The Beloved, page 13
He had cried the whole time, his tears hot on his cheeks.
He did not cry now. He was too spent.
Pushing at the concrete floor again, he flopped over onto his back and stared at the flat panels of LED lights mounted on the basement ceiling. His eyes were soupy and he rubbed them, making the blurriness worse—
The elevator.
He needed to get in the elevator and leave. He wasn’t safe here. What if that horror came back for him?
What if that… monster… returned.
Lifting his twelve-hundred-pound skull, Evan located the elevator’s closed doors and orientated himself. It was so far away and he told himself he just needed a minute.
As he let the pressure off his neck, he looked down his naked torso. He had a vague memory of being laid out on the floor and his parka, fleece, and t-shirt getting cut off. He didn’t know where they’d gone and he was too scared to care: Something had been done to his chest. In the center, at his sternum, there was bruising, the skin bright red, a dull ache thumping to the beat of his heart.
After the oil had been geysered down his throat, the trainer had… what had happened next?
Evan tried to remember. All he got was the image of Lash’s palm hovering over his heart and somehow creating a pressure that threatened to split him in half. And then—
The trainer’s head had snapped up to the ceiling, as if his name had been called.
He’d cursed and punched Evan in the pecs in frustration.
Then he’d disappeared. Like an apparition.
“I gotta leave now,” Evan said with a rasp. “Must… leave now.”
Whatever had transpired between them had been interrupted. And he wasn’t going to survive when that horror came back.
Getting to his feet was a struggle, but his fear drove him to the vertical. With a zombie lurch, he headed back to where it had all started. At the elevator doors, he hit the up arrow to summon things with a trembling hand, but he didn’t expect anything to happen and he looked around for some kind of staircase—
Bing!
The steel panels opened.
He jumped inside and wheeled around, punching at the “L” button like his life depended on it.
As the doors closed in lazy contrast to his panic, they cut off the vision of that oil on the floor. But the shit was all over him—on his boots, on his jeans… on the skin of his doughy abdomen. Halfway through the achingly slow ascent, he realized he was going to freeze when he got out of the building, but he couldn’t worry about that.
Did he go to the police? Yeah, and tell them what? He was the nephew of a crime boss and he’d been bitten by a…
He touched the side of his neck, probing the puncture wounds. Shouldn’t they hurt, he wondered.
He couldn’t worry about that either. He needed to get out of this building, and go—where…? Where could he crash? Going back to his apartment wasn’t an option. One of his uncle’s assassins would be waiting for him there—
Mickey’s hideout. He could go to Mickey’s secret place, the one his cousin didn’t tell nobody about, that Evan only knew because he’d found out by mistake and Mickey had thought he was too stupid to believe the lie he’d been fed.
When there was a bump to a halt, he waited. And waited some more.
With his heart pounding, he went for the seam in the panels. Shoving his hands into the crack, he tried to pry things apart—and as he got nowhere, he lost it, flailing, scratching, pounding—
Bing!
The doors opened. But he didn’t move.
Splaying out his fingers, he looked at where the tips had been scrubbed raw. They were black with oil.
He told himself it was from the puddle he’d woken up in. But then he turned his palms face up.
Drip. Drip. Drip—
His blood was… black. He was bleeding… the oil…
Evan opened his mouth and screamed.
As the elevator doors reclosed on him.
* * *
When Nalla re-formed, it wasn’t anywhere near one of the entrance houses in that cul-de-sac that led down into the Wheel’s subterranean sets of quarters. No, she was out in the countryside, in front of a rambling farmhouse that had a curl of smoke rising from its brick chimney, a charming wraparound porch, and a big tree in the yard. Walking up the shoveled path, she knew she should have gone home. Also knew that if she had to spend all day locked underground with her father and her mahmen, she was going to lose her fucking mind.
It seemed far colder out here than it had been downtown, and the treads of her running shoes squeaked on the snowpack. When she hopped up the four steps to the porch, she thought of the steps leading into the sitting pit at that club.
God, she couldn’t believe she had trampled all those drinks. She could believe she’d killed those two slayers, though. Her father had insisted on training her himself, and no, it hadn’t just been for self-defense. She knew about explosives, poisons, and how to sneak up behind someone and piano-wire them.
She had loved that time with him. It had always been so special because he’d carved those hours out just for her. Her father spent so much time in the field and training soldiers, and her mahmen always got him during the daytime when everyone was hunkered down and sleeping.
Hard to be third in line, even though she’d known he had so many responsibilities.
As soon as she stepped onto the porch, the front door opened for her, and the platinum-haired female on the other side was a vision in a gray sweater and black pants. Then again, did Rahvyn ever look bad? No. She was like an ethereal pool of moonlight, even as she lived and breathed.
“You are supposed to be off tonight,” the female said with a smile.
“Well, I had some extra time.” Nalla stomped her feet on the mat to get most of the snow out of her sneaker bottoms. “Figured I’d see if I could help out.”
“You are always so giving—” Rahvyn glanced down and recoiled. “Are you all right?”
For a split second, Nalla couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Then she swallowed a curse: Lesser blood on her parka. Nate’s blood, too.
She closed her eyes. “I’m fine. I just need… a shower, a change of clothes, and some privacy. Only for the rest of the night.”
“Of course. That is what we are here for, are we not.”
Stepping over the threshold, Nalla felt like she was entering the place for the first time. Then again, she’d never come here as a resident, and as she’d explained what she’d needed and been greeted with such acceptance, she had a fresh perspective on what they did here: Luchas House had been established in memory of Uncle Qhuinn’s brother, who had died decades ago. Its purpose was to provide transitional housing for young who could no longer stay at Safe Place because they were males who had gone through the change, and to give support and skills training to males and females who were seeking to live independently after trauma or parental death. Nalla had started as a volunteer, gotten her social work degree through a human university—thanks to remote learning—and then been brought on as a full-time counselor.
“Let me take that coat and clean it for you.”
As Nalla let the thing get peeled off her shoulders, she glanced around the main living room. Over the last thirty years or so, the furniture had changed, and out in the back, the kitchen had been done over twice—but the vibe was always cozy, especially with the fire crackling in the hearth, and the throw blankets that were folded over the soft sofas and deep armchairs. Off to the left, a wing had been added about a decade ago, with individual counseling rooms and a group meeting space on the ground level, and another five bedroom suites built in underneath. There was also an annex with staff rooms and office space that was connected by a tunnel that ran under the lawn.
Still, no matter how big the footprint got, the place still smelled like Toll House cookies every night, and the people were kind, and though the stories were hard to hear, the work made a difference.
“What else can I do for you,” Rahvyn asked as she folded up the parka.
Nalla could only shake her head. The other female, who was Lassiter’s shellan, was their very best volunteer, clocking in as a house mahmen on the weekends. She saw too much, though. When those silver eyes looked into your own? You had the sense she could read your whole life’s story.
“Nothing?” the female prompted.
“I don’t… really know what to ask for,” Nalla whispered.
“Then do not even try. Come on, let us get you upstairs. I will bring you some clothes and something to eat—”
“No food, please.” Every time she breathed in through her nose, she smelled blood. “My stomach’s off.”
“Fair enough.”
The next thing Nalla knew, she was up in one of the bedrooms that were no longer used by the male and female residents, but instead kept as quiet spaces for reading and meditation. The beds were still in place, though, and man, that duvet looked like heaven.
“Any particular requests for clothing?”
Glancing back at the doorway, Nalla shook her head, and then went into the bathroom, flipping the light switch by the door. Even though she didn’t want to see her own face, she stood over the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. There was a speckled pattern of black dots up her neck and on her cheeks and forehead. There was also slayer blood in her hair, and Rahvyn was right about her clothes. They were a mess, and she probably stank to high heaven.
What had she been thinking, coming here like this?
“I should have gone somewhere else,” she said as she looked down at her jeans. “This is a tremendous trigger for some of our residents.”
“Everyone is at group right now. And I will make sure your clothes are laundered in the annex.”
“I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Yes, you were. You knew you needed safety.”
“You’re not going to ask why I didn’t go home?”
“No.”
Meet your client where they are, Nalla thought. Excellent approach.
Then she frowned. “It’s not a weekend, and yet you’re here?”
Unless she was wrong and had lost an entire night between when she’d left downtown to come out here? Anything seemed possible right now.
Rahvyn smiled in that way she did, so compassionately. “I am going to have more time during the week now. And like you, I want to be where I can make a difference.”
With shaking hands, Nalla cranked the water and started rinsing the blood off—and as it ran into the drain, she hated to see the black mix with the red.
Flexing her fingers under the cold rush, she felt… too little of the chill. She was probably in shock.
As she glanced up into the mirror again and focused on Rahvyn over her shoulder, she thought back to doing the same with Bitty, when the female had been sitting on her own bed back at home. Things felt like they had changed irrevocably, and she wished lives were like clothes… that you could put them into a Maytag with some OxiClean and have everything come out fresh-smelling, warm, and ready to wear out of the dryer.
“You really aren’t going to ask me what happened?” she said roughly.
Rahvyn shook her head and spoke in that formal way of hers. “You will tell me if and when you are ready. All I know is that you are alive, and we can work with that. I would like to know if there is anyone else who needs something, however.”
Between one blink and the next, Nalla returned to that alley. “After what I saw tonight, that’s another thing I’m not sure how to answer.”
“Was medical support contacted?”
“Yes, but they weren’t needed. As it turned out.”
“Okay. I am glad whoever was with you did not need treatment.”
Nalla turned the water off and reached for a hand towel that was looped, plump and fragrant, through a chrome circle.
“Yeah, that’s not the half of it. But you wouldn’t believe me if I told you the whole story.”
“Try me.” Rahvyn put her palm forward. “But no pressure.”
“I saw a male get shot first in the stomach, and then in the heart—and he died in front of me.” As there was a gasp, Nalla pivoted and dried things off. “Except then he sat up. Stood up. And was perfectly fine. So no, he didn’t need any help, although I sure as hell need some time to try to put that into perspective.”
Rahvyn stared down at the floor for a long moment. Then she rubbed her eyes like her head hurt. “Hop in the shower. I will get you what you need.”
“See? I knew you wouldn’t believe me. But it’s the truth.”
The other female glanced back over, and God, she seemed as ancient as Nalla was feeling. “Oh, I realize you speak the truth.”
“So you know who I’m talking about? He obviously keeps it mostly to himself. My father knew, though. And so did Dr. Manello.”
Nalla shouldn’t have been surprised. The female was mated to Lassiter, who was the spiritual head of the race. She probably knew a lot of things, about a lot of people.
“Can you tell me anything about Nate?” Nalla asked. “How… he is what he is?”
Rahvyn seemed to blanch, and a sadness came over her. But all she did was shake her head.
“I will leave some clothes at the end of the bed while you are in the shower,” the female said before stepping away. “Take your time in the hot water. Sometimes it is a balm for so much more than what ails the battered body.”
As the door was closed, Nalla glanced at the faucet of the sink and thought of her hands under the cold rush. “If you can feel anything, that is.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Umm, hi, Uncle V. Do you have a minute?”
As Bitty hovered in the doorway of the steel and glass office, she had to talk loudly to project over the old-fashioned Post Malone, but she knew she wasn’t surprising the Brother who was staring so intently at the bank of computer monitors. Vishous, son of the Bloodletter, mated of the healer Jane, was in charge of security for all the sites the Black Dagger Brotherhood maintained, and he’d known the instant she’d materialized onto the Audience House’s driveway and approached the entrance to his this-is-just-an-old-barn.
F.T. Headquarters was the hub for security, and she’d had to be cleared to get through its door.
The Brother swiveled around in his chair and exhaled a stream of Turkish tobacco as he turned down the music. “What do you need. Name it.”
For as long as she had known the male—and it had been decades—he’d had a goatee, tattoos at one temple, and a black glove—and always a hand-rolled cigarette with a little orange glow at the tip close by. He also had a razor-sharp stare that had taken her a while to get comfortable around. He wasn’t exactly a softie under the hard shell. But his reply was his whole character: For those he considered his own, he would do anything.
“Can I talk to you?” She glanced over her shoulder, at all the people sitting in front of computers out in the open area. “I mean, I know you’re busy—”
With that black leather glove, he motioned for her to come in, and as soon as she did, the frosted glass door shut by itself.
“Not too busy for you.”
“Thank you.”
She approached his glass desk, and as she sat down on the single chair next to it, she was grateful that she’d changed back into her normal, comfortable clothes. No hem to worry about. No cleavage showing. And she was keeping her parka on because she felt badly about disturbing the Brother.
“I won’t take long,” she tacked on.
“I’m good,” he said briskly. “I’ve been cleaning up a mess, but I think it’s finally taken care of.”
He leaned forward and tapped the cigarette into a glass ashtray. Everything inside the office, from the shelves that displayed all kinds of Victorian medical equipment, to the lighted tiles on the floor and ceiling, to that see-through desk, was glass. With the bright illumination streaming from all angles, it was as if he and his office full of computer equipment were being projected from a monitor, the Brother becoming the very technology he spent so much time with.
“You clean up a lot of things, don’t you.”
He nodded to the screens. “I’m like Farmers Insurance. I know a thing or two because I’ve seen a thing or two.”
Bitty smiled, but she couldn’t manage to keep the expression going.
“Someone giving you a problem,” Vishous said in a low voice.
“Oh, no. Nothing like that.”
“You sure?” He put up his dagger hand, the one that was covered. “I won’t go behind your father’s back, but if you need something done and don’t want the person ripped apart, I can take care of things in a certain way. If you know what I mean.”
She tangled her hands in her lap. Looked around at the frosted walls of the office. There were screens that could be lowered inside what she suspected were dual panes of soundproof glass, and with them currently down in place, she wondered what he’d been doing in here that even his most loyal programmers and security personnel couldn’t know.
And she was glad no one could see in, even though none of his subordinates at those black desks and anti-glare monitors would be able to hear what was said. Sometimes you needed a little extra privacy because faces and body positions revealed a lot.
“You have… visions, don’t you.” When he didn’t respond, she risked a glance at the Brother—and couldn’t believe how direct she was being. “I’ve heard stories about them.”
Vishous tamped out his cigarette, pushing out of the way the butts of the others he’d smoked so he could find the smooth ceramic surface of the ashtray’s belly.
