But I had too much to do for casual dating . . . with a nice, normal nondemon . . . even if most of what I’d been doing was waiting. Once I’d found out about the Light, it was just a matter of waiting for it to show up. I’d searched for years, but the Light had turned out to be good at hiding—which only made it more mysterious. I knew what it did, but where it came from originally, I’d never been able to find out. Was it a living creature or more some sort of sentient artifact? I didn’t know. Even with part of it living in my head, I still didn’t know. Alien maybe? Technology from before the dawn of time? A night-light from Atlantis?
I sat on a bench in the garden by the Desert Living Center and gave an inner snort at that. As if demons and angels weren’t enough, let’s go straight to the tabloid trash route. I also didn’t know why the Light had chosen now to pop up, or if it really had been just a fluke that a caver had tripped across it. It didn’t matter which though, because it was helping me find the other thing I hadn’t been able to locate on my own no matter how long I’d looked: Kimano’s killer. I knew the Light would help me do what I couldn’t manage alone, and I’d been willing to wait as long as it took.
And that was now. I’d waited until now. I felt the fierce satisfaction. It warmed me more than the winter sun, but it would never warm me as much as my brother ’s presence would have. Revenge had kept me moving when I’d wanted to lie down on the bloody sand beside Kimano and die with him; revenge had kept me sane when it would’ve been so much easier to drop off a cliff into a mental chaos that would swallow me for all my life. Revenge was good for those things, but it wasn’t his warm laughter, his rose-colored-glasses view of the world, his incredibly warped sense of humor, and it wasn’t anywhere close to replacing how he’d loved me best.
You should love your family all the same, but of course you don’t. Just as Mama had loved her black sheep, squeaky-wheel boy best, Kimano and I had loved each other best. I would give up anything, give up the rest of my life to have him sit beside me on that bench for just five minutes. To hold my hand, to tell me his last silly prank, laugh at himself about how it had all gone wrong and he’d been the one to end up with egg on his face. To call me sister and say he loved me anyway, despite my workaholic ways.
He’d actually thought I was a workaholic. He was laziness incarnate, my baby brother, and gone so long. . . .
No more. Time to concentrate. That’s why I was here. The open sky, nature, peace—it would help me go where I needed to be. I closed my eyes and let Vegas disappear. I let the Light come into my consciousness, the tiny speck of the stuff—buzzing around my brain like a meadow bee sleepy with sun and pollen. Where did the trail point to next? Where had that musician passed off the gatepost to something more amazing that he could’ve ever understood, no matter how many drugged-up dimensions he passed through? The buzzing was slightly annoyed. I thought the shark had probably been easier for the Light to work with than that guy had been.
The buzzing went on and on, spinning in circles, trying to find in my brain what it needed to show me . . . to draw a mental picture for me. To lead . . .
And there it was. Sort of. Now I knew why there was a “Just say no to drugs” slogan. This was going to be more work than the others. It was going to require research. I really needed to look into getting an intern. Being caught in a battle between angels and demons had to be worth at least three college credits.
As I stood, I took in a last breath of spring-scented air, listened to the birdsong, and then saw a member of wildlife the conservationists hadn’t planned on reviving in this place.
A perv in a white shirt and polyester pants. A standard hide-in-the-bushes-and-whack-it perv. Fat and balding, it was as appealing as watching a giant marshmallow go at it. That would put any teen who saw it off sex a thousand times more efficiently than any school’s abstinence campaign. And from the school buses in the parking lot I’d seen on the way in, he was waiting for a happy-go-lucky line of kiddies to come skipping by to see what he was selling. I sighed. I didn’t have the time to do anything truly interesting about it. Too bad. I had to settle for walking over and pointing the muzzle of my gun at his chest. It kept my eyes away from far most nauseating sights as I said, “You’ve ruined my sex life for the foreseeable future. Now take that thing that’s catastrophically failing at masquerading as a penis and go away.”
He did. Smart marshmallow. Then I went shopping for supplies as I’d told Zeke and followed it up with a trip to the library.
I didn’t get home by dark. I was still at the library when my cell phone rang. It was on vibrate to escape the wrath of the library police. Flipping it open, I didn’t get a chance to say hello before Griffin’s urgent voice was telling me Eden House was under attack and he and Zeke were on their way. I told him I’d meet them there, jammed the book I’d been looking through into my bag, and ran for my car. I ignored the ringing alarm as the library doors slammed shut behind me. Some things didn’t allow time for proper procedure, such as checking out books. Eden House’s coming under attack was one of them. The only other time I’d heard of that happening to one of their chapters had been the House in NYC. The demons had brought down a five-story building. To this day, there was no Eden House in New York. For that matter, there were no demons there any longer either. Certain creatures didn’t like that sort of attention brought to their city, as my fellow info source, Robin, had pointed out while wallowing in epic party memories. Demons weren’t the only thing to fear in the dark, and a good majority of those night dwellers lived in New York. Enough to make it uncomfortable enough for demons that they chose to hunt and seduce in easier locations.
Las Vegas wasn’t New York. Demons and angels had a balance here. As far as I knew, they had for as long as there were enough souls to bother fighting over. It was hard to believe the demons would suddenly try to shift that balance, especially as I didn’t think Eli or Solomon had clued any of their kin in on the Light—the only reason I could think of for them to instigate an out-and-out war.
Eden House was located in Spanish Trails, one of the oldest gated communities in Vegas . . . fifteen minutes from the Strip, which was hard to believe. There may have been a more expensive neighborhood in the city, but Spanish Trails was still an architect’s wet dream. It was one of the very few places in Vegas you could have a lot of privacy, the eight-million-dollar-compound type of privacy. The main house itself was three stories high and set on five acres. Hell, they even had grass. The governor wished he had it so good. An eight-foot-high white wall surrounded the property with an iron gate painted the same color to keep out the unworthy, the disreputable, and the uninvited. I fit all those categories, but I had never let that sort of thing stop me before, and with the gate wide open, I didn’t have to let it stop me now.
I careened the car through the thick posts that supported the gate, slid into the curve hidden by tall oleander bushes, and ran over a demon crouched in the driveway. It had been distracted by the arm it had cradled to its chest as it gnawed—a human arm with only half its flesh still clinging to the bone. I’d thought the battle would be over by the time I arrived from the twenty-minute drive, but if it was, it hadn’t gone the way I’d wanted it to. Zeke and Griffin might be persona non grata in pretense and reality, but that wouldn’t stop them from going to the aid of the people they’d worked with for several years. Trinity and Goodman might be dicks for the greater good, but all of the House weren’t like them. Some had the hearts of my boys. Some had compassion, imagination, and that spark that I would call a soul. Those were the ones I didn’t want to see fall. Trinity and Goodman might keep their souls in freezers, but not all of Eden Housers did. I’d fight for them.
And I’d kill for Griffin and Zeke.
I slammed on the brakes and vaulted out of the car to pull my HK from the trunk. It was a beauty—an MP5, fully suppressed and illegal as they came—not available at your local 7-Eleven. And, better than being pretty, it was able to take out a shitload of demons without waking the neighbors. It was just in time to nail the demon that snarled and clawed its way out from beneath the undercarriage. I put six sound-muted slugs in its skull, turning its brain and then its entire body into instant pudding. I stepped over it and started running toward the house.
Most, like Griffin and Zeke, had their own houses, condos, or apartments, but the House kept a minimum of twenty members on-site at all times with five guards watching the building and grounds from nightfall until morning. But those were details I’d heard from the guys. My first official look I’d gotten at the place was when I’d been kidnapped the other night.
The look I was getting now was far different.
From opulence, armories, and medical facilities to blood and death. It was a war zone and Eden House had lost this battle. Once I ran through the gaping, double front doors, I could see that. They were still fighting it, trying to stand their ground, but it was over. If the demons had a flag, they would’ve been minutes from planting it. And there wasn’t a single angel in sight. Maybe that didn’t shake the faith of those still alive and fighting, but it pissed me off. Do our dirty work, fight our earthly battles, die for us, but consider our number unlisted. Work miracles for us, but don’t expect the same in return. Those days are over. Our convenience, not yours. But still stick us on top of your Christmas trees. We like that.
There were flames flickering inside, concealed from the outside by steel blinds, and there were too few people to put them out. No one was about to call 911 either. Eden House took care of Eden House business, even if it meant that Eden House would burn.
Human bodies littered the foyer. Huge with arched doorways, the space now had its marble floor marred with the dead, blood, and puddles of black ichor that had once been demons. I hesitated. Should I search the ground floor first or head up? The sudden voices from above made that decision for me. I ran up the wide stairs that opened off the foyer. The staircase split off near the first floor, curving to the left and right. I took the right and when I reached the top, I snatched a quick glance around the rotunda. Still nothing but dead bodies, some hanging over the wrought-iron rail. The voices had stopped and this was getting me nowhere fast. “Griffin!” I shouted. “Zeke!”
I heard it then—not Zeke or Griffin, but the clatter of claws behind me. I turned, twisted sideways, and slammed my boot into the midsection of a fungus green demon. Bright red eyes flared with irritation as the metal-enforced heel passed through the softer belly scales and into firm flesh. Then the force of the kick threw him down the stairs tumbling head over tail, but he was back in seconds—this time flying. I didn’t get to see demons fly often. Despite their wings, they tended to keep close to the ground when they fought, slithering like snakes and lizards. Maybe flying reminded them too much of what they’d once been and had. Then again, I might assume too much. They might not miss the grace and glory. Unlike Solomon who said he did, but he was the only one saying so.
Being evil for so very long, could you ever be what you were before that? Would you even want to? The great thing about being evil is you don’t
care
that you’re evil. As a matter of fact, you probably enjoyed the hell out of it . . . no pun intended.
The downside of being evil is when someone like me shoots your dragon wings to tatters before ramming a gun muzzle in your open, fanged mouth and liquefying your brain. I grabbed another clip from my bag, slammed it home, and started searching for the voices I’d heard earlier. I was about to call for Griffin again, when I heard him. I ran, following the circular hall. Another demon came at me. I hit the floor and rolled as it passed in a rush over me. Swiveling, I shot it in the back of the head, turned, and kept running until I came to what I vaguely remembered as a banquet room for those who lived in the house. Chandeliers and the finest china, it was all crushed to ivory splinters and crystal dust now. That dust glittered along wings and snake heads, giving the demons the air of something else to be put on a Christmas tree—a very dark, gothic Christmas tree.
There were ten demons and Zeke and Griffin were facing them while standing back to back. They’d been here fighting long enough they’d gone through all their ammo and were now down to knives. That didn’t make them any less dangerous. Zeke was a stone-cold demon killer with a combat knife, because he had no fear, not for himself. No fear of pain or being hurt or even death. Zeke’s mind didn’t allow multitasking. When he was fighting, he was fighting. Period. The only other thought he was capable of was to protect his friends. Kill and protect. In the heat of battle, nothing else existed for him. The Japanese Bushido philosophy said the greatest warrior was one who didn’t fear his own death. Zeke went a step further with not even
knowing
that he could die. Because he lived in the moment, he didn’t have enough focus left over to consider mortality.
He was in that moment now. He was covered with slashes of demonic claws, but he was also covered from the waist down in black demon blood. As I stepped into the room, he had just slashed a demon’s neck so forcefully with the serrated edge of his blade that the spinal column split and the demon became a black rain.
Griffin was deadly himself, quick as a demon, and smart enough to think like them if he had to—to anticipate their moves. Zeke couldn’t multitask at all, but Griffin was the king of it. He rammed his blade through the eye of one demon, while using his other hand to slash an identical blade across the gut of the brown demon hurtling toward him from the side. A mass of entrails spilled free. It wouldn’t kill the creature, but it was enough to have it tumbling back temporarily.