Lucca (26 page)

Arizul moved forward, eyeing Blaize then his
son again. “Blaize, you may go. My quarrel isn’t with you.”

Lucca didn’t dare glance at Blaize. God knew
he didn’t want the Darklin to leave his side, but his father would
kill him if he stayed. Someone had to take the books out of here.
Lucca knew he couldn’t. Then he remembered something and hoped
Blaize recalled it, too. “Yes, you should go.”

“What the…” Blaize stuttered. “I’m not going
anywhere.”

“The poet’s waiting for you.” Lucca thrust
the books into Blaize’s hands, hoping he took his meaning and
shimmered out of here. Blaize’s deep violet eyes met his.

“Oh, hellfire.” Blaize gripped the books,
blasting the room with magic as he disappeared.

“Noooo!” Arizul shook his fisted hand above
him, his fury made the veins in his large neck protrude like blue
tubes ready to explode.

Blaize was good. He didn’t leave a signature
trail for his father to follow him.

His father turned his heated gaze on Lucca
now, advancing toward him with his fists balled, ready to lay into
him. “You’ll wish you were never born once I’m through with
you.”

Lucca wanted to laugh. He had thought that
many times as a youth. Lucca took a deep breath and waited. He
wasn’t the cowering child or the young and naïve youth who still
wished to win his father’s approval. He’d fight back. He may not be
a match for a full-fledged Angel and without his full strength, but
he would go down fighting.

However, before Arizul could reach him,
Blaize reappeared behind his father. His fangs lengthened as he
took on his full strength. He grabbed the vase Lucca had discarded
and plowed it into the side of his father’s head. Arizul staggered,
but stayed on his feet. The vase rolled away, but it was cracked,
the line growing longer as the vase rumbled on the floor. The
vibration grew louder as something forced its way out.

Arizul howled and whirled on Blaize. “You
imbecile. You’ve released the Banshees.” As if the announcement
encouraged the beings, the wailing ghostlike entities broke free.
They swarmed around the room, diving for them with outstretched
hands.

Blaize cursed and dove for the door. Lucca
made his move, hitting the ground as if he were sliding into home
plate, sliding past his father. He leapt to his feet and dove for
the door, too.

“Don’t you dare leave me, Lucca,” his father
wailed, beating off the Banshee that pulled at his hair. His father
was many things, but a helpless old man wasn’t one of them. Lucca
ignored his plea for help. His father could rot where he stood as
far as he was concerned.

Outside the vault he leveled his gaze at
Blaize. “I thought perhaps you’d forgotten our code word for the
disappearing act.”

Blaize chuckled. “Heck, no. Those practical
joke days still make me snicker.”

Together, they whirled on the door, shoving
it into place, blocking out the screams of the Banshees and his
father’s wails as he beat them off. Lucca withdrew the key, locking
the door. “That will only hold him so long,” Lucca said, not truly
believing the Banshees would kill his father so readily. He had a
hunch his father would find a way out of the Vault, too. He
designed it after all.

“Let’s get out of here then.” Blaize picked
up the books sitting against the wall where he had left them. “I
believe these are yours.” He handed the books to Lucca. “I’ll erase
our tracks as we go so your father won’t be able to trail us. It’ll
at least buy us some time before he comes gunning for us.”

They took off running down the passageway.
They halted at a ditch, where the floor remained open. “My father
had to come this way.” He pointed. The space between the two walls
was too small to spread wings and fly over. There had to be another
way. “There.” Lucca pointed to the right of them. The ledge was
narrow against the wall, but it had to be how his father followed
them. He frowned, wondering why neither one of them had sensed him?
How had Arizul slithered around unnoticed?

“After you,” Blaize told him with a bow.

Lucca tucked one of the books into the
waistband of his jeans and handed the other one to Blaize.

Blaize grumbled as he grabbed it, but he
followed suit, tucking the book into the waistband of his leather
pants, a tight fit, but this insured the book wouldn’t fall into
the pit below.

The way was slow, but they managed. Once on
the other side, they jogged the rest of the way, sliding to a halt
outside the cave. Lucca shoved the stone with Blaize’s help,
pushing it back in place. Then Blaize gripped Lucca’s shoulders and
shimmered out of there and back to the human realm.

Blaize pulled away, catching his breath. He
withdrew the book and handed it to Lucca as he bent at the waist,
gripping his knees. He had taxed himself, using the glamour to its
limit.

“Are you going to be okay?” Lucca asked,
truly concerned.

“I’ll be fine. Just give me a second.” He
looked up at him. “Where do you plan on hiding the books? Arizul
will eventually find a way out of the Vault and if his showing up
was an indication, he’ll want those back.”

“I have a place in mind. One even the
Archangels and the Hashasheens won’t think of looking.”

“Jesus, Lucca, is there anyone who doesn’t
want to flay you alive?”

He gave him a sheepish grin. “What can I
say? I’m a popular guy.”

“Hmm...” He straightened, standing at his
full height. “How do you suppose Arizul knew we’d be there?”

“I felt my father’s presence a few days ago,
but he didn’t make contact.” He shook his head. “I didn’t sense him
when we crossed the veil. Maybe there’s a silent alarm attached to
the Vault’s door.” His frown deepened.

“Those books mean something.” Blaize nodded
toward them. “First the Archangels and now your father is trying to
get his hands on them. What are we missing?”

Lucca shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Blaize’s wings spread wide. “My advice to
you is to find out.” Without waiting for Lucca to reply, he flapped
his wings and took flight.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The continual
rap tap-tap
on the door
could only be one person. Lucca grumbled a protest as he rolled out
of bed. He grabbed his jeans and yanked them on. Now the doorbell
buzzed. He opened his dresser drawer and took out a T-shirt. He put
it on as he entered the living room. He brushed his hand over his
face in hopes of erasing sleep from his mind before opening the
door.

Tiger Lilly raced in first followed by Owen,
his moonbeam colored hair sticking up on end, but he was dressed in
jeans and a brown Henley shirt. He carried milk with him and a
spoon.

“Come on in,” Lucca grumbled. He followed
his guests into the kitchen where Tiger Lilly made herself at home
at the end of the table, cleaning her paws with tiny licks from her
tongue.

Owen sat down at the table. “I brought some
milk.”

“I’ve noticed.” Lucca would like to say he
resented the boy intruding on his life, but he found the morning
ritual enjoyable. He opened the cupboard and pulled down the cereal
box, pouring two generous bowls of the sugary substance. He grabbed
another saucer and emptied a can of cat food into another bowl he
purchased at the pet store the other day for Tiger Lilly. He told
himself he hated having the darn cat stare at him as he ate. So the
purchase was made. They all had their own bowls to attend to
now.

Owen blew his nose. His allergies plagued
the poor kid. “Here.” He pushed the bowl toward him. Owen opened
the carton of milk and poured the white liquid over his cereal.

Lucca did the same and sat down across from
Owen. He opened his newspaper, handing Owen the comic section for
his reading material. The ritual suited Lucca fine, only today Owen
seemed to have developed a bad case of
I-can’t-sit-still
syndrome, squirming in his seat as if hot needles were poking into
him.

Lucca lowered the newspaper and narrowed his
eyes at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He rubbed his back against his
chair.

“Then what’s with the good impression you’re
giving me of a bear with an itch?”

“Huh?” Owen looked at him.

Lucca shook his head and folded his paper.
“What’s wrong with your back?”

“I think something bit me. I can’t stop
scratching.”

“You’re driving me crazy. Come here.” He
waved him over. “Let’s have a look.”

Owen slid his chair back and walked over to
him. He lifted his shirt for Lucca, exposing his skin.

Lucca’s brows drew together not believing
what he saw there. His fingers brushed over the tiny boney
protrusion poking through the tender flesh. His breath whooshed out
of him as if he’d been suckered punched. This couldn’t be
happening. This had to be an illusion.

“What is it?” Owen asked, drawing Lucca’s
attention.

“Nothing. Just like you said. Looks like a
bug bite. It will feel better soon.” He pulled down Owen’s shirt.
“Try not to irritate it.”

Owen turned to look at him, his eyes large
and wide, trusting him to know the answers. He did know the
answers, but he didn’t like them.

He went over what Juliet had told him about
Owen. The boy’s mother died in childbirth and the father went
missing soon after—a typical Fallen Angel and human relationship.
The purebred Angels were definite flight risks—in every way. Very
few humans lived through the birthing process of delivering a half
angel, but Owen was only a child. Purebred Angels hadn’t take human
mates since Enoch’s time and the Nephilim were only now allowed to
seek human mates.

“Do you know where your father is, Owen?”
Owen was Nephilim. The runny nose and the itchy protrusions were
the early signs of the Awakening. Owen needed guidance, someone to
show him how to control the shifts.

The boy shook his head. “It’s been a while.
He’s real big like you.” He lifted his arm, staring at his skinny
bicep. “Do you think I’ll grow up to be big?” His eyes focused on
Lucca again with hopeful intensity. “As big as you maybe?”

A few minutes ago, he would have said no.
Owen’s scrawny limbs didn’t look like much now, but after his
Awakening, he’d fill out. “Yes, if you finish your breakfast.”

Owen’s mouth slipped into a wide grin. “Oh,
yeah.” He scrambled back to his seat and began shoveling large
spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth as if this meal would be the
deciding factor for his growth spurt.

Rap-tap-tap-tap.

The knock at the door was followed by
Juliet’s voice. “Hi, is Owen here?”

“Kitchen,” he yelled back.

She walked into the room, looking like a ray
of sunshine with her reddish strands brushed back in a ponytail,
revealing her fine bone structure and big green eyes. He wanted to
ask her right then about Owen, but bit his tongue. This was a
delicate situation, one he didn’t really know what he wanted to do
with even if Juliet proved forthcoming.

Her gaze wavered to his for a beat of a
second before she looked away again, her mouth pressing into a fine
line.

He frowned at her odd behavior. “Did you
want to catch a bite to eat after practice tonight?” he asked,
gauging her answer.

She tucked an imaginary hair behind her ear,
still not meeting his gaze. Her hand touched the top of Owen’s
head, caressing his hair.

Was she angry with him? Something happened,
something changed between them, and he didn’t know what. “Juliet,
look at me?”

She met his gaze, her eyes sparking with
anger. “Where were you last night?”

Where was he? Then it dawned on him what had
her perturbed. He told her they needed to talk, but finding the
time proved difficult. He planned on meeting her back here last
night, but the breaking and entering took precedence. By the time
he arrived home, her lights were off and he didn’t want to wake
her. He rested his elbows on the table, his hands folded with his
index finger forming a tent as he tapped his chin. “About last
night.”

Her emerald colored eyes turned a shade
darker as she narrowed them at him, already knowing his words would
be a lie. Well, she had him there. “Something came up. I was…
detained.”

“Is that so? You tell me you need to tell me
something about the mur… the cases and you go MIA.”

It wasn’t just anger spurring her on. Her
voice trembled and her hands shook. She didn’t trust him and he
couldn’t blame her. What did she really know about him? Only what
he revealed and that wasn’t much. He glanced at Owen. Just about as
much as he knew about her obviously.

“Owen, Mrs. Levene is waiting outside to
take you to school,” Juliet told her nephew, not taking her eyes
off of Lucca.

“Cool. Dylan has the new comic book by
Gideon Sharpe and he’s going to let me see it.”

Lucca raised a brow. Gideon was sure making
his way in the human realm with his comic book series. Seemed a
little violent for pre-teens but it wasn’t his call. Hell, at nine
he was already wielding a sword.

Owen took one more bite of his cereal before
pushing back his seat. “See you tomorrow, Lucca.”

“Sure. You know where I am.” The boy left,
leaving Juliet standing there like she wanted to say more.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for Owen to
come over here anymore,” she made the announcement in a cool
tone.

He sat back in his seat, keeping his eyes on
her. “Why?”

She obviously didn’t expect him to question
her. She straightened her back. Body language said more than words
with Juliet. Her armor was in place. “A young boy eating breakfast
with a single man…” she let the rest die away. The insinuation
obviously left a nasty taste in her mouth. Good, they both knew it
was uncalled for.

“Well, I gotta go.” She turned to leave, but
he was on his feet, his hand whipping out to stop her. He gripped
her arm and she whirled on him with her gun pointed at his
midsection.