Doomsday Can Wait (4 page)

Thus far I'd made do with consulting any available DK and that friend to seekers of knowledge everywhere, the Internet.

"I've been doing this a while," Summer answered. "There's also a Web site where DKs and seers have begun to enter into a database what they know about a particular Nephilim or breed. Cuts down on research time."

"Why don't I know about this?"

"Just went live in the past few weeks." She rattled off an address, then told me how to access the files with a code. "It's not comprehensive since DKs are better at killing than typing, and a lot of knowledge was lost when three-quarters of the federation was wiped out."

I cursed.

"Live with it," Summer said. "And move on."

I didn't have much choice.

"Have you ever seen anything similar to this?" I held up the amulet.

Summer took it, and I tensed, half afraid she might go up in flames when she touched it. Who knew what that thing could do? But she didn't.

"The woman of smoke probably made it," Summer said. "Cast a spell. Sacrificed a goat."

I stilled. "Why would you say that?"

"There's always a sacrificial goat." She glanced sideways, then back at the dark road. "You do know that a goat isn't always a goat?"

"Huh?"

"The goat without horns. It means human sacrifice." I must have made an involuntary movement because she lifted her brow. "Don't tell me you're surprised? We're talking pure evil. For demons, humans are prey. Cattle. Meat. Goats, if you will."

I'd known that, had seen it practiced by the leader of the darkness, who'd kept a harem of women snacks. I was so glad that guy was dead.

Summer laid the amulet on the seat between us. "Something else is bothering you besides this."

Her intuitiveness was nearly as annoying as her manicure.

"I've seen the
Naye'i
before," I admitted.

"And you didn't kill her?"

"I was a kid." I'd had no idea what I was seeing. One glance into the demon's eyes, and I'd hidden under the covers for the rest of the night.

"What happened?"

"Sawyer. He—" I searched for the words to explain what I'd observed. "He ... conjured her. By killing a goat."

The car swerved as Summer's hands jerked on the wheel. "A goat, goat or—"

"A goat." It had still been quite a shock.

"And then?" Summer asked.

I closed my eyes and saw again what had happened so many years ago.

Ruthie had sent me to Sawyer the summer I was fifteen to discover all that I could about the psychometric talent I'd been born with. I'd needed to learn how to live with it, and Sawyer had helped.

Sure, it was weird to send a fifteen-year-old girl to an isolated part of New Mexico to stay with what appeared to be a thirty-year-old man.

However, Sawyer wasn't thirty. Hell, he wasn't even a man. And I was no ordinary fifteen-year-old girl.

I don't think Ruthie had been wild about the idea of sending me there, but I also don't think she'd had much choice. I was special in a way she'd never dealt with before, just as Sawyer was special in ways no one else could understand. As much as he'd scared me—as much as he still did—he'd also thrilled me, tempted me, and taught me.

On that long-ago night, I'd woken in the dark, heard a voice, peeked out the window just in time to witness the death of the goat and a whole lot more.

The blood had poured over Sawyer's hands and into the ground. Smoke had risen wherever the blood struck as he'd chanted in another language—Navajo, no doubt— and lifted his gory palms in supplication to the night. The smoke had twined with the bonfire at the edge of the yard before racing around and around as if trying to break free. Sawyer had snapped an order, and the dancing flame paused, lengthened, and became the woman of smoke.

When she'd stared at me with her bottomless black eyes, I'd tried to hide, but it was too late. She'd seen me, and I knew deep down in my trembling soul that she would come for me one day. How right I had been.

"Why would he do that?" Summer murmured when I finished my tale.

"I never asked him."

"Why not?"

"He scared the everloving crap out of me back then."

Summer nodded in agreement. Sawyer scared her, too. Which meant she was smarter than she looked. She just had to be.

"He probably wouldn't have told you the truth," she said.

"Does he ever?"

Sawyer had a lot in the way of power and very little in the way of conscience. The last time I'd seen him he'd drugged me and fucked me—and that wasn't a euphemism, either.

Sawyer did a lot of training for the federation—both DKs and seers—for a price. Regardless of his lack of ethics and his annoying habit of doing whatever and whoever the hell he wanted, the fact remained that he knew things. When you lived for centuries upon centuries you couldn't help but know.

"What are the powers of a
Naye'l?"
I asked.

"Traveling on the wind. Turning to smoke."

"She dropped my friend Megan unconscious with a glance."

Summer nodded slowly. "Add it to the list. Although that could be a power she learned through witchcraft. Hard to say."

"Why didn't she drop me?"

"She likes to get her hands bloody? Who knows? Maybe that talent only works on humans."

"I'm human."

Summer snorted. "Sure you are."

"What the hell does that mean?" She'd once told me that I'd meet my mother someday and that I wouldn't like it.

"Relax. I was just..." Her voice trailed off.

"Messing with me?"

"Yeah. You do ask for it on occasion."

I asked for it constantly.

"My parents," I began.

"Are unknown to us. For now. That's a worry for another time. Don't you have enough to deal with?"

"Yeah." I sat back in my seat and watched the road roll by.

Since I'd discovered that the world was inhabited by demons with human faces, I'd begun to wonder what had lurked beneath the faces of my parents. No one seemed to know, or if they did they weren't telling, but for me to have the talents I had, I figured either one or both of them had possessed special talents, too.

"I still wonder why Sawyer had to conjure his mother," Summer mused a few minutes later.

"Considering that he goes on an annual 'Kill my mother' hunt, I don't think they bonded well."

"He never did get over her murdering his father."

"Yeah, he's funny that way," I said.

Summer cast me an exasperated glance. "What I'm getting at is, why conjure her? She's flesh and blood, not a spirit."

"Was she always? Flesh and blood, I mean? A
Naye'i
is an evil spirit."

"The Nephilim were called evil spirits down through the ages, but it doesn't mean 'spirit,' like a ghost. Just..." Summer lifted one hand from the steering wheel and turned it palm up. "Spirit of evil."

"And we're right back to why he conjured her."

I guessed I'd just have to break down and ask him.

*    *    *

We traveled all night. Fairies didn't appear to need any sleep. Since I did, I conked out well before St. Louis.

Dawn over the Ozark Mountains is a beautiful thing. The mist hangs heavy on the hills, causing the streaks of sunlight creeping across the peaks to turn every shade of crimson and gold.

The sight made me want to save the world all over again. After viewing a sunrise like that, who wouldn't want to go out and kick some half-demon ass?

Except we were here to find Jimmy, learn the names of the remaining seers, do whatever it was that needed doing to get him back on the job. I wasn't certain I was up to that. I'd never been much of a psychologist. And Jimmy definitely needed his head shrunk, or a nice padded cell.

Or a hug. I wasn't sure which.

We reached Barnaby's Gap in the afternoon, much later than I'd planned. Despite Summer's fairytude, we'd gotten lost, floundered around, backtracked, wasted time.

The town was old, had probably been there since long before the Civil War. In the past, the Ozarks had been a hotbed for mining, but as is the case with most mines, the ore ran out. The towns that had sprung up to meet the needs of the industry either died or found a new livelihood.

Most of the Ozark settlements had recently begun to court the boom of tourism brought about by the success of Branson. Barnaby's Gap had not. Couldn't say that I blamed them. Why mar the spectacular view with a bevy of condos, complete with swimming pools, tennis courts, workout facilities, and spa? Why commercialize the main street with shops full of candles, holiday decorations, antiques, crafts, and candy?

They'd no doubt survived without catering to the masses because of the impressive sawmill we'd passed on the way in. I was certain the majority of the citizenry worked there while the minority made their living on the sidewalk-lined streets where family-owned businesses catered to kith and kin. We rolled past a grocer, doctor, pharmacy, and—yippee and yahoo!—a coffee shop.

"Coffee," I croaked, pointing.

My croak must have tipped Summer off to the necessity of said coffee because the Impala coasted to a stop at the curb, and she followed me inside without argument.

The place was nearly empty this late in the day. We didn't have to contend with tourists sipping their four-dollar brews and reading the most recent
New York Times
bestseller or the romance novel they wouldn't be caught dead opening back home.

I ordered a large Mountain Roast from an overly pale young woman who seemed extremely jumpy. She started when I ordered, as if I'd spoken too loud, then dropped my change, flinching when the coins pinged against the countertop. She'd had way too much Breakfast Blend.

I slugged several sips in quick succession before I turned away from the register.

Summer eyed me with interest. "Do you have asbestos mouth?"

"Excuse me?"

"Most humans would burn their mouths."

I wasn't most humans, wasn't even sure just how human I was. But I'd been able to drink really hot coffee without burning my mouth even before I'd become su-perpsychic hero girl.

I shrugged. "I'm used to it."

Summer strolled to an empty table. Her outfit seemed less conspicuous here, or maybe I was just getting used to that, too.

"Now what?" I asked. "We wait around until Jimmy shows up for the parade?"

"I don't think so." Her gaze was fixed on the wide front window that overlooked the main drag of Barnaby's Gap.

The street was deserted. I started to get uneasy. Sure, this place wasn't a tourist trap, but there should be someone moving around.

"Come on," she said.

We walked along the sidewalk, peeking into each storefront. All the places were open, the employees doing their jobs, but everyone was twitchy. When we appeared in the window, they'd start, glance up with wide eyes, then just as quickly look away. I didn't like it one bit.

Up ahead an elderly man shuffled toward us—tall and thin, with snow-white hair. He was dressed well, not a street person, though the way he hunched his shoulders and mumbled to himself reminded me of many I'd seen. As he neared, his words drifted to us on the sultry afternoon breeze.

"Red eyes,'* he intoned. "Teeth and blood. Demon in the hills. Demon in the caves."

I guess that explained the overcaffeinated conduct of the populace.

I immediately crossed in front of Summer and set my hand on the man's shoulder.

For the most part, strong emotions—fear, love, hate—transmitted, giving me a view of the situations surrounding them. Since the guy was nearly scared witless, I got smacked with so many images I staggered.

Night. Dark. Trees. Water. The acrid scent of terror, the heated brush of danger. Running. Falling. Pain. Blood. Then merciful, blessed oblivion.

Hell. There was definitely something out there.

The poor guy stared at me as if he expected me to turn into a monster. I couldn't blame him. Regular people aren't programmed to accept the arrival of a horror movie in their hometown. Usually the Nephilim didn't leave anyone alive, so we didn't have to deal with the zombielike behavior of a survivor. Which only made me wonder all the more about what kind of beastie we were dealing with.

The old man wasn't as old as I'd first believed. The way he walked, the mumbling, the white hair hinted at seven or eight decades on this earth. But his face appeared more like forty-five, and I realized that what he'd seen had aged him, perhaps overnight.

"Anything?" Summer asked.

I nodded, then jerked my head at the guy, and she flicked her fingers, shooting fairy dust from the tips.

I'd wished on several occasions that I possessed the talent to dispense magical sparkles and make people obey my every unvoiced command, but I couldn't.

As soon as the twinkling particles—invisible to anyone but us—hit the guy's face, his eyes cleared, his back straightened, and he walked off with the gait of a much younger man.

"He won't remember?" I asked.

Summer's answer was a withering stare. Of course he wouldn't remember.

"What are we dealing with?" Summer pressed.

"I don't know."

She frowned. "No whispers? Not a flash?"

"No."

"Huh," she said.

"Yeah." I thought of the amulet still sitting on the seat of the car.

Did whatever was stalking this town have an amulet of its own? Otherwise why hadn't I seen the monster in a vision, or heard Ruthie's whisper as soon as we rolled past the city limits?

Loud voices drew our attention to the other end of the street where several people carried on a heated conversation. Lots of hand gestures in the direction of the distant mountains, the pantomime of picking up a rifle, sighting and shooting. It appeared that more than one citizen had met up with the thing in the hills.

Another man, and a woman wearing a bright green, sleeveless sundress, joined the crowd. I admired the high neckline, and the interesting heart-shaped cutout that revealed her chest and just a hint of cleavage. The man continued the argument with more gesticulating and extensive miming of weaponry. The woman remained silent; she looked a little drugged.