneck speed. More times than she could count, her stomach came up to meet her throat and then slammed back down again. She had always, always, hated fairgrounds.

When Michael said, “Brace yourself,” she could have told him she was already fully braced to the point of cramped fingers, then he activated the emergency brake. The only reason Liz didn’t pitch headfirst into the opposite seat was the fact Michael already occupied it. He also leaned over the gap between them, gripping the overhead supports meant for her seat—in effect creating a safety net for her. She spent several long seconds plastered to his armour-covered chest.

As soon as the pod had come to a final, juddering halt, the doors shot open and an electronic female voice advised them to exit with care. Outside, dawn was steadily creeping across the sky. Liz’s legs felt like jelly as she scrambled out after Michael. Back on terra firma, she told him, “I don’t care how bad the situation gets, I am never riding in one of those things ever again.”

Ignoring her complaint, Michael took the helmet out of her hand. “Here, put this on just in case.” He placed it on her head, tugging it down in place.

The helmet was heavy and several sizes too big, as was the black armoured vest she was now wearing. Michael was also in full militia uniform, carrying the helmet rather than wearing it as it interfered with his hearing. Liz tucked her long hair out of sight inside the helmet, asking, “Where are we? What happened to the lab we were supposed to be stopping at?”

“I didn’t want to risk a welcoming committee. It’s not far. Once we’re inside the complex we should be able to blend better.”

“Only until they find the two men you ‘borrowed’ our uniforms off and realise we’re in disguise,” Liz pointed out.

“Let’s not borrow trouble along with the uniforms. With any luck, we’ll be long gone by the time they wake up and start yelling for a rescue.”

‘Not far’ meant power-walking as fast as possible through a series of enormous greenhouses, heading towards the vast towers and blocks that made up the centre of the agriculture and utilities plant. Dawn had arrived, making body-heat scanners less effective. Twice they skirted undetected around a patrol hunting them. The pod must have been discovered for them to be focusing on this area. The notion gave Liz the extra charge of adrenaline she needed to boost her pace.

Serendipity reared its head outside the glazed, foyer-style front of the entomology laboratory. Three hoverbikes bearing the militia insignia were parked in open bays with no one around to guard them. Moments later, she and Michael were mobile and the third bike had been disabled.

Liz had never used a hoverbike before. It was a basic ground vehicle. The SC didn’t use them because they required a level surface, and constabulary missions in the old quarter routinely involved areas far from level. They were also unwieldy. Once they got going though, Liz found them to be a fast and comfortable ride. Unfortunately, she and Michael needed something more robust and sophisticated to escape the area entirely. They’d both agreed the best chance of finding a suitable vehicle lay at the main complex. The problem with that scenario was the heavily-manned security checkpoint at the gate.

They had no choice but to join the queue of vehicles waiting to be allowed through, or risk drawing unwanted attention. Michael took the near side with Liz sidling next to him. He tugged on his helmet, leaving the visor up and added a pair of sunglasses he’d found inside the bike’s storage compartment. All you could see of his face was his nose and mouth. His uniform was a decent fit, and with his height and build, he looked the part. Liz could only pray that her riding position helped to hide the poor fit of her own uniform. The visor of the helmet was black and fully opaque. She kept it lowered and had no intention of lifting it.

The troop transport in front of them trundled off inside the gate with a belch of gaseous smoke from its exhaust. The security guard gestured for them to come closer just as the barrier behind him lowered back into position. Damn it, Liz thought. He looked far too alert and intelligent for her liking. Inside the thick bike gloves, Liz’s palms were damp. Michael kept himself between her and the guard, trying to block the other man’s view.

“Well now, what’s a pair of bike jockeys like you two doing back here? I heard the action was supposed to be in the north-west.” The guard’s visor was up, revealing skin the colour of polished mahogany. He had silvered eyebrows and an expression that said he didn’t give a rat’s ass about traffic backing up.

“My helmet strap came loose,” said Michael. “Before I could fix it the damned thing came off and cracked on the asphalt. I’ve returned for a replacement, sir.”

The guard glanced at Liz briefly and then returned his attention to Michael. “I see. What’s your name and number, militiaman?”

“Bruikheimer, K. AP559862.”

The guard studied a palm computer, obviously checking the details were correct. “What part of the grid were you and your partner working?”

“Entomology,” said Michael, “Interior.”

“The hot zone, huh? All right, Militiaman Bruikheimer, go get your replacement helmet. No sense taking risks on an assignment like this one.”

“No, sir. Thank you, sir.”

They moved forward as the guard waved them in and the barrier began to rise. Liz had to unclench her fingers around the handgrips. She kept her gaze straight, didn’t look to either side and gently engaged the accelerator as soon as the barrier was out of the way. She was just relaxing and thinking the worst was over when they heard a shout, “Wait, wait, wait. Hey you, second bike. Stop!”

Liz braked to a stop with her heart in her mouth. Michael braked too and she saw his jaw clench. The guard who’d passed them through the checkpoint came jogging over. They turned on their seats to look at him. He pointed at the rear side-pannier of Liz’s bike. “You got a death wish or something? You’re unsecured at the back here, son. If that came loose and jammed up your wheel you’d be eating dirt pretty damned quick, if you hadn’t broken your neck.”

“Right. Thanks.” Liz tried to make her voice deeper, convinced the words came out as a scared squeak.

Michael got off his bike. “I’ll fix it. Thanks for the heads up.”

“Sure thing.” The guard spoke automatically, but he was staring quizzically at Liz. He didn’t move out of Michael’s way, continuing to block the pannier in question. Liz could feel sweat popping out on her forehead. Now what? He wasn’t looking at where her face would be under the visor, so what was he looking at? Her chin? But he couldn’t see it surely?

Then those brown eyes, lighter than Michael’s, did rise to focus on Liz’s closed visor. “I didn’t get your name and number,” said the guard. “How about you let me see your face as you oblige me now?”

onto CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

2010-09-25T22:43:00.018+01:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Despite fifteen years spent in Gehenna, Cabrera had never fully adjusted to the idea of the armoured aerial vehicle, or AAV. Yes, it was convenient to have both ground and air transport options in the one compact vehicle but, to his mind, cars should have rubber tyres and shouldn’t fly. To disguise his aversion, Cabrera always insisted on doing the driving and piloting.

Right now, he was piloting. The landscape was purely agricultural, with settlements few and far between. There were no skylanes, or ad-screens quoting bible passages, testimonials or repentance services, just fields under an inky-black sky. It made for a peaceful tableau.

"Do you ever wonder why the human race exists?" Cabrera asked Harry, abruptly.

The other man was a great deal more relaxed since hearing the latest report. No bodies had been found at the wreckage. The rumour of Constable Grant’s death had been premature. "Being a miserable kill-joy as well as middle-aged, I’m sure the question has popped up at one time or another," said Harry. "Why?"

"I do wonder," replied Cabrera. "I wonder if it’s fair to create a race of beings smart enough to recognise they’re violent and immoral at heart, yet leave the choice of accepting or rejecting a cure up to them. It should be a no-brainer, but most of us get it wrong. From a rational point of view, we’re a failed and self-destructive experiment."

Harry smiled. “You remind me of Isaiah. ’Oh sinful nation, a people laden with iniquity, offspring of evildoers, children who deal corruptly’.” He shrugged. “If you’re asking for my opinion on why God doesn’t give up on mankind, you’re asking the wrong person. I’m no fan of humanity. We get it wrong because we loathe being told what we can’t do. From what I’ve observed, we have an endless capacity to justify ourselves no matter what behaviour we want to indulge in."

Cabrera slid him a dry look. "It’s good to know I’m not the only cynic around."

"You asked, I answered. We’re almost there," said Harry, checking the navigation screen. "We should get a visual soon."

"Yeah, I see it."

In the distance, powerful security lights were sweeping over vent towers, monstrously big storage tanks and layers of complex scaffolding. The closer they got, the more could be seen of the immense, sprawling agricultural utilities plant that was their destination.

"The entire site is largely automated. They’re adding a second fusion reactor, hence the new constructions," explained Harry. "The plant itself covers seventy square kilometres, excluding the field drainage and irrigation systems."

"That’s a lot of ground to cover," Cabrera noted, "And a lot of nooks and crannies to hide in."

There was a dedicated landing hub sandwiched between storage warehouses. The warehouses were segregated for chemicals such as pesticide and water absorption crystals, or seed and organic feed. One of the cooling towers formed the backdrop. Mobile laboratories lined the edges. One section of the hub had a burned-out wreck loaded onto a floating salvage platform. Technicians were crawling all over the twisted, blackened metal.

"I take it that was the van Thane was travelling in?" Cabrera asked Harry as they got out of their own vehicle. The night air was crisp and cold, with just a hint of scorched metal thanks to the wreck. Courtesy of the searchlights, it was as bright as day in the plant environs.

"Presumably."

They stopped to ask for directions for the main control room, which turned out to be accessed via a bunker and elevator down to a sub-level far beneath the surface.

The elevator crawled at a snail’s pace down the three levels. "Are we any clearer on how Thane and Grant were located, and by whom?" Cabrera asked.

"The general sentiment appears to be ‘be glad they were, and why am I asking’,” said Harry. “However, I’ve found out the shuttle which stumbled across Thane’s van was a random Militia security patrol. Apparently, they ‘just happened’ to be in a combat model, and then miraculously ‘got lucky’."

Cabrera hid a sinking feeling in his gut with a frown. "Militia? Out here? Why?"

It was a pertinent question. The militia were an inner-city law enforcement agency. Le Jardin was run by strictly regulated corporations who appointed private security firms when necessary. Thane, being a vampire, was a Special Constabulary issue. Either way, the Militia shouldn’t have been here unless they had a very specific reason.

"I pointed out how dubious such a scenario would be," replied Harry, "and hit a wall of stony silence for my effrontery."

The look with which Harry accompanied that statement with was carefully bland, and all the more telling for it. The sinking feeling in Cabrera’s gut turned into a fully-fledged ache. Who the hell had drafted in the militia, and why? Any control the SC, and he himself, might have had over this mess appeared to be slipping away by the hour.

They reached the operations floor and stepped out into a subterranean complex of identical, soulless grey corridors with steel grating underfoot. Thick armoured cables snaked across the walls and ceiling, presumably to provide power. Lighting came from overhead fixtures running the entire length of the corridor and still managed to be inadequate. Cabrera felt tension tighten his shoulders. He hated feeling closed in and this place was like a damned rabbit warren.

He forced himself to focus on the problem in hand. "Is there any reason for a militia patrol to have been in Le Jardin? Had there been a report or alert requiring their presence?"

"The stony silence tells me no, as does the central log I managed to get someone to hack into."

Cabrera was unpleasantly jolted at the idea of by-the-book, fervently-technophobic Harry Gillespie arranging for another department’s central logs to be illegally searched. He settled for a simple and honest, "I don’t like this."

‘Don’t tell anyone she’s alive.’ The reason for the text sent to Nicole after the attack on Ruth was still a mystery. They were presuming the message had been sent by Liz Grant. But who had they really been protecting Ruth from by faking her death? It was hardly feasible that Thane would risk targeting her whilst she was surrounded by special constables.

‘The testing was flawed or tampered with…only explanation’ Okay, it was still farfetched, but just supposing for a moment—who would have the clout and resources to tamper with DNA tests in a major SC investigation?

Someone on the Privy Council had authorised the vampires to send one of their bounty hunters to hunt Thane in the cathedral quarter. Could it have been Sauvage? If so, why? What was his true agenda?

"We had no idea of the colour or model of vehicle Thane and Grant were using," Cabrera reminded Harry. "How did the militia patrol identify them?"

"I haven’t the foggiest,” said Harry as they approached the sealed doors of the control room guarded by a silent, watchful and fully armed militiaman. “Let’s ask."

~o~

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long to recognise the militia captain in charge as a problem. Titus Ickle was a Brit who suffered with ‘small-man’ syndrome. He was only a little shorter than Cabrera himself, but he made a stressed-out Chihuahua seem laid-back in comparison. His short red-blonde hair was thick enough to be bristle, and the man never stopped yapping.

“…we were in the best position to respond and sought authority to do so. What were my men supposed to do, ignore—”

Losing patience, Cabrera held up a hand to halt the aggressive-defensive flow. "I frankly don’t give a rat’s-ass who gave you the authority to mount a search operation. You’re acting way out of your jurisdiction. Thane is a vampire so he’s a constabulary problem. Constable Grant worked for me when she went missing; also my problem. I’m telling you this is my arena, not asking. If you’ve got a problem with that, take it up with the Privy Council."

Leaving Ickle stuttering, Cabrera turned on the man seated at the central console, watching the proceedings with wide mud-brown eyes and a slack jaw. "Who the hell are you?"

The jaw snapped shut and the youngster,—God, he had to be barely twenty—jerked to attention in his seat. "Control Room Tech, Gerry Roland. I’m on night-shift tonight. I’m running the controls…"

This time it was Harry who held up a hand to stop the spillage of repetitive detail. "Excellent, just the man for the job." He smiled reassuringly, the picture of gentlemanly reasonableness. "What can you tell us about the chain of events here tonight?"

Roland, another Brit, paused to think it through. "Erm, we had an explosion. Actually, now you mention it, it was more of a crash when I run the playback. See, there was a chase first, right, then the van ran into the crop field—which is when the alarms went off—then there was this big explosion." Roland enthusiastically threw out his arms to demonstrate. He had long, skinny arms. Harry had to take a step backward to avoid getting whacked in the chest.

"And then what?" prodded Cabrera. He schooled his features to calm. Ickle continued to smoulder and steam just behind him.

Roland swung back to his controls and started to fiddle. "I’ll show you. I need to bring up the alert logs, first... ah, here we go. Nope, not that one. I just had it…let’s see…nearly there…yes! This is the one."

A 3D-screen projection shot into the air over the console. Hundreds and hundreds of lines of text and numbers were displayed and began scrolling. Roland rubbed his hands together and then stretched his fingers, warming up for action. "Okay. What happened next was an IB1000 alert which means a blockage in an irrigation channel.” He pointed on the touch-pad on his console and figures stopped scrolling. “This blockage was only a few meters away from the damaged field in grid reference JK02032. The automated systems kicked in, and the blockage got flushed into a water chamber for filtering…except the filters picked nothing up." He said the last as if unveiling something earth shattering.

"And the importance of this fact is what, exactly?" asked Harry.

Ickle snorted in disgust as if the answer was obvious. Roland cast an anxious glance at the militia captain. "As I was explaining to Captain Ickle, the filters are extremely sensitive. They can pick up a stray water absorption crystal, never mind something big enough to trigger an obstruction alert in the irrigation pipes."

"So, what you’re saying is whatever caused the alert didn’t reach the filters," clarified Cabrera. "Okay, so where might the ‘obstruction’ have gone?"

Roland did some more fiddling on his console and the figures melted away, replaced with a blueprint. It was an interactive map and one section of it was glowing. He enlarged and zoomed in on the glowing section, transforming it into an intricate series of chambers, pipes and tunnels. "That’s an old access tunnel back from the days when actual people used to undertake maintenance. The lights are heat-activated, and they came on a few hours ago, very soon after the water chamber was flushed. Basically, something large enough and warm enough got inside the tunnel, and triggered the sensors."

"Could it be a rat? Do you have cameras in this tunnel?" asked Cabrera, straightening with interest.

Roland shook his head. "Rats are too small to trigger the light sensors, and no, we don’t have cameras in the tunnels, but I was about to activate a nearby maintenance ‘bot and send it to investigate. The ‘bots have cameras mounted on them."

Cabrera said, "Do it."

o~O~o

Le Jardin was the largest and least populated sector of Gehenna, and covered thousands of square kilometres. That made for a lot of fields and crops. Crops need water, nutrients and pesticides. Michael could hear the water all around them even if he couldn’t see it, and he could smell the chemicals humans loved to add to their food chain in the name of efficiency.

Lights came on inside whichever tunnel he took. It was cold, damp and it stank. Overall, not a pleasant environment to take a stroll in. To keep Liz warm, he’d taken off his parka and wrapped it around her. When she started to come around, he considered sedating her again; he was in no mood for talking. His senses were heightened to a painful degree and his system was buzzing wildly. Liz’s blood was making him jittery. She awoke with a start, jerking her head off his shoulder with a suddenness that would have rapped the top of her head against his jaw, if he hadn’t anticipated the move and turned his head aside.

Liz blinked, struggling to orient herself. "You’re awake!" she said.

"Yeah, so are you," he pointed out dryly.

"What! Wait. You’re carrying me," she almost unbalanced herself checking he was indeed carrying her.

He kept walking. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Liz.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, she pushed at his shoulders with her hands, trying to wriggle free of his arms. "Let me see your wound."

"Look at it later. I want to get out of these damned tunnels."

She only wriggled harder, determined to get her way. "Let me down. It’ll only take a second. I want to see for myself."

His mood was too volatile to risk a tussle. Michael lowered her down with a growl of aggravation. Her long hair was still damp and matted from the soaking and their various adventures. His jacket reached mid-thigh on her and the arms hung a comical length past her hands. Uncaring of how unkempt and wild she looked, Liz shoved up the over-long sleeves and crouched down to peer at his naval.

Michael tensed, sucking in a silent breath, preparing to be unwittingly tormented. The taste of her blood was still fresh on his tongue. Feeding off her had been hellishly intimate and, while she’d been clueless about his reaction, he hadn’t been of hers. She either didn’t know or didn’t care how thin was the ice she stood on. Frigging typical.

"Wow!" Breathing the word out, Liz reached out to lay her fingers over the fresh scar tissue now formed over the fully closed wound. "Does it still hurt?"

Unbelievably, her hand was curved protectively over his skin. Was she for real? Emotion blazed in his gut under the heat of her hand and shot straight to his head, making him dizzy. The strength of it was staggering, eclipsing the cold dread he’d awoken with. He wasn’t ready for it. Breathe, for craps sake!

Michael stepped back, away from that touch. "No." He gritted the answer out. "Are you done? We need to keep moving."

Still crouched, Liz tilted her head back to frown up at him. "You sound as if you’re in pain."

"I’m not in pain." Not the type she meant anyway. Michael grabbed her hand and pulled her up. "Up you get. We’re on the run remember. The active word here is run."

For his own sanity’s sake, Michael kept hold of her hand and pulled her along with him. Snakes of impatience were writhing in his belly, coiling tighter with each step. Trailing behind him, Liz conceded, albeit reluctantly, saying, "You’re not exactly convincing me here, Michael. It would be stupid if you pushed yourself too hard and suffered a relapse."

Michael turned, releasing her hand to snatch her up by the waist, swinging her up and around, keeping her effortlessly aloft and her face only inches from his. All the while, he kept striding along. Liz’s expression was caught between a frown and startled surprise at her abrupt change of position. "You need to stop talking. I’m fine. I’m not going to relapse. Quit nagging." He enunciated each word slowly and clearly, injecting hardness into his tone to ram the point home.

It had been a mistake to bring her in so close. Michael found himself hesitating to set her down and away from him again. Liz searched his face and her expression softened with whatever she found there. She shocked the hell out of him when she leaned in, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and admitting, "I was afraid for you."

Michael had an epiphany. A hard, angry and scared part of him had been angling for a spat, wanting to vent at her for the way she’d pushed him to feed off her, very likely saving his life. So he’d deliberately stepped on her modern-independent-female toes for no good reason, and she’d undone all of his bad intentions with an open gesture of caring and concern.

Dumbass idea. He kept forgetting how different she was: Liz didn’t deal in pride, she dealt in feelings. If she was pissed, she showed it, if she cared she showed that too. She was as open as he was closed off. How was he supposed to defend himself against her?

He stopped walking. "Liz…" Oh hell. Damn it. His throat burned. Michael’s heart not only ached, it insisted on beating an urgent tattoo.

He brought her to him, lowering her until she rested against his chest with her legs dangled against his. In return, Liz tucked her face into his neck as naturally as if she did it every day. The burning in his throat extended up into his eyes. His chest hurt, but it was a good hurt. Savouring the moment, Michael angled his head so his cheek rested on top of her head. Shifting his grip to return the embrace, he ran a hand up the delicate bones of her spine, squeezing back with as much gentleness as he could muster.

“I’m glad you’re better,” she whispered.

“Yeah. Being pain-free has its benefits.”

His voice was husky with the clogging of his throat. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the last time he’d been hugged, or hugged another. If he ever had. The ache in his chest spread out even further. He felt unbalanced—every day the landscape of his life seemed to get ripped apart or tipped upside down. He couldn’t seem to find firm ground.

The whine of servos and whirr of oiled wheels was a jarring intrusion, if not a particularly alarming one. Sucking in a long, slow breath, Michael lowered Liz back to her feet, brushing a surreptitious kiss across the top of her head as he did so. The wetness on his face was dealt with by one swipe of a palm. "Something’s coming," he warned her in a low tone.

Liz tensed, so he reassured her, "It’s mechanical. I’m betting a place this size uses automatons."

Still, he unclipped his sword hilt once they got going again. Liz eyed it in surprise. "I can’t believe you’ve still got that sword after all we’ve been through."

"I still have it because it’s attached to my belt. I’ve lost my shirt and my jacket—you may have noticed I’m still wearing my pants."

"Oh, here." Blushing, Liz went to shrug off the coat. "You must be cold."

"That wasn’t a hint. Keep it; your clothes are still wet. Vampires don’t feel the cold as much as humans."

The whirring motor was much closer now. Whatever it was, it was rolling in their direction. Two meters ahead there was an intersection with another tunnel. The automaton would reach it in a few seconds. Michael was reassured that the only human around was Liz. What kind of a problem could a robot cause? This wasn’t a sci-fi flick. Robotic technology was still a long way off being considered sophisticated.

"It’s close. If it rolls on past without turning in here we’ll follow it and see if it can lead us out. If it turns in here—" Michael shrugged, "—we’ll have to see."

"Okay, sounds like a plan."

They saw the lights first. Michael tensed when the motor servos changed tune to indicate a decrease in speed. It was going to turn into this tunnel. Why this tunnel? Had a pipe sprung a leak and they hadn’t noticed? All of a sudden it seemed a little too coincidental.

Did it matter? What threat could a robot present? What use could it be to anyone hunting them?

The damned thing was big, clearing the tunnel roof by six inches maximum. It was barrel-shaped and cumbersome with a rotating body and…

Michael swore and lunged.

~o~

Roland let out a string of curses when the screen went blank and a message came up advising of an equipment malfunction. He spent a few frantic moments trying to get the data stream to return, and slumped with a grunt of frustration when he got nowhere. "Bloody maintenance ‘bots drive me crackers. Just when we were finally getting somewhere. Sorry, folks, it looks like the cameras are out."

"Play back the last thirty seconds," instructed Cabrera.

"Okey dokey. You’re the boss."

The holoscreen came back to life. The playback began well enough, with the ‘bot trundling along towards the intersection they’d been interested in. The process had taken a lot longer than expected as Roland had been forced to change directions twice, following the grid sections with the most recent sensor activity.

"Here we go," murmured the tech. "This is the turning, and then…" the screen was filled with an unidentifiable blur before turning black, "…whammo. On to the fabled ‘Blue Screen of Death’."

"Play it again," said Harry. "This time pause on the blur and see if you can clean up the image."

Roland didn’t try to hide his disgruntled expression. "You don’t expect much do you? This place isn’t big on imaging tech, y’know. I’ll see what I can do. No promises on quality, though."

He did as asked. The fine-tuning took several minutes, but they got a clear enough picture. The face was out of shot, but there was no mistaking a male, human torso.

"Hey, it’s a bloke with no shirt on." Roland was incredulous. "Why’s he down there with no shirt on? What a twit!"

"It’s him. It’s got to be Thane," said Cabrera. He looked over at Harry.

"Only a vampire could move fast enough to be a blur onscreen," Harry agreed grimly. “He didn’t want to be seen.”

"Are you telling me a vampire bashed in my ‘bot’s camera?" asked Roland.

Cabrera ignored the aggravated question. "Check the rest of the blurred sequence and see if you can find anything else useful. There should be a woman with him, too." He swung to Harry. "How many units do we have on site?"

"Three ready to go and a further three enroute—"

"I have over fifty militiamen on site right now," interrupted Ickle. There was the sound of ripping paper as he tore a newly arrived facsimile from the far comms console. "And I also have written authority to take over this manhunt." His smile was coldly triumphant when he handed the sheet to Harry. He didn’t take his gaze off Cabrera. "This is from the Privy Council. It would seem your achievements during this crisis do not inspire confidence now the quarry is finally within our grasp."

The son of a bitch was the epitome of the fat cat who got the cream. He oozed satisfaction. Harry passed the sheet over with a grimace of angry distaste. Cabrera read the short, concise document with the scrawled signature of the Lady High Constable at the end. He could only imagine the pressure that must have been brought to bear in order to force her to abandon the special constabulary. The fax also authorised the use of killing force. Who the hell had Ickle phoned to obtain this damned fax so fast? Cabrera intended to find out.

"You’ve been busy," he noted to Ickle.

People who knew Cabrera, knew to take care when his voice turned so low and deep it sounded strangled. Ickle didn’t know him.

"And about to get busier, so stay out of my way. Feel free to remain and watch, though. Who knows, you may realise where you and the SC got it so badly wrong."

"We eagerly await such enlightenment," returned Harry, dryly. His usual civility remained in place even when provoked. "However, have you or your men even the slightest idea of what a vampire is capable of—this vampire in particular? The last time a militia unit tried to capture Thane, they ended up in an infirmary."

"I don’t have any women under my command," retorted Ickle, "to be abducted such as Ms Grant, or killed as per your other casualty. My men are handpicked and experienced. Neither am I constrained by the need to bring them in alive. I foresee no difficulties."

"You’re a fool," said Cabrera. "You’ve no idea what you’ve let yourself in for. It’ll be a slaughter."

Ignoring him, Ickle asked Roland, “Can you seal off the sections where Thane is currently located?”

Roland flicked an uncertain glance at Cabrera before answering Ickle. “Erm, yeah. I think so. We need to be able to seal off individual sections if there’s flooding, theoretically anyway. I’ve never actually tried it.”

Ickle gave a decisive nod. “Try it now. Get sealing. Start with that level and all sections within it. I want them boxed in.”

While Ickle was busy arranging to put his men at risk of annihilation, Cabrera got a few of his own wheels turning. “This guy you used to hack into the militia log, do you think he or she might be interested in another job?” he asked Harry, quietly.

“Perhaps. I’d be happy to relay the request.”

“I want every surveillance image we have of Thane to be analysed. Look for differences rather than similarities. If they’ve got time after that, have Ickle’s phone records copied, scanned and forwarded to my cell phone, ASAP.”

onto CHAPTER TWENTY

2010-08-30T21:56:00.019+01:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Cabrera had left standing instructions with Harry that he wanted to be notified immediately of any significant change in Ruth’s condition. His bedside phone rang a few hours before dawn, waking him from a troubled sleep. It was Harry: Ruth was conscious and talking. What she’d had to say was shocking enough that he skipped a shower in favour of haste and reached the MCHRD in less than forty minutes.

Dr Keller met him in her office. When he knocked, she opened the door rather than call for him to enter. Her deceptively youthful appearance couldn’t disguise exhaustion and strain. She looked as if she hadn’t left the lab for days, which was probably true. She gestured for him to precede her down the hallway.

“Harry’s already here and waiting for us,” Nicole told him as they walked.

“I know, it was Harry who called me. How is Ruth? What’s her condition?”

“Physically, she’s fully healed with no evidence of lasting damage; mentally, we won’t know yet. She’s been drifting in and out of consciousness, but seems lucid when awake. She tires easily though, so be warned.” She left a pause. “Ruth is nervous and afraid, Carl. We need to do what we can to reassure her.”

“I understand.”

Thane’s assaults were never just about blood. The autopsy reports on the previous victims made for nightmarish reading—some things didn’t bear imagining, never mind being enacted on a human being. Ruth’s ordeal hadn’t been as prolonged or as varied, according to detailed examinations. Still, Cabrera didn’t underestimate the effect the experience would have on Ruth’s mental state. He added, “I plan to make sure nothing else happens to her.”

Nicole levelled an assessing glance at him and then nodded, satisfied. “I recognise that grim, purposeful look. Make sure Ruth sees it and she’ll believe you.”

“Has she expanded on the statement she made when she awoke?”

Nicole shook her head. “I expected you to ask that right off. No, she’s said nothing more since insisting your prime suspect is innocent, and requesting yours and Harry’s presence.”

Cabrera quelled the impatience burning in his gut. “Have you found out any more about this mystery protein?”

“The levels are negligible in Ruth’s blood stream now, and decreasing by the hour. No matter what we’ve tried the protein decays at a rapid rate outside of a living body, making detailed analysis difficult. All I can say is it is definitely of vampiric origin.”

“You’re sure it’s leaving her body?” Cabrera asked.

She guessed what was bothering him and smiled. “This isn’t a horror movie, Carl. Vampires can’t make vampires. However, to reassure you, then yes, I’m certain the protein is leaving her body. I’ve double and triple checked.”

“Could this protein have affected Ruth’s mind, perhaps changed her perception of events, or messed with her memory?”

“As I can’t identify it, or complete a proper clinical investigation, I can’t rule anything out. All I know is Ruth came in with injuries that should have killed her, and a few days later she’s almost fully healed.”

“That wasn’t what I wanted to hear,” Cabrera confessed ruefully.

“Sorry, but that’s the truth.” Nicole grimaced. “Trust me, I’d love to know more myself.”

Three corridors and a flight of stairs later, they halted outside a sealed door and she tapped a code into the keypad. Beyond the door was an observation room and attached nursing station. The room was furnished with a couch and several plastic chairs, and the far wall was half-glazed. Harry was standing at the window and gazing steadily at the bed visible in the room beyond.

He turned when Cabrera and Nicole entered. “She’s awake,” he said simply. “I decided not to disturb her until you arrived.”

The patient beyond the wall of glass drew Cabrera’s attention. Until that very moment he hadn’t realised how strongly he’d needed to see Ruth for himself. “Let’s get in there while she’s awake. She’ll rest better once this interview is over and done with.”

As Ruth’s doctor, Nicole led the way. Cabrera went second, leaving Harry to take up the rear. Ruth was lying on her back with a crisp, white sheet tucked up to her shoulders. Her eyes were shut and face still. For such a vibrant woman, it was disconcerting to see her so pale and quiet. However, she still looked phenomenally better than the last time Cabrera had seen her. The lack of scarring was truly a miracle. It would be beyond a miracle for her mental scarring to be anywhere near as slight.

Nicole perched herself next to Ruth’s hip, softly calling her name and picked up her hand. Her eyes flew open, locking on the doctor before flicking to him and Harry. The blind panic on Ruth’s face was painful to see.

“Ruth,” Cabrera greeted as gently as he could. “You have nothing to fear here. No one else knows you’re here. You’re safe.”

Ruth ignored his statement to make one of her own. “Michael Thane isn’t the killer.”

Her voice was weak and rasping, but perfectly audible.

Cabrera had used the travelling time getting here to consider what approach to take. Taking her fragility into account, he opted for simple. “All right. Tell us who is?”

“His father, Gabriel.” Ruth’s hands gripped the sheet, twisting it in her agitation. “‘Shalom Aliekhem. Remember, I mentioned it?”

“I vaguely recall you saying something about an interview. We’d been discussing dual personalities. I don’t remember the details though.”

Ruth nodded and licked her lips to moisten them. “That’s right. Shalom Aliekhem is a Jewish myth about two angels, one good and one evil. I know why Jean said it now. Not angels in this case, but two vampires named after angels.”

“What does this myth have to do with our murder investigation?” asked Cabrera.

“Jean foresaw it somehow. He dropped other hints that I missed during the interview. He said vampires could dream each other’s dreams. He must have latched onto Gabriel’s and seen enough to make the connection.”

“Ruth,” said Nicole gently. “Don’t you think that’s a little farfetched? These murders aren’t fantasy, but reality.”

“We also have Thane on camera,” Cabrera reminded Ruth. “You’ve seen the footage too.”

Ruth shook her head. “You only think its Thane. They look identical. You’d have to see them both together to believe it. I did. I also saw Liz. She’s still with Thane. He’s wounded. Gabriel shot him.”

It took a moment to digest the disjointed stream of facts. Ruth was tiring and rushing to say what she wanted to say before she slipped under again.

“Forgive me, Ruth, but you’d been through a horrendous ordeal and were badly hurt,” Harry pointed out. “Are you certain you weren’t hallucinating or drugged? You said yourself that Thane could be a true Jekyll and Hyde?”

“Two men with the same face. I saw them at the same time. I’m certain.”

It was Nicole’s turn again. “We have Thane’s DNA from the other victims. Even identical twins have unique DNA if you dig deep enough. Our testing is sophisticated; we’d have picked up anything untoward, Ruth.”

“The testing was flawed or tampered with…only explanation.” Ruth was beginning to slur her words. “I understand why you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t in your place, but you need to check…just check. You’ll see then. Promise me…”

Ruth fought to keep her eyes open only to lose the battle. When she went limp, Cabrera frowned. “Is it normal for someone so close to being fully recovered to fall unconscious so easily?”

“Nothing about Ruth’s recovery has been normal,” Nicole reminded him, rising to her feet. “We have her on glucose drips. Her system has had a tremendous shock, and the healing process has expended an unusual amount of energy. I did warn you she tires easily.”

“So you did.”

The silent trio trooped back into the observation room. Cabrera raked stiff fingers through his black hair. He didn’t know what the hell to believe anymore. He didn’t want Ruth to be mentally damaged, but in a lot of ways it would make it a helluva lot easier to dismiss this crapstorm she’d just dropped on them. He gusted out a breath and then asked, “Do either of you believe her?”

Nicole sank down on the couch. “Two identical vampires, an ancient myth and angels. Not to mention clairvoyant dreams and falsified test results.” She shrugged. “Who could believe it?”

“Unless that’s the point. A lie that is more believable than the truth is a bloody good lie,” said Harry. “Plus, I work with an empath, so clairvoyance isn’t such a big a step.”

Cabrera aimed a hard look at him. “Are you saying you believe Thane has a doppelganger?”

Harry rocked back on his heels with his hands tucked into his pockets. “No, I can’t say I do. I’m merely playing devil’s advocate. Ruth sounded certain, but we know vampires can play havoc with the mind after a bite. Thane could have staged this whole scenario with Ruth to throw us into confusion. I’m far from convinced at this stage.”

“I agree.” Cabrera turned to Nicole. “Would it be possible to obtain fresh samples from the victims and retest them yourself?”

Nicole raised a brow. “Why bother if you think Ruth is delusional?”

“She asked us to check. I owe her that at the very least.”

“I see. I suppose this too would need to be done in secret?” Nicole sounded resigned.

“For the time being I want all of this kept under wraps. The less other people suspect, the better. How long until you could have the new test results?”

“Between ten and twelve hours depending on how easily I can extract more samples from the bodies.”

Harry’s cell phone signalled the arrival of a message. Sighing, he dug the device out of his inside jacket pocket and peered at the screen.

His brows rose. “It’s from Roebecher at the office.” All expression bled from his face as he read the message. When he was finished, he looked over at Cabrera. “There’s an unconfirmed report that Thane and Liz have both been annihilated.”

o~O~o

A thousand years is a long time to have flash past your mind’s eye. When Michael hit the ground, agony clawed through his abdomen. The level of pain was akin to being stamped in the gut by a horse. He should know; he’d experienced just such a kick at the age of fourteen, and that too had been courtesy of Gabriel. Standing in the middle of the bailey of his grandfather’s keep, he’d made the mistake of turning his back on his father to show his contempt, and got booted in the back. He’d hit the stony ground, scraping his face and hands, and rolled over onto his back just in time for Gabriel’s mount to lash out at his father’s urging. Hell, had it hurt! He’d spent the following weeks vomiting up blood.

Funnily enough, he did the same now. His head spun as he rolled and rolled in the long, thick stalks. He lost his grip on consciousness after the fifth crashing spin. His wits returned when he felt urgent hands tugging at his arms. Michael opened his eyes. Liz. Her face was red with strain, and tears were leaking out of the corners of her eyes. She looked crazed. She was speaking through gritted teeth.

“Move! Help me, damn you!”

He was a vampire. He was already damned.

Still, as it was Liz, he rolled to his side, kicking with his legs in an attempt to move where she wanted him to go. She didn’t stop and wouldn’t let him stop for what felt like an eon. He didn’t tell her it was useless, that the flattened crops left in their wake would provide a trail even an infant could follow. Falling into the ice-cold water of an irrigation ditch was a shock. Liz kept a death-grip on his left wrist. There was a strong current. Michael felt slick, hard plastic that defied any attempt to gain purchase. There was no way to slow or halt their headlong rush along with the water. Soon the ditch became a fully enclosed pipe, and then they were falling again. They hit water for a second time, and this time it was deep.

Michael sank like a stone. Liz came to his rescue again. She appeared from nowhere to wrap her arms around his torso and kick with her legs. He tried to copy. They began to rise. When they reached the surface, he heard her gasp out an instruction, “Keep kicking your legs. Don’t stop until I tell you.”

Liz was a lot stronger than she looked and as stubborn as a mule. She managed to get them to the side of the cavern they’d dropped into. Metal rungs were bolted into the stone walls. They got a grip just in time: the water started to drain fast and the dragging force of the suction was terrifyingly strong. By the time the water level had dropped below them, they were exhausted.

“We can’t just hang around here,” gasped Liz. “I can see an access tunnel a few feet above us. Can you climb?”

He doubted it. “You go first.” His voice was weak, and so was the rest of him.

Those few feet were torturous. By the time Liz had physically heaved him the rest of the way into the tunnel, he was barely clinging onto consciousness, and Liz was shaking with sheer physical exhaustion. Body-heat sensors in the tunnel triggered a series of tiny lights running along the tunnel ceiling and floor. With his back against the cold, damp wall, Michael was struggling not to give into oblivion. Excepting the molten fire blazing in his belly, he felt numb from the neck down. Liz tugged his legs straight and lifted herself over to straddle his legs, and then cupped his face in her palms. Despite the grinding pain and sapped strength his eyes shot open.

Liz’s face was pale and deadly serious. Her eyes were almost luminous with determination. “We can’t go on like this,” she told him. “You have to heal, Michael.”

Muscle control was an issue; his head lolled in her cold palms. His tongue felt thick and speaking was an effort. “I know, but it takes time for me.” Too much time.

Her set expression didn’t flicker. “We both know a way to speed it up.”

~o~

Liz watched as understanding dawned on his face. It worried her that his usually quick mind was so sluggish. “You need to feed of me.”

“No!” His reply was little more than a hoarse rasp, but the brief, hot flicker of fury that crossed his face made it clear what he thought of her suggestion.

“Gabriel won’t have such scruples,” Liz told him bluntly. “He’s probably healed by now.”

“—not my father.”

He could barely frame a sentence now. It took a gargantuan effort, but Liz refused to consider the possibility he was beyond any help, even blood. “I know you’re not him. I’m not asking you to be; I’m perfectly willing to let you take the blood you need. I’m giving it to you. There’s a huge difference.”

Michael stayed silent, but there was a clear, bitter rejection of the idea in those dark eyes.

He had to see sense. She couldn’t, she refused, to watch him die.

Liz saw no other option. Jumping from a moving vehicle, and nearly being blown apart a few moments later, could bring a surprising amount of clarity to a crisis. By the time she’d crawled around the burning remains of the van to find Michael, she’d come to a simple and unequivocal conclusion. He had to heal, fast. This was no time for squeamishness from either of them. If anything, his reaction made her more certain this was the right thing to do.

“Taking blood this one time won’t make you feral. Please, Michael, I need you to do this. I can’t face Gabriel alone. If you don’t heal, we’ll both die. You know as well as I do those arseholes who blew up the van are still hunting us. It won’t take long for them to realise there are no bodies.” Liz left a pause to let that sink in. “Don’t make me beg.”

The final plea was Liz’s best weapon, making it sound as if this were about her life when it was really about him. Yes, it was manipulative, but turn about was fair play. They were a team, and she loved him. The wait for his decision was filled with a palpable tension. She watched Michael drag himself back from the edge of unconsciousness with sheer willpower, and waited while he took a shuddering breath. “Slip your right arm out…jacket.”

The instruction made her weak with relief. Still, necessity didn’t dispel the expectation of pain. Jerkily, Liz unzipped the sodden jacket and slipped it off one shoulder. Goosebumps erupted all along her body as Michael grasped her forearm and loosely draped the limb over his shoulder. His movements were clumsy, but he managed to keep his fingers wrapped around the crook of her elbow. Her heart leaped up to lodge in her throat. Every nerve cell went on red alert. She gritted her teeth. This was her idea. She’d fought to get him to agree, so now was not the time to dwell on how much it would probably hurt.

Stop being such a baby. Pretend this is a standard blood test with a standard needle.

Can’t. Sod it! Please, just get it over with.

Chest tight, Liz locked her gaze on the tunnel wall over his shoulder. At least he wasn’t going to chomp down on her neck in the finest Hollywood style, she thought. She forced herself to ignore her churning stomach. Michael’s mouth brushed the hypersensitive skin of her inner elbow, jolting her down to her toes.

Liz felt heat, damp heat, and nearly jumped out of her skin. If Michael’s fingers hadn’t tightened at the right moment, she might have dislodged her arm unintentionally. The heat increased. She felt the brush of something. Was that his tongue? Oh Lord. Her head swam and she had to suck in a breath. Finally she felt a slight pressure, a tiny tug on her skin, but there was no pain. Where was the pain? Had he bitten her or not?

She got her answer when she felt a distinct, drawing pressure from the exact point where his mouth was locked to her skin. A spear of alarmed sensation shot from her arm to her whole body, freezing her in place. God help her! He had bitten her.

There was no pain; none whatsoever. Instead it was bizarrely pleasurable. Sitting astride his legs in a bid to provide warmth and support had not been a clever move. Liz swayed with mingled shock and reaction to the unexpected buzz of pleasure in her abdomen. Instantly, Michael raised a knee to anchor her from beneath. Tiny electrical shocks were sparking in her body, making her head spin faster. She felt drunk, or high. Her vision blurred and then steadied, to focus on him. The crook of her arm partially hid his face and yet the sight still took her breath away.

For crying out loud, it was only her arm! More quivers raced up and down the captured limb.

Dizzy, she raised a hand to steady herself against the wall above them. Instead, her fingers speared through his thick, dark hair.

Weakness invaded her limbs. She didn’t care. His shoulder looked invitingly solid and perfect to rest her heavy head on. She leaned down to rest her forehead on it with a shuddering sigh. Time passed with fluffy, syrupy-sweet slowness. When the darkness crept in from the edges of her mind, she closed her eyes and welcomed it. Lord, she was so tired. This close she could smell his skin. Liz had always loved the smell of a man’s skin, so much warmer and spicier than a woman’s. Michael was a vampire, a hairsbreadth away from being a demon, and yet he smelled like a normal man: male and alive and perfectly natural.

And, she was crazy in love with him. Bloody hell. She was such an idiot.

~o~

When she’d slumped against him in a dead faint, Michael caught her and cradled her in his arms. Retracting his fangs had never been more difficult. Her pulse was thin and fast with a heartbeat that rapped out a frenetic tattoo against her ribcage. With a shaking hand, Michael brushed aside her hair to bare her neck and bit her again—this time in the carotid artery—not to take, but to give.

He’d added a mild sedative, because drowsiness was dragging him down and he didn’t want her coming around when he was sunk into a healing sleep.

Hours later, he was awake again and thinking. During his sleep, he’d wriggled down to lie flat with Liz draped over him and their legs entangled. She slept on with her face tucked into his neck.

Michael hardly gave a second thought to the fact his gut was no longer aching. He’d bitten her and drank her blood, and there was no taking that back or wiping it out. He’d known it would be an irrevocable step, he just hadn’t figured on how big a step.

Until a few days ago, Michael had never bitten anyone. Then he’d met Liz and now he was running a fricking tab. The first time she’d been unconscious, and the second he’d been out for the count. This one was very different. If she’d had even the vaguest clue what she was asking of him, she would never have suggested he bite her.

He knew damned well he shouldn’t have relented. In Gehenna there were some things you didn’t ever screw around with—blood was one of them, and vampirism another. Mess with either and you always, always had to pay the piper.

First-blood was a whopping big way to screw with both.

Liz had been braced for pain. He’d eased the initial penetration by a strong, topical anaesthetic delivered through his fangs and mingled in his saliva. He’d also chosen the site with care. The inside of the elbow was one area of the female body that was highly sensitive, evocative without being sordid, and accessible and non-threatening.

He’d been pissed at her—and the circumstances for insisting, but he hadn’t wanted to hurt her, and he’d needed her to enjoy it.

Liz’s reaction was exactly as he’d planned. Good. Great. Perfect even. His reaction had been the damned opposite. From the moment he’d pierced her skin, he’d been dangerously intoxicated and painfully aroused. He’d clung to self-control and nearly lost it. Liz’s blood had been like a loaded syringe of pure adrenaline straight to the heart. His pulse had gone haywire, and it felt as if every muscle in his body had contracted simultaneously. Hell! He could have accidentally squeezed the life out of her if he’d had a more complete hold.

The taking of her blood had only been a small part of it. The feel of warm, giving skin and the hot rush of her pulse against the sensitive tips of his fangs had damned near blown the top off his head, and then there was her scent. Each inhalation had dragged pure, unfiltered Liz deep into his lungs. The blood chemistry of a woman was very different to a man’s, and unique to every individual thanks to the oils and hormones on the surface of the skin, although only a vampire would detect the nuances. If he had to, Michael was pretty sure he’d be able to track her through a crowd of thousands merely by that scent.

There was a consequence right there. Even if she wanted to, Liz would never again be able to truly evade him.

As for him, he was still waiting for the final bill. Michael could feel the change inside him already, and it had nothing to do with healing and returning strength. Her blood had woken something inside him and, whatever it was, it was unfurling and growing and frankly scaring the pants off him.

From the moment he’d been old enough to speak, Michael had had an intimate relationship with fear. First in feeling it and dealing with it, and then using it and dishing it out to others. Fear could be useful, but this was a whole new level.

The stakes had just been upped. Now it was even more imperative that he end this stand-off quickly, before he became as much of a danger to Liz as Gabriel. On that thought, Michael rose fluidly to his feet, taking Liz with him. His belly didn’t so much as twinge.

onto CHAPTER NINETEEN

2010-08-02T18:48:00.015+01:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

After Spooner, Liz no longer felt safe in the van when it was stationary. The struggle with the other vampire had taken it out of Michael too. He hadn’t been able to keep up the pressure on her, and had fallen unconscious again. Liz used the time to put some distance between them and their latest scene of nightmarish disaster.

Six hundred miles later, the van reached the outskirts of the old ecclesiastical city, now housing mostly-closed orders of monks and nuns. Liz stopped at a fuel station and convenience store to buy fuel, food and drink, as well as pick up a local newspaper. The headlines screamed about more vampire murders. Liz hadn’t bought the paper for the news, however, but for the list of empty rental properties available in the area.

She changed the tags and ID again in the forecourt of a nearby disused factory before crossing into the quadrant jokingly called the Eurozone. Speaking English in that part of Gehenna was a sure-fire way of sticking out like a sore thumb. Liz made sure they entered the quadrant at its narrowest point, so it was only a few hours later when the van crossed another border, this time into Le Jardin. The English translation was simply ‘the garden’, and it was one of many agricultural areas servicing Gehenna.

Liz parked the van under the shadow of a huge automatic irrigation plant complete with water tank. She was punch drunk with tiredness; there was no way she could think sensibly about potential properties to hide in. Sleep was essential first. Outside it was a bright, sunny morning; inside the van it was pitch black. Exhaustion weighted Liz’s limbs as she settled down next to Michael. He might be unconscious, but he was still big enough to offer some comfort. Laying a hand on his chest, Liz let herself drift off to sleep, lulled by the rhythm of his breathing.

His restless thrashing woke her a few hours later. She’d cut away the remains of his blood-soaked sweater the last time she’d checked his wound, leaving his jacket on him. Now the heat from his skin was sizzling. Groggily propping herself up on one elbow, Liz called for the lights to activate.

Michael recoiled from the sudden brightness with a pained moan, wrenching his head to the side and trying to turn over. His dark hair was nearly black with sweat.

“Lights—dim!” The sleep fog vanished. Concerned, Liz pushed herself up and reached over to gently turn him back towards her.

It was her turn to recoil. His eyes were almost fully demon with only a tiny bit of white showing. Liz didn’t pull away after that first flinch. This close, she couldn’t miss the suffering in those dark depths. Her hands were clasping the sides of his face, and the skin under her palms was radiating heat to an alarming degree.

“Michael.”

No response. He saw her, but she might as well have been a stranger. At least he wasn’t tossing about as much; her touch seemed to calm him. Her heart lurched in her chest. It seemed so wrong for him to be this helpless and confused.

She watched his eyelids close to half-mast as he slipped further out of reach. Her thumb brushed his lips, and they opened just enough to reveal the tips of his fangs.

Liz stilled while his earlier stark warning rang in her ears. She’d seen photographs of vampire fangs, but never seen them so close before. Impulsively, Liz brushed the same thumb along the nearest gleaming-white tip. Sure enough, the enamel formed a tip within a tip. Directly behind the minuscule channel that delivered the venom was a barely-visible, tiny spike. It was as sharp as a needle, perfect for puncturing human skin. Once the initial penetration was made, the rest of the fang was able to sink into the flesh.

Michael jolted at the exploratory contact, as if she’d struck a nerve. He pulled away, making a rough sound in his throat. Liz released him, stricken by a stab of guilt for taking advantage of his injury to satisfy her curiosity. Feeling like a pervert, she hurried to make amends by checking his dressing, quite a feat given his restlessness.

Hours passed, but he didn’t get better, in fact, he got worse.

Exhaustion finally made her stupid. Liz was struggling with him, trying to prevent his violent thrashing around from making his injury worse. Dumb. So very dumb. She was less than half his weight. She was leaning over him, with her hands on his shoulders, trying her damndest to keep him down. Without warning, Michael’s back arched and then slammed down again. Liz lost her balance and fell to sprawl on his chest. Immediately, his fingers slid into the tumbled thickness of her hair, cupping her scalp. His hand was so big it covered most of the back of her head. Liz froze. His grip was painless, but Michael had gone unnaturally still. Liz’s heart thudded against his breastbone. She was thinking of ways to extricate herself without hurting him, when his other hand locked around her upper arm. Liz yelped when he yanked her upwards.

She felt the twin pinpricks in her neck and screamed his name. The pressure stopped instantly, but he didn’t retreat. Panic and fear blanked her mind. Oh God. She could feel his hot, damp breath on her neck. His breathing was heavy and laboured, as if the strain of stopping was physical. His lower teeth were clamped around the cord in her neck, keeping her still and making her quiver. Every nerve cell in her body was jumping.

With her right hand pressed to the van floor, ready to lever herself clear, Liz repeated his name in a scared, wavering voice, “Michael!”

He made a whimpering sound next to her skin. Tremors were wracking his body. Hers equalled his. You didn’t need to be an empath to sense the battle raging inside him.

Terrified out of her wits, Liz considered deliberately causing him pain to gain her freedom, only to dismiss the idea. She just couldn’t do it.

Instead, she reached up to stroke his face, murmuring nonsense to him. The next few seconds stretched unbearably. There wasn’t so much pain as a prickly heat where he’d penetrated her skin. She cupped his jaw and felt it relax under her palm. Moment-by-moment, he relaxed a little more. When his fangs finally left her neck, Liz didn’t make the mistake of yanking herself away; not until his hands had fallen to his sides did she lever up and scramble out of the way. Liz didn’t stop until she was braced with her spine against the van’s closed rear door.

She was shaking like a leaf. She raised a trembling hand and skimmed two fingers over the skin of her neck. There were two raised bumps, and her fingers came away sticky with blood. She could feel more running down the side of her neck.

He’d bitten her for real this time.

Liz crawled over to the cabinet housing the first aid box, and scrabbled around inside it until she found something to staunch the flow of blood. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess.

He doesn’t know what the heck he’s doing. If he’d been conscious, he wouldn’t have done it. He did warn you.

Maybe I should have listened to him? If he hadn’t let me go, I’d be dead by now.

You don’t really think that. This is shock talking. You can’t abandon him and you know it.

Using her teeth, Liz tore off a strip of adhesive dressing and covered the bite. It took two efforts to get it positioned properly because she was shaking so much.

Oh Come on! It wasn’t all that bad. It felt weird, but it didn’t really hurt. Injections are worse.

That’s not the point.

All right, so what is the point? Make up your mind.

A few feet away, Michael was tossing and turning worse than ever.

Look at him. He’s delirious. He can’t help it.

Are you making excuses again? Face it, you love him, so he gets to get away with everything. It’s the same old pathetic pattern all over again.

“No, it’s not.” Liz spoke out loud. “Nobody ever got sick from standing in front of a bullet for me before. Big bloody difference don’t you think? Now, stop talking to yourself and help him.”

Sniffing back tears of reaction, Liz shuffled back over to him. If he was hungry, she was going to find a way to feed him. She pulled over the bag of food she’d bought. There was a sachet of hot chocolate. She ripped it open, dipping a finger inside so she could transfer the sweet powder to Michael’s mouth without choking him.

Minutes later, the sachet was empty and he was quieter. Boosted by this minor achievement, she tried an energy drink next, and managed to get a small cupful into him.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent nursing him, and trying to get more sustenance into him. A few times, Michael appeared close to coming around, only to slide under again. Once it was fully dark, Liz moved the van again. It was now twenty-four hours since he’d been shot.

She slumped at the wheel and dropped her head to rest on her hands. It felt like a week instead of a day, and she probably looked and smelled like it. The van stocked water, toothpaste and cleansing wipes, and that was the sum total of her opportunities to clean up. Not much of a personal hygiene regime.

The thought flew out of her head when she clambered back out of the cab, and found Michael standing unsteadily on his feet with one arm braced on the side of the van.

“What the heck are you doing?” The question might have been a shriek if her voice hadn’t been so hoarse with lack of sleep. She shot over and did her best to steady him by taking some of his weight. His arm was heavy over her shoulders. “You’re too weak for this, you moron,” she snapped. She manoeuvred him into position by the bench seat, saying, “Here. Sit down before you fall down.”

“How long have I been out?” Michael asked. His voice was worse than hers. He sat down gingerly and leaned his head back with a low groan. His eyes were slits in a pale face, but he was lucid.

“Twenty hours or so.” Liz hunkered down and grabbed his ankles. “Swing your legs up. I’ll help. Sitting won’t do your abdomen any good.”

She’d forgotten about the dressing on her neck. Instead of obeying her instructions, he reached out and brushed her hair aside. “What the hell happened to your neck?”

She couldn’t meet his gaze. “It’s nothing. Forget it for now. We can discuss it later.”

Again Michael ignored her. As weak as he was, he was too quick for her. The dressing was whipped off her neck. “Hey!” she protested, too late.

“That’s a vampire bite. Spooner didn’t bite you.” The pause he left throbbed with tension. Crushed glass would sound smoother. “Was that me?”

o~O~o

The large, ornately framed mirror was propped up against the wall. It was the only article in the room Gabriel hadn’t wrecked during his rampage. The destructive rage had passed now, leaving him vaguely soporific: almost contemplative, in fact. He sat naked and cross-legged before the mirror. His shoulder was still painful when he put it under strain, but the healing process was nearing completion. Not bad considering both bullets had hit his right shoulder, shattering bone and ripping sinew along with flesh and muscle.

Hatred welled in his soul, dispelling the fog of calm. Gabriel watched his face change to reveal the beast within. He leaned forward until his breath misted the glass, inspecting his skin, looking for changes. He was losing weight. No matter how many people he ate, he kept losing weight, and his appetite was increasing. How long, he wondered, until mindless insatiability set in?

He reached up and ran his palm over the smooth skin of his scalp. He’d begun losing his hair a year earlier, and had shaved it off rather than suffer the indignity of a tonsure. Wigs were so lifelike in these modern times he hardly missed his natural hair. That was lucky, considering Michael still had a thick head of hair.

It was necessary to keep up appearances.

From under the rubble of a partially collapsed wall, a shrill beeping intruded. Gabriel heaved a sigh. Obviously something else had survived destruction. How typical it should be the infernal communicator. Climbing nimbly to his bare feet, Gabriel padded over to it. The screen was covered in a spider-web of cracks.

Rather than put the device to his ear—which he loathed doing—Gabriel searched out the docking and speaker system, also miraculously whole, and then returned the call.

He was back in front of the mirror whilst the call was being put through. There was a click as it was answered.

“You rang?” said Gabriel. He didn’t bother announcing himself.

“I’ve been trying to make contact with you for some time. Where have you been?”

Gabriel gave the carnage of his quarters a dismissive glance. “I was indisposed.” He spotted what he thought might be a chip on a fang and leaned in to inspect the flaw. “What did you want?”

“Your son is proving elusive again. Do you have any information for me?”

“I know the exact shape of Ms Grant’s derrière to a degree that even her seamstress, if she had one, could never know. I’m looking forward to finding out more firsthand, very soon.”

“I pity any woman unfortunate enough to become the obsession of both you, and your son. How about something a little more pertinent?”

“You’re incapable of pity, it’s part of your unique charm,” returned Gabriel smoothly. “I don’t know exactly where William is, but I may have some pointers. Unless he’s getting even more disgustingly maudlin and fanciful, he’s out of the city and enjoying some country air. Does that help?”

“I’ll have someone check for possibilities and let you know.” There was a pause. “Ruth Burgess has been confirmed as dead, by the way.”

Gabriel’s lips curved into a smile. “Unlike some. I didn’t doubt it. Poor Liz will be grief-stricken.” His finger hovered over the disconnect button. “Anything else?”

“You’re taking my instruction to lie low exceedingly well. For some reason, this concerns me. I don’t suppose you would be willing to allay my concerns by explaining?”

“I’m touched, but your concerns are unnecessary. I’ve taken my frustrations out on inanimate objects, and I’m reassured with the knowledge that, however much I despise my son, I’m confident he can bounce back enough to deal with whatever second-rate scum you send after him.”

A sigh wavered through the speakers. “I did explain my reasoning to you. The more vampires found outside the OQ, the better. This Spooner individual has been of more use to us dead than alive. That being said, it would be better and cleaner for us if they succeed.”

“For you, but not nearly so satisfying for me. I’ll wait for your call. A word to the wise, my friend: don’t leave it too long or I may get bored.”

This time, Gabriel did disconnect. It was the sound of snuffling that drew his attention back to the mirror. Its size ensured most of the room was visible. In one corner, directly opposite to where he’d found the communicator, a ragged, bloodied figure was chained to the wall. The mirror’s reflective coating was decayed and the surface was spotted but, even so, the degradation and suffering inflicted on the wretched creature was obvious.

It was quite artistic really. Gabriel sprang to his feet, enthused anew. There was a decided swing in his step as he walked towards her. It was so nice not to have a time constraint. All sorts of opportunities to explore were opened up.

She was already wailing, or trying to, by the time he reached her. Gabriel ran his hand over the tufts of her hair he’d left her last time. “Hello, Liz. You don’t mind me calling you, Liz I hope?”

o~O~o

“Calm down, Carl, or I will have you removed from my office.”

Lady Stanley’s voice rang out from behind her desk. Cabrera’s temper, the only thing he himself was afraid of, had finally got the better of his control. He leashed it again with difficulty. He pushed off from his knuckles, and paced away from the Lady High Constable’s desk. He hadn’t meant to appear threatening. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

He kept his back to her, and his voice was gravelled when he spoke. “You’ll have to forgive me. I tend to lose my cool when my superiors insist on going to war.”

“Something must be seen to be done and that’s all there is to it. We cannot allow ourselves to be victims. If we did, we’d all be doomed to a life of torment.”

“We’re in hell. Some might say we were destined for that fate anyway.”

“Then they’d be wrong,” she retorted stoutly. “We are not helpless, nor beyond redemption, or mercy.”

Her words triggered a memory. He had a flashback to a movie he’d watched as a teen—a man on a hilltop talking to thousands of avid listeners. He began to pace. “Doesn’t scripture say only those who give mercy should expect to receive it?”

Helen sighed and her shoulders drooped. She got his point. “You’re making us out to be the aggressors. This is not the case, as you very well know.”

“I call it as I see it. The Privy Council is the one proposing a civil war. Have you considered this Sauvage may have an ulterior motive?”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know, but he makes my skin prickle. I don’t trust him.”

“You’re assuming I do.” Helen gusted out another sigh and waved a hand at him. “Sit down, Carl and stop pacing a track into my carpet. You’re making an old woman dizzy trying to follow you around the room.”

Carl sat because his respect for this woman hadn’t lessened simply because he disagreed with her.

“You’re stressed. We’re all stressed.” She managed to make a scolding sound like a compliment. “I don’t like this latest policy decision any more than you do, but hard decisions sometimes have to be made.”

“I agree, but there are wrong hard decisions and right hard decisions, this is wrong. I believe that strongly.” Cabrera sat forward with his elbows on his knees and met those ice-blue eyes, willing her to listen and be swayed. “We are not being overrun with vampires, neither is such a situation imminent, however much the doom-mongers wants us to think so.”

“People are scared, Carl. We can have no influence on policy if we’re both kicked out of office for appearing to ignore a threat weighing heavily on the hearts of the people.”

“I understand mob mentality,” said Cabrera. “The mob has ruled civilisation since Roman times. We have one killer and hysteria is mounting, egged on by a media suddenly interested only in death and fear, and speculation about both. We shouldn’t have let it happen.”

“But we did and it’s now water under the bridge. I have people looking into this timely change of tactics by the media, but I’m having to be careful, as you will have to be with your investigations.”

The sudden switch from toeing-the-party-line to crafty political moving-and-shaking threw Cabrera for a moment. “Excuse me?”

Helen lifted a white brow. “Whatever it is you’re planning to do, do it quickly, and for heaven’s sake, be discreet.”

Cabrera recognised a dismissal when he heard one. He rose and gave a bow. It was not a bow of subservience however, but one of respect. Helen Stanley understood why he did it so rarely, and accepted the distinction he gave it when he did.

Harry was waiting for him in the hushed corridor. “Outside,” said Cabrera walking past him. Together they headed for the nearest elevator.

“Anything new on Ruth?” he asked. They were jogging down the six flights of stone steps toward a lower-level bridge. Parking was always easier in the lower levels of the city.

It would seem odd for the chief constable to be personally visiting the MCHRD on a regular basis, and they’d decided phones were too risky. As such, Harry was playing go-between. His presence would be expected at the lab given the current crisis with Thane.

“Nicole is, as you Americans would put it, seriously freaked. Ruth is healing from the inside out. All medical intervention has ceased to avoid causing additional problems, or hindering her progress. Also, from what I understand, Nicole isn’t comfortable giving her drugs until she’s identified this anomaly in Ruth’s blood samples.”

“She still has no idea what it is?”

“Nothing conclusive. She tells me there are some basic similarities with the vampire protein VHDL, but it’s breaking down and concentrations are lowering. Slowly but surely, as Ruth heals, this mystery element is disappearing.”

“Has Ruth shown any signs of coming around yet?”

“I’m afraid not, no. She’s still comatose.”

“Damn.” They reached the bridge, and paused to let a prayer group led by a street pastor file past before walking over the pedestrian crossing.

“I have some interesting information on this Spooner character.” Harry continued without prompting. “I’ve had a discreet chat with Khan, one of my new contacts in the old quarter. He’s vehement that Spooner was sent by them to assist in the apprehension of Thane, and this action was approved by a member of the Privy Council.”

“Did he give a name?”

The traffic lights changed and the ‘walk’ sign glowed green. The car park was on the other side of the skylane.

“He refused to give one,” said Harry. “I gather trust is now an issue. I suspect they’ve got wind of the council proposals.”

“Wonderful! Now they’ll start plotting to attack us, and this mess will mushroom.”

Harry grimaced in agreement. “It does seem to be getting plenty of fertiliser.”

o~O~o

Green-and-gold eyes widened. Michael could practically see the wheels of her mind spinning. “Don’t lie to me,” he warned in a low growl.

“I wasn’t going to,” she snapped back. Reciprocal temper brought colour to her cheeks. “Excuse me for trying to find a discreet way of saying, ‘by the way, you bit me last night’”

After she’d bluntly laid out the charge, Liz pushed to her feet and stalked to the other side of the van, refusing to look at him.

Over the grinding ache of his abdomen, Michael felt his stomach swoop in anguish and despair. He’d bitten her—perhaps fed off her! He’d finally crossed that line. How could she have stayed with him after he’d attacked her?

He could see the wounds as clearly as if she was still right before him. There were two small scabs with very slight bruising surrounding them. Michael’s chest locked, making it difficult to breathe. He’d had bad moments before, but he’d never given in before today. Gritting out a curse that made her glare, he asked, “When did I do it? What happened?”

“I was trying to stop you from rolling around and spilling your guts on the van floor. I got careless. I lost my balance and practically planted my jugular right next to your mouth. You were delirious.” She took a deep breath and finished, “I don’t blame you.”

“You should. I’m a vampire. You should also blame yourself. I warned you to get away from me.”

Liz pointed a stiff finger at him. “Don’t start that again, and just so you know, you let me go without a struggle. Check it again, Michael. You barely bit me.” She stalked back towards him, flicking her hair out of the way and making a point of the small puncture wounds. “Look, it’s all surface. The moment I said your name, even though you were out of your mind with some freaky fever, you let me go. You’re more of a chocolate fiend than a bloodsucker, you idiot.”

Before he could speak, she tossed up a hand, flinging him a narrow-eyed look of exasperation for good measure. “Forget my neck. I almost lost a few digits feeding you powered chocolate. I never knew vamps had such a sweet fang.”

As a point of principle, Liz did not lie. She used honesty like a suit of armour, and expected the same from everyone else. She’d probably choke on a lie if she tried to utter one.

Still, Michael frowned in disbelief. “You fed me chocolate?”

“Powdered chocolate,” Liz corrected. “It took some doing. I was afraid of choking you if I just poured it into your mouth. I’ve never hand-fed anyone before.”

She’s insane was all he could think. “You’re completely cracked, you know that right? Anyone with sense would have run for the hills after being bitten.”

The atmosphere was still thick with tension. Liz didn’t back down. “I didn’t want to, and still don’t. You lost the opportunity of getting rid of me days ago. I’m not giving you another.”

Michael passed a shaky hand over his face and looked away from her, seeking composure and calm. His emotions were spiralling out of his control. He didn’t have a clue how to separate them or deal with them. One he did recognise was regret—regret that he couldn’t remember biting her. That scared the crap out of him.

Before Michael could think of anything to say, he heard the unmistakable sound of an engine in the distance. It impinged on him so heavily because of the lack of other engine noise. “Where are we?” he asked Liz.

“Le Jardin. I thought a change of scenery might improve our luck.”

Aircraft flying over Le Jardin were light and automated for monitoring crops from the air. Night had a unique scent all of its own and he could smell it now, along with the loamy scent of soil and the bitter aroma of ripening crops. Monitoring those crops would be impossible at night. Besides, the whine of the engine he could hear was much too powerful. Inner alarms weren’t so much ringing as hysterically clanging.

“Liz, get back in the cab, now. I’ll follow you.” Liz caught his urgency and didn’t hesitate. She looked frightened as she dived through to the cab.

Michael barely caught a glimpse of the ACV - or combat shuttle at it was more commonly known - in the passenger side mirror before the flash of gunfire heralded the first, destructive pass. The van was fitted out to blend into an urban cityscape, not repel an attack amidst wide-open arable fields. It wasn’t armoured, so the heavy rounds ripped into the top and sides.

Liz gunned the engine, stalled in panic, and gunned it again with a yelped curse. The van finally moved off. She stomped on the accelerator pedal and steered them onto a dirt track. Michael braced his feet on the floor and his hands on the armrests. He had to grit his teeth against the agony in his gut, all the while keeping his eyes on the mirror.

One uncomfortable thought was prominent: they were sitting ducks.

The van was too big and unwieldy to handle a speedy escape. Also, even if they managed to elude the ACV, the vans engine would be hot, making hiding impossible thanks to the scanners ACVs were equipped with as standard.

The old quarter was a war zone in its own right, but nothing like this. Vampires use some technology as a necessary evil, or even as a useful convenience, but weapons they disdained as the invention of a weak and cowardly humanity. Michael had no experience whatsoever with going up against a heavily-armoured, technologically-advanced warship. The shuttle banked and turned, coming around for a second pass.

They had to get out of the van. It was too big a target. The rear wheels slewed on the tarmac when Liz took the corner too fast, trying to get them onto the main road. Ignoring the pain, Michael helped her wrestle with the steering wheel until they were going straight. He felt icy cold and his head swum sickly by the time he was able to sit back in his seat. Every jolt of the van was breath-stealing agony.

He felt useless and as weak as a baby. Both infuriated him.

He really wasn’t looking forward to jumping out of a speeding vehicle. More rounds peppered the van and the road ahead of them, kicking up red-hot chunks of asphalt. Two rounds caught the van’s hood and steam instantly started to billow up onto the windscreen. So far the cab itself had escaped damage. Liz’s grip on the wheel was white-knuckled with fear.

“We have to jump,” Michael yelled. “We’ve got twenty or so seconds before they come around again.”

Liz nodded tightly. The same thought had obviously occurred to her. “When?” she yelled back.

“We need to make it look as if we’ve been forced off the road. When they start firing again, yank the wheel to the right and take us into the field. They’ll think we’ve blown a tyre. We jump together. Get ready. I’ll say when.”

“Then what?”

“My guess is they’ll keep shooting until the gas in the tank ignites. We need to get clear before that happens.”

If they didn’t break their necks that is, he silently added.

“Okay.”

Michael watched the side mirror, waiting for those telltale flashes. When they came, he yelled, “Now!”

Two-handed, Liz yanked the wheel to the right. The van turned, skidded and then crashed into the barrier protecting the field. The van began to jump around like a jackrabbit on speed as the ruts in the soil sent them swinging madly from side-to-side.

“Jump!”

Both doors swung open, and they flung themselves through them.

onto CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

2010-07-28T20:14:00.031+01:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“Ruth needs an ambulance, Michael.”

“So call one.” Michael didn’t take his eyes off his father.

“You’re wasting your time, Elizabeth,” said Gabriel. “Your friend will die before anyone can get here. I made sure of it when I realised I was about to be rudely interrupted.”

“She’s still conscious,” snapped Liz, “and I never said you could use my name.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Of course Ruth is conscious, I prefer it that way. Where’s the fun otherwise?”

Liz sucked in a stunned, infuriated breath. Michael spoke before she could rip into Gabriel, “How did you know we were coming here?”

It was an important question. For the life of him, Michael couldn’t understand how anyone could have anticipated this move.

“I didn’t. I wish I could say otherwise. I had my own reasons for being here.”

“And those were?”

Gabriel’s grin was swift and feral. “My business.”

“Gunshots will bring the Militia here,” Liz warned. She was crouched on the floor next to Ruth with a cell phone in her hand. “If they see the two of you together the game is up, Gabriel. The same goes for the ambulance crew.”

“Sounds good to me,” added Michael, silkily. “Shall we try it and see?.”

Fury tightened Gabriel’s features. His finger flexed on the big pistol’s trigger. Then the temper smoothed out of his face. “Certainly, as long as I get to shoot first.”

Vampires preferred close-quarters combat over guns for many reasons. First and foremost, a bullet’s trajectory was visible and, therefore, predictable to vampires. Plus, supernatural speed made the bullet easy to dodge. You’d have to have the barrel jammed into a vampire’s face or body to be sure of hitting your target. Gabriel knew this. Liz was human, though. Michael saw the flare of the gas igniting, and the bullet emerging from the barrel.

He fired as well, pumping the trigger three times in quick succession. The first round caught Gabriel's in mid-air, before it could reach Liz; the second and third missed Gabriel himself.

His father got off two more rounds. Michael caught another one, but the second got through. The sound of multiple gunshots was deafening. His ears were ringing. He moved just as Liz screamed. Blood flowered on Michael’s sweater.

He’d stepped into the bullet’s path.

Agony ripped into his abdomen. He returned fire, pumping the trigger twice more, blasting through the doorframe to slam into Gabriel’s shoulder as he exited. Blood sprayed across the cream paint of the vestibule. Gabriel disappeared from view, diving through the front door and back out into the corridor.

Liz screamed Michael’s name. He heard her as if through a tunnel. His senses swam under the avalanche of pain.

He forced himself to focus by sheer dint of will.

“Stay down!” Damn it. The fire fight had taken perhaps twenty seconds, maximum. Now his guts were spilling out from a hole the size of his fist, Gabriel was out of sight, and there was nothing he could use as a barricade for the two women if the bastard came back.

He hated guns.

Michael staggered as the pain in his abdomen surged. Liz ignored his demand and lurched to her feet, gripping him around his back and trying to steady his weight. “Michael, you’re hit!”

“So’s Gabriel.” Michael managed to find his balance and avoid taking them both crashing to the floor. He kept the pistol trained on the doorway. Not that it’d do any good. The smell of blood was too strong for him to catch a trace of Gabriel, and Liz’s heartbeat was thundering in his ears. His concentration kept fading in and out, too, as the pain hit him in waves.

He was shot, and he wasn’t fully changed yet. Even vampires could die of an abdominal wound, if the injury was bad enough. Gabriel’s shoulder would heal much, much quicker.

“We need to get out of here. Get you somewhere safe,” Michael managed to say. Was there such a place, he wondered? He was in no state to take on a militiaman, never mind Gabriel.

“What about Ruth?”

The guilt of abandoning a dying friend would haunt Liz no matter what the reason, and she’d suffer for it. Damn it. Michael gave her the pistol, saying, “If you spot anything move by the door, shoot it. Don’t wait and see. Got it?”

“Why—what…”

Clutching his wound, Michael tried to gingerly lower himself, and fell heavily to his knees, next to the dying woman.

“Michael…”

His wound did not like the jolt it took, and let him know it. Michael groaned, and then growled, “Just watch the damned door, Liz.”

Liz must have turned the body over when she’d first arrived. Grey eyes clouded with pain met his. Ruth was cognisant, but mute: at some point, Gabriel had broken her jaw. She was as pale as death, battered, bitten and broken, and her chest was rising and falling far too quickly. She was bleeding out fast from savage bites to her throat. If Gabriel hadn’t loaded her up with stimulant to ensure she’d feel every iota of pain, she’d have been blissfully unconscious, or even dead, by now. As bad as her injuries were though, Michael could tell Gabriel had barely begun his assault.

The intelligence in those eyes shocked him, until he realised it was fading.

“I’m going to try and heal you, but to do it, I have to bite you,” Michael told Ruth, adding, “I don’t have time to make it painless.”

He lifted the nearest arm to his mouth, at the same time letting his fangs elongate. He found a spot near the elbow not already mangled and sank into the flesh. There was no rush of blood. The body’s last ditch attempt to survive had kicked in, limiting blood circulation to protect the heart and central nervous system. This was bad news from his point of view. He hoped to hell he wasn’t too late.

~o~

It was a nightmare getting Michael back to the van. If he hadn’t remained conscious, Liz knew they’d never have made it. He collapsed before she could lower the pallet, so she made him as comfortable as possible on the floor of the van. He was covered in blood and so was she, courtesy of both Ruth and Michael. With the militia and ambulance likely to arrive any moment, she hadn’t had time to do much except put a compress on his wound and a blanket under his head, and then get the van moving.

She drove as far as she dared, finally choosing a sheltered spot at the rear of a closed hotel to park. Post-adrenaline crash threatened; she wrestled it back. Her hands wanted to shake; she forced them to steady and clambered into the back. As she did so, she called for the overhead lights and knelt next to Michael.

She tried not to dwell on just how bad he looked.

He was unconscious and deathly pale. He’d been wearing a thin, grey sweater under his jacket. She lifted the garment from the waist, watching his face to see if he showed signs of coming around. He didn’t flinch. She peeled the blood-soaked fabric up and over the sticky mess of his abdomen, taking care to limit any pulling of hair and skin. The compress was already soaked. She lifted it out of the way.

Her breath whistled in a suddenly tight throat. Oh God! The wound was nothing like the bullet he’d taken in the thigh. For one, this wound was much bigger and still sullenly oozing blood. There was no sign of supernatural healing. She didn’t need extensive medical training to realise a normal human would already be dead. Fighting back tears, Liz prayed he was demon enough to live and got to work. She was no nurse, but basic first aid had been mandatory for constables working on missions. Squeamishness was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Michael needed her help.

The bullet had entered his body an inch above his navel. She cleaned the whole area with the medicated wipes from the first aid box. Luckily, Michael had kept it fully stocked. DIY surgery was obviously a common occurrence for him.

Getting the bullet out was the worst part, and that was with the help of a handheld scanner to pinpoint the bullet. Her hands threatened to shake the whole time and she was terrified of doing him further injury. Within moments of teasing the bullet out and sealing the wound as best she could, Liz was forced outside to vomit. After cleaning herself up, she climbed shakily back into the van. Michael was still out of it, a blessing for both of them. If she’d had to listen to his pain, on top of what she’d had to do, she’d probably have gone insane.

Liz ran the scanner over his abdomen one last time, double-checking for bullet fragments before applying a second layer of skin-sealit, adding a large, padded medical dressing as an extra precaution.

By the time Liz sat back on her ankles she was drenched in sweat. A wave of dizziness forced her to clutch the edge of the bench seat for support.

She’d done all she could. Taking him to a hospital was out of the question. The staff would be bound to recognise the both of them, and she couldn’t trust anyone to treat him properly. It was up to him now, and a vampire’s ability to heal.

Oh God. Please, let him heal!

Her head fell to rest on her raised arm. Images of Ruth, lying tortured and dying on the floor of her own living room, fought with a replay of a weak, bleeding Michael collapsing to the floor of the van. He’d fought to stay conscious and lost the battle.

She could lose both of them.

Pain and despair gave a savage twist in her gut, then formed a hard ball that instantly ballooned up to constrict her lungs. It had all gone wrong and it was her fault. If only he hadn’t listened to her, but if they hadn’t turned up when they had, Ruth would have suffered more…

Sweet, kind Ruth with a heart of gold and the ability to understand the worst and never judge. Michael, the born tyrant, surly, moody, unpredictable and dangerous, and the man who’d stepped in front of a bullet for her.

Why had he done that?

Michael was lying with his face towards her. Liz couldn’t resist stroking the backs of her fingers over his cheek and jaw. His lips were perfectly formed, and soft to the touch. There was no stubble. He was colder than normal though, and a film of dampness covered his skin. Because she’d never dare touch him this way when conscious, she lingered to brush his hair away from his forehead.

God help her. She was tired, so tired. Tired of battling herself, as well as everyone else. She cared about him, and had done right from the moment a rude, predatory stranger had plucked her out of Uruk. In fact, she’d gone beyond ‘caring’: she’d fallen for him. She had no idea why; he was no Prince Charming.

Her taste in men hadn’t improved much with death.

Tears spilled over despite her best efforts. It was painful to speak through the tightness of her throat. Her voice was hoarse from the effort it took. “Don’t you dare die on me, Michael Thane, that’s all I can say. I need you. God knows why, and not just for protection, before you say it.”

The temper came out of nowhere. Her head jerked up and her voice rose to a yell, “Aaron where the hell are you when we need you? You wanted him to fight Gabriel! This is your fault as much as mine! Where are you?”

“I don’t think he can hear you,” Michael whispered.

“Michael!”

“Do you think you could lower the decibels a notch?”

Liz’s breath hitched as she tried to surreptitiously wipe away the tears before he saw them. “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long.” Michael attempted to lift himself up enough to check his wound, only to groan with pain and fall back again. “Did you get the bullet out?”

Relief made her snappy. “No, I left it in there to rot. Of course I got it out.”

“Good.” He settled for probing his abdomen whilst lying flat on his back, grunting in pain as he did so. “I seem to recall being bounced around. Where did you take us? Did you change the tags and ID?”

He was as weak as a baby and still managed to be autocratic. Unbelievable. Liz glared. “As it happens, I did move us, and no, I didn’t change either the tags or the ID. I was more concerned with you. More fool me.”

“Definitely more fool you. Security comes first. I’ll tell you what to do…” Michael broke off, and then swore. He reared up just as the sliding door of the van was slammed aside with such sudden violence Liz yelped and whirled.

A heavyset figure stood outside. It was too dark to pick out any identifying details. “Aaron?” Liz asked hopefully.

“’fraid not, love.” The voice was male, English and unknown. “Well, well, Michael Thane. I’m shocked at you. Fancy a big name in the biz such as yourself making it so easy to track you. Very disappointing indeed. You must be slipping.”

“It's called being shot in the gut. What the hell are you doing in the Cathedral quarter, Spooner?” Either he recognised the voice, or Michael could see in the dark, which was likely, Liz realised. He didn’t sound happy either way.

A face and body materialised as the figure stepped forward, entering the weak wash of light spilling out of the side of the van. Spooner was male, and as nondescript as it was possible to be and not fade entirely into the background. “I was doing another job—got detoured to deal with you. The call came in less than an hour ago.”

Liz felt like screaming. If she’d changed the tags and ID they couldn’t have been tracked.

“What do you mean by ‘deal with him?’ asked Liz, latching onto any hope she could. “Are you two friends?”

“Nah, more like competitors,” said Spooner, conversationally. “And I’m here to kill him. The Powers That Be don’t want to have to deal with him back in the OQ, see.”

The ‘OQ’ could only mean old quarter. As for the rest, Spooner was all coat and no substance, literally. His hands and face were skin-and-bone, yet his rain slicker draped and hung on him like a tent. His manner of speaking was so calmly conversational he could have been talking about the weather. The sense of menace and threat was entirely missing. Was he even a vampire, she wondered?

“Liz, get moving. Run as fast as you can,” said Michael tensely. Her back was to his chest. She could feel the tension in him. He was struggling not to collapse. His arm was shaking with the strain of propping up his weight.

It was Michael’s attitude that convinced her to take Spooner seriously. Heart hammering anew, she shook her head. “No way. I’m staying.”

“Do it, Liz. Now!” Michael grasped her arm, but for once was in no fit state to force the issue. It was also the move that dropped him back to the floor with an in-drawn hiss of agony.

Spooner watched the by-play avidly. “I’d do as the man says, love.”

“No.”

“I won’t warn again, Thane. You’d better tell her. I’ll give her an honest chance if she goes now. You know me, I’m a fair man.”

“Liz! MOVE!”

Near to hyperventilating, but determined, Liz refused to be budged. “NO! I won’t leave you. He’s lying anyway, you know he is.”

“Too late,” said Spooner, singsong.

Spooner reached for the top of his coat zipper, and that was all Liz saw except for the flash of fangs and the stench of hot, fetid breath right in her face. Liz screamed in revulsion as the scalpel she’d been hiding in her closed fist sank into the vampire’s temple. The demon howled. It wriggled and struggled, straining to get at her. His strength and savagery was astounding. He was shaking both her and Michael as if they were dolls. What the hell? She’d stabbed him in the bloody brain, why wasn’t he dead? Liz wrenched her head aside as snapping fangs grazed her jaw. She twisted the scalpel viciously, trying to dig deeper. “Die, you bastard!”

The guttural snarling finally died to a rattle. Spooner stilled with a look of surprise widening those demon eyes. Shuddering with terror and revulsion, Liz released her hold on the slim blade. He staggered back or tried to, only to be snagged by something else. Liz looked down and nearly gagged. A second head, equally vampiric, and attached by a scrawny neck to Spooner’s chest, had been skewered by Michael; the liquid metal of his sword was formed into a short dagger.

Michael retracted the dagger and slumped away from Liz. She shoved the dead vampire away in utter revulsion, twisting her body to bring her legs around so she could kick the corpse out of the van entirely. Once it was gone, she slammed the sliding door back into place, and locked it. She was shaking all over. “What the hell was that thing?”

“I believe the modern term is ‘conjoined twin’,” said Michael, flopping onto his back in utter exhaustion.

“Tell me how to change the tags and ID, then I’ll move us again.” Liz wasn’t leaving it to chance again.

Michael spoke from under the arm he’d placed over his face to shield his eyes, “Once you’ve done that you need get the hell away from me. Take some supplies, and cash, and run.”

Liz couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re in this together.”

The arm moved, revealing a face tight with anger and pain. “Don’t be stupid. I can’t protect you given the state I’m in and more will be coming after me. I’m a danger to you now.”

“You’ll get stronger. I’ll risk it.”

Fury snapped his brows together and his eyes became slits. “You don’t get it, do you? I won’t be able to eat, and I need to heal. When I’m healing I get fricking ravenous. Bad news for you. I don’t want you near me.”

Liz thought about it, she really did, then said, “Tough. Now give me the blasted codes to change the ID before someone else comes knocking.”

~o~

Cabrera stormed through the MCRHD reception. He bypassed the security detail and headed directly for the surgical floor. A nurse dogged his heels the whole way, yapping away about regulations. He ignored her. He was in no frame of mind to explain himself. Harry was already waiting in the observation area of the lab’s main surgical chamber. He couldn’t bear to look through the glass at the sheet-covered body, so he focused on his second in command.

“Tell me.”

Harry looked haggard. “An emergency call was made from Ruth’s flat at 12.49 am. The operator recorded being able to hear a fracas in the background as the anonymous caller was giving him the details. The caller has been identified as being Liz.”

Cabrera gave an irritable shrug at the name. To his mind, Ms Grant was a part of the problem now, a suspect. “What about Ruth?”

“She’s alive. All Nicole would say is the wounds are extensive and similar to that of Thane’s other victims.” Harry’s gaze dropped to his shoes and his voice became clipped. “Apparently, her chances of survival are slim.”

Cabrera felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. He’d known her only a few days, but in that short time Ruth had impinged on his consciousness in a way few others ever had. She should never have been in the firing line. He had to bank a sudden blaze of rage. “Is she conscious, or has she been conscious since the medics arrived?”

“Not so far as I know.”

He gave a short nod. “I want to be kept informed of every detail. I’ve been summoned to another emergency Privy Council meeting; I stopped off here on the way. A vampire has been found dead less than twenty miles away from Ruth’s home address and looked to be a feral. The media have caught wind of it. There’ll be a crap storm in the morning.”

Dr Keller, still in her pale-blue disposable surgical suit, swung in through the doors just as Cabrera was preparing to leave. He turned to her, grimly waiting for the worst news.

She didn’t keep them waiting. “She’s still critical, but she’s alive. More importantly blood supply has been restored to all major organs and the nervous system is functioning.”

Cabrera blinked, taken off stride by the good news. “Good job, doctor.” He sincerely meant every word.

“Yeah, well, that’s the thing. I didn’t do it.”

“Excuse me?”

Nicole was happy to explain. “The body scan done by the ambulance crew showed extensive damage to both tissues and organs from oxygen starvation due to blood loss. In layman’s terms, she was in shock and dying. By the time we got her here, Ruth’s blood pressure had improved to the point of being sufficient to maintain the critical organs, and was increasing...all without us needing to intervene.”

“Is that normal?” asked Harry. He clearly didn’t think so, and neither did Cabrera.

“The body produces its own red and white blood cells, but it takes time and relatively good health,” explained Nicole. “This rate of replacement is decidedly not normal. I’ve never seen it in a human, ever.”

“What are you trying to say, doctor?”

“That I have no idea what the heck is going on in Ruth’s body. I should also mention, I received a text shortly before I received the emergency call. The text originated from Ruth’s personal phone. It simply said, ‘Don’t tell anyone she’s alive’. I thought it was a joke until I heard about Ruth being attacked.”

Cabrera was struggling to come to grips with everything he’d just been told. “Is that all it said? Are you sure?”

“The content of the text is the only thing I’m sure of at this point,” said Nicole bluntly. “I read it over and over, trying to figure it out.”

Cabrera looked at Harry, seeking his opinion.

Harry said, “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m beginning to wonder if left is left and right is right here. This warning could be something or nothing, but I say we don’t take the risk. Would it be possible to fake Ruth’s death and move her to a private room, with only one or two trusted members of staff knowing?”

Nicole hesitated before giving a brief nod. “I’m sure I could come up with something.” She frowned uneasily at Cabrera. “What’s this about, Carl?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out. Just follow Harry’s suggestion for now. I think it’s time we started playing our cards closer to our chests. I can’t speak for either of you, but I for one am tired of getting jerked around like a dumb mutt on a leash.”

onto CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

2010-07-22T23:26:00.023+01:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The headquarters for the Department for Civil Defence was visually impressive. It was also symbolic, with a tower resembling a highly-polished blade stabbing up into the sky. According to the blurb, it was a monument to the fusion of modern architecture and technology.

The reality was a little different than the concept.

Like any building housing a huge bureaucracy, it was ridiculously easy to enter unnoticed. Hell, all you had to do was walk in the doors.

Michael had long ago stopped being surprised at how inept most moderns were at even basic functions. They relied on technology to a dangerous degree. Tonight was a case in point: the two guards in the foyer barely glanced at them, expecting the facial recognition programmes, run via the security cameras, to warn of any dangerous fugitives that might wander into the building.

Such as Michael Thane and Elizabeth Grant.

They had no idea how easy it was to distort digital images. All you needed to do was drastically alter the colour spectrum and light intensity to make recognition software useless. The high-collar tunic worn by the DCD staff was perfect for hiding the wiring of a device able to do just that. Worn around the neck, the device was invisible except at close inspection. The peaked-cap part of the uniform worn by the male employees was damned useful too. Michael kept his head down and senses on full alert. Other than the two guards lazily manning the reception desk, the spacious lobby was deserted.

Liz led the way to a bank of glass-caged elevators. “I hope you’re right about the fake handprint otherwise we’re screwed,” she hissed, casting an anxious glance back at the distant guards. “Our record on successful recon missions isn’t great, remember?”

“Stop fretting. Do you think this is the first time I’ve been in here?”

Surprise flared in hazel eyes. Michael pressed his hand, complete with micro-thin, polycoated false fingerprints, onto the hand-reader. The scan took mere seconds and, once complete, the elevator door opened. They stepped inside in tandem. Liz selected the twenty-seventh floor. The lobby slowly disappeared as they smoothly ascended.

“You’ve been inside this building before?” she probed, as he’d known she would.

“More than once, and I’m not the only one. It’s a standing joke in the old quarter.”

“And you couldn’t have told me that before?” Liz slid him a dark look, “And saved me some heart palpitations.”

The elevator doors opened onto an empty corridor. Liz walked out first. They hadn’t gone more than a few steps before she said, “All right, I’ll bite. Why are vamps sneaking into the DCD?”

There was no way in hell he was going to admit the reason behind his last breach of DCD security. Eleven months ago he’d set up an electronic backdoor into the personnel system, giving him access to her records whenever he wanted. He knew the details of every mission she’d ever been on.

He kept his answer simple. “Vampires get paranoid too. You keep tabs on us. We keep tabs on you. Fair’s fair.”

They reached the office they wanted. A discreet plaque on the wall stated, Commander of Operations, H. Gillespie. “You’ve been distracting me again, haven’t you?” Liz asked abruptly, stopping outside the sealed door.

“The topic was guaranteed to grab your attention.” Michael once again pressed his hand to an entry scanner, this one guarding the office from unauthorised access. “I was saving you some of those palpitations you were complaining about.”

Liz stiffened when the door unsealed and slid aside. Michael placed a hand on the small of her back, urging her inside. There was no point in staying within view of the corridor security cameras longer than necessary. They walked into an office that offered a stark contrast to the ultra-modern and streamlined minimalism of the rest of the building. It was decorated to resemble an English gentleman’s library. The furniture was mostly wood, and the walls were covered with floor-to-ceiling shelves. Leather-covered books, card files and paper records filled the shelves. There was even a battered set of portable steps for browsing above head height.

The only concession to technology was the computer and communications-console tucked away in one corner.

Michael was struck by the sheer chaotic mess of the place. The office was awash with paper and stacks of reports. You couldn’t see the surface of the desk at all. Photographs were tacked haphazardly about; Michael’s own face looked back at him from several of the images. Most were of Gabriel, though. Liz also featured in some. The odour of stale tea was strong enough to hit the back of his throat.

It was in a very different state from the last time he’d been here. “This place looks trashed,” he commented. So much for obsessive tidiness and the aroma of lemon polish.

“Harry is normally very neat, verging on OCD actually.” Liz walked over and picked up one of many plastic cups abandoned on the desk. She grimaced. “He hates disposable cups. Considers them the invention of the devil. He likes his tea the old-fashioned way.” She gnawed at her bottom lip. “He must be really upset and worried.”

She was radiating remorse and concern. Michael gave her a reality check. “If you’d trusted the SC to protect you, he’d probably be dead. At least he’s alive to lower his drinking standards.”

Her protest of, “Don’t be so hard-hearted,” followed him to the comms console. He fired it up and input the passwords. Liz joined him as he browsed the computer’s memory. As he was already familiar with the set up of Gillespie’s PC, he found what he wanted easily. The list of files was several columns long.

“Wow. That’s a lot of documents,” Liz commented. “Do you have enough memory on your data stick to get all of this stuff?”

“Plenty. Take a seat though. This’ll take a few minutes.”

Liz wandered back to the desk, sinking into Harry’s leather executive chair with a sigh. After a pause, she said, “Michael?”

“Yeah, what?”

The files were transferring over to the data stick, leaving Michael free to look back at Liz. She looked good. The military style of the uniform suited her. He hadn’t stocked a smock in the van, so her figure was shown to advantage. She’d tied her thick, brunette hair into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, highlighting her delicate features and expressive eyes.

Right now the expression in them was puzzled as she looked at a document she’d picked up off the desk.

“This is a hard-copy forensic report from one of the victims,” she said, “but it makes no sense. How could they have found your DNA on her? You and Gabriel can’t have the same DNA, surely?”

~o~

It was the first time Liz had ever seen Michael nonplussed. “We’d have to be clones to have the same DNA,” he said. “Cloning was beyond even the brightest minds of my time. You guys don’t even have it figured out yet.”

Liz held out the paper report when Michael strode over to take a look. He took it from her, saying, “Either the evidence has been tampered with, or somebody’s been falsifying their reports. Nothing else makes sense.”

He sounded grim, and the tension in his big frame was palpable. Liz rummaged around the other reports scattered on the desk. She found two more forensic reports from two other victims. Her belly swooped when she read what they said. She held them out. “These say the same. The DNA match identifies you. This is completely bizarre.”

Frowning, Michael took those off her too, quickly scanning them. He went pale. When he met her waiting gaze again there was a dangerous glitter in his dark eyes that chilled her.

“What is it?” she asked him, bracing herself.

“All of this presents a pretty strong case against me, don’t you think? Does this give you second thoughts, Liz?” he asked softly. “Doesn’t it make you wonder if maybe, somehow, I could be the killer after all?” As if a switch had been flipped he was a distant, terrifying stranger again.

The fine hairs on her arms lifted at the tone of his voice. Liz resisted the urge to stand and put the chair between them. “Of course not. I’ve seen Gabriel, remember?”

Michael shook his head in an almost playful gesture. “That’s because you haven’t thought it through yet. Think about it now. You’d just been half throttled. You were sick. Maybe you imagined him.”

In that moment, he and Gabriel indeed looked completely identical. Liz’s heart stuttered in terror. What was he trying to say?

For a microsecond she entertained the horrifying possibility, until reality shot the idea down and kick-started her temper.

“I wasn’t sick when he first walked in the door,” said Liz slowly and clearly. “I’ve seen you both face-to-face at the same time, in the same bloody room. Yes, you look eerily alike, but there are differences…most of the time.”

Michael narrowed his eyes and a muscle ticked in his jaw at her last, pointed barb. Liz didn’t give him a chance to reply. “Just so you know, one of the real low-points in my empathic career was the moment your father walked in my door. I got a good, hard look at Gabriel, right down to that sick, black soul of his, and while you might be able to give him a run for his money when you’re in a foul enough mood, you’re not like him.”

Liz rose out of the seat and jabbed a stiff finger towards his chest “I’m sorry you’re upset by these reports, but don’t you dare take it out on me. All this does-” she snatched the reports out of his hand and tossed them aside to scatter in the air “-is prove there is a collaborator. Now, get a grip and stop being such an arsehole.”

Sometime during her rant the glitter in his eyes disappeared, and the brutally hard lines of his face relaxed. Silence drummed between them. Michael eventually broke it. “You’re right. I figured you’d leap to the worst conclusion and thought I’d beat you to it. Not the most rational thing to do.” He left an awkward pause. “I apologise.”

Liz refused to let him get away with it so easily. “That’s two apologies in as many days. You really need to stop being in the wrong.”

“Point taken.” Michael turned away, raking a hand roughly through his hair. “We need to get out of here.”

She forced her tone to return to normal. “I’ll be glad to leave. Is the data transfer complete?”

~o~

The van was stocked to act as a mobile base. Clothing, food and water, as well as medical supplies and a small but lethal armoury, were kept in cabinets lining the walls and under the bench seats. There was also an impressive array of electronic equipment. Liz settled on one of the bench seats and got to work downloading the files onto Michael’s laptop.

She read through interview and meeting transcripts, autopsy reports and, last but not least, intelligence reports. The intelligence reports were illuminating when it came to Michael’s history in Gehenna, if sparse on details. Most of the information was speculative and based on rumour, but if even half of it was close to accurate, his history was colourful, violent and varied. He’d worn many labels: bodyguard, mercenary, bounty hunter, recluse. He’d even worked as a bouncer in a brothel according to one report.

Michael left her to read while he moved the van as a precautionary measure, then set about preparing them some food. The atmosphere between them was strained. They hadn’t spoken much since the tense confrontation in Harry’s office.

She was almost finished when he took the seat opposite, and handed her a sandwich made from pita bread and containing some unidentifiable meat. He followed it up with an energy bar and a bottle of water.

“So, did you find anything useful?” he asked.

“Only that you’re mad, bad and dangerous to know, according to your career history and reputation anyway.”

“They’re not wrong. What does that make you—reckless?” Michael drank from his water bottle to hide his grin, but it still managed to transform his face. She’d thought his eyes too dark for real warmth. She’d been wrong.

Wow. Mood swings much?

“Probably. I’ve been called worse.” Getting back to business, Liz clicked back on the autopsy reports and pointed at the signature of the pathologist who’d created the report. “I know Dr Keller. Nicole is a good person. She’d never agree to falsify data. Whoever’s doing the tampering has to be based in the test lab where the results are analysed.”

“The lab technicians should also be named in the report,” Michael pointed out reasonably.

“They are, but twisting someone’s arm won’t do us any good. All it’ll do is alert whoever is behind this that we’re investigating.”

“I agree that’s a risk, but it’s a lead. What else can we do?”

“There is another option.” Liz took a deep breath before plunging into an explanation of her idea. “We could get someone to persuade Nicole to take fresh samples and test them herself, and then we’d have proof and an ally.”

Michael’s brows drew together in a frown. Liz could feel his imminent rejection of the idea. She jumped in before he could voice it. “I’m not talking about Harry. I’m talking about making contact with Ruth Burgess. She’s a psychologist specialising in vampires, and a really good friend. I trust her completely, and so does Dr Keller.”

“I’ve heard the name. She works at that demon lab, right?”

“The MCRHD, yes. They both work at the lab. But forget the bad press. Ruth cares about vampires. I don’t know anyone with a heart as big as hers. She wants to find a cure so badly she can taste it. She’s a woman with a mission. I’ve seen her work and how she is with her patients. She doesn’t jump to conclusions and assume the worst. She’ll listen. I know she will.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

Liz racked her brains for a way to sell the idea to him. “We talk to her at her home, not at work; just one meeting to get her to look at the facts and listen to me. After that she’ll discreetly get the ball rolling.”

“What if she thinks we’re talking a load of bull?”

“She can hardly hope to overpower the both of us. You know how rubbish I am at combat. Ruth makes even a klutz like me look highly skilled.”

Michael shook his head. “I don’t know, Liz...”

Liz refused to be put off. She was convinced this was the direction they needed to take. “Why not? Come on. You’re just being stubborn. They don’t know we’re back, and they certainly won’t be expecting us to turn up at a DCD employee’s home. The risk is minimal.”

They locked gazes in a mini battle of wills. Liz prayed he’d give in for once.

Finally, he said, “One meeting and one meeting only, yes?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Michael sighed and scrubbed his face, thinking for a moment. “All right,” he finally conceded. “We’ll give it a shot. Do you know where she lives, and what type of security system she has?”

O~o~O

It was close to midnight and Ruth’s eyes were gritty from watching and re-watching the session with Jean which Liz had sat in on. This had to be the thirtieth time she’d viewed the session recording in the last twenty-four hours. She’d left the lab early to come home so she could concentrate. It hadn’t helped. The glare from the entertainment screen seemed to stab into her eyeballs with needle sharpness. Wonderful! The last thing she needed was a migraine.

Shalom Aleikhem.

They were the last words Jean had spoken to Liz, or anyone for that matter. In the five days since, Jean had deteriorated to the point of being unable to communicate at all. It hurt to know she was losing Jean, but it bothered Ruth more that she was missing something important, something that could save another dear friend.

The Jewish legend the words referred to involved two angels, one good and one bad. How the bloody hell did that fit in with vampire torture-murders and an empathic hostage?

Angelic lore abounded in Gehenna. Ruth glanced over to the stacks of books residing on her coffee table. There were two piles: the much smaller one was the books she’d already skimmed though. None so far expounded on the legend she was researching, damn it.

“Good evening, Ruth.”

Ruth was so distracted and fuzzy-headed with tiredness all she did was turn her head with a distant, “Hmmm?”

In the doorway stood a tall man dressed in black slacks and a form-fitting black shirt, topped with an all-too-recognisable face. She blinked, convinced he had to be in her imagination.

Instead of disappearing, he walked deeper into the living room. The handsome face was a caricature of male beauty. The layer of skin seemed barely deep enough to hide the corruption underneath. The eyes revealed it though, as did the smile. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Gabriel.”

Ruth gaped, frozen with horror. He definitely wasn’t a figment of her imagination. She had nowhere to run. Her flat was tiny, and he was blocking the only doorway. She flicked her gaze to the single drawer of the coffee table. There was no time. A scream locked her vocal cords and came out as a squeak. She hadn’t seen him move. Long fingers wrapped around her throat. Ruth was lifted off the coach by that hand and she was left to dangle for a moment before being slammed down on top of the book-strewn table.
Agony ripped through her. Her mind turned static. The table collapsed underneath her. Broken glass dug into a broken body and he didn’t release her throat. She couldn’t move either her legs or her arms, but she could still feel, and the pain was unbearable. Every bone in her body felt shattered. Nerve-endings were screaming.

Don’t think about it.

Gabriel. He’d said his name was Gabriel.

Angels. Gabriel and Michael. Michael and Gabriel. Two archangels.

Shalom Aleikhem.

Demon eyes the colour of midnight hovered over her, avidly watching the pain etch over her face like cracks in white marble. This was just the beginning; she knew that all too well.

God, please give me strength.

“Why?” she managed to gasp. “Where’s Liz?”

“You’ve been asking questions about angels, Ruth. This has caused concern in certain quarters, particularly as your questions are a matter of public record. You have to be silenced. As for Elizabeth...if his dreams are accurate, she’s busy charming my idiot son.”

Ruth’s heart was trying to crawl out of her chest. “Your son?”

“Michael.” He gave another smile, this time revealing the fangs that would soon rip through her skin. “The second ‘angel’ in this little drama of ours.”

~o~

Liz’s optimism was infectious. She was utterly convinced this Ruth Burgess could help them. Mere days ago, Michael would have refused to consider asking a human for help. He hadn’t been able to refuse Liz.

He’d scared her back at the DCD. What she thought of him mattered a hell of a lot more than it should, making him a little crazy. He wasn’t used to worrying about someone else’s opinion.

His control had slipped. The black rage he’d felt had one cause and one cause only: pain. Looking at that report, Michael had been convinced Liz would go back to thinking him the killer. She’d only seen Gabriel once, and they’d been separated in Ashur. A suspicious mind would realise he’d had more than enough time and opportunity to torture the female SC, and then meet up with Liz.

He’d had a mental image of Liz backing away from him with fear in her eyes, and he’d reacted…badly.

He owed her.

Dumb. He should have remembered Liz didn’t think like anyone else he knew. She dealt in emotions first and logic second. She trusted as a matter of course. It was a dangerous way to live, but for now he was grateful.

“What are you thinking about?”

You.

Michael looked down at Liz. They were in an elevator the size of a large coffin, climbing torturously slowly up to the 210th floor. She was plastered to his side. He could feel her heartbeat drumming against his right bicep. The shampoo she’d last used had a fruity base to its scent and he kept getting wafts of it.

“Nothing in particular,” he lied. “I’m not going to be too happy if I end up with a hysterical female on my hands when this friend of yours recognises my face.”

She grinned and waved a dismissive hand. “Ruth isn’t the hysterical type.”

The elevator finally came to a juddering halt and the doors creaked apart. The corridor was empty and the décor as dingy as the lighting. Michael stepped out first, and then turned back to make sure Liz followed.

It was the reek of terror that alerted him first, then the rich, metallic aroma of fresh blood. His heart skipped a beat. For that missing beat, he considered simply whisking Liz back into the elevator and getting the hell out of there. Every instinct warned him to keep Liz away from Gabriel.

Logic insisted otherwise. Liz would refuse to leave her friend, and this was a damned good opportunity to end this mess. Adrenaline charged his system. His vision expanded, transforming to include the smallest, most distant detail. His fangs itched, but he resisted that part of the change.

“Gabriel’s here,” Michael told Liz. That was the only warning he gave before picking her up and sprinting for the door marked with the numbers 2118. She had time for a gasp, and then they were outside the apartment. The sharp tang of blood was so strong it had to be fresh from the vein. He dropped Liz at the side of the door, then stepped back to aim a powerful snap-kick at the single lock.

The door banged open and he shot through it. It took two strides to cross the vestibule. There were three doors: he took the first and entered a living area. There was a body on the floor. Michael detected a heartbeat. He heard Liz scream “Ruth!” behind him. Where the hell was Gabriel? The bathroom? The kitchen?

Michael swung around. Liz, wild-eyed, was following him and still yelling for her friend. Gabriel dropped down from the vestibule ceiling directly behind her. Michael lunged, wrapping an arm around Liz’s waist to haul her back with him. He used the same hold to swing her around his side, dropping her safely behind his back.

Gabriel was blocking the only exit. Michael had his sword-hilt in his hand. Gabriel’s gaze tracked the blade’s progress as it formed and hardened, then grinned. His fangs were stained with blood.

Michael’s belly lurched at the sight. Son of a bitch. Bad, bad timing. Fighting a vampire straight after a blood feed was like tackling a junkie after they’d shot up an armful. You could slice off that arm and they’d barely feel it.

“Unlike you, I learned my lesson in Ashur,” Gabriel said smoothly. He reached behind his back and produced a pistol. “Distance doesn’t matter now.”

“Coward,” derided Michael. “Humans need guns because they’re slower and weaker. What’s your excuse?”

“I simply don’t feel the need to cling to the past. Sentimentality is a weakness. Guns are the future, Michael, even for vampires.” He held the pistol up, as if inspecting it. “I’m developing a fondness for them.”

In response, Michael used his free hand to reach behind his back, under his jacket, and drew his own pistol. “Who’s clinging to the past, asshole? I just prefer discretion.”

onto CHAPTER SIXTEEN