She frowned. “How?”
“Calling on them is as serious as anything can be. You should be anxious, and you should be wary of just what kind of destructive power they have. If you weren’t, I’d be concerned and disappointed in you.”
“I’m not just wary of the flames, Knox. I’m wary of how much my demon likes them. It would have happily annihilated the world because it was pissed off that I’d been hurt. In my opinion, this kind of power shouldn’t be placed in the hands of an entity that vengeful.” Her demon snarled at that assessment.
“I’m not teaching your demon how to control the ability to call them. I’m teaching you how to do it. Then, if the situation merits it, you can call on them well before your demon even thinks to interfere.”
Harper wasn’t warming to the idea at all, but if she wanted to be sure that she wouldn’t accidentally call them, she needed to listen to him. She planted her feet. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”
He dropped his hand and stepped back; the carpet of dead leaves crinkled beneath his shoes. “First, I want you to just listen. As you know, my kind can call on the flames of hell because we are the flames. They birthed us, they sustain us, and they protect us. They come to me as easily as the protective power inside your belly comes to you.”
“Even when you were a kid?”
“Even then, just like your power to cause pain was something that tried to protect you as a child.”
Harper’s chest ached at the idea of a little boy being expected to handle that level of power. No adult should be expected to handle it, let alone a child.
“Your wings were, in a sense, birthed by the flames,” Knox continued. “As such, they’re connected to the flames. The power is there. Ready. Waiting. But you emotionally and mentally reject it out of fear of what your demon might do with it.”
Which, Harper thought, made her sensible. “It was scary to be a backseat passenger while the psycho went… well, psycho. Maybe it wasn’t scary to you because you still don’t have the sense to fear my mighty wrath.” She decided to ignore the gleam of amusement in his eyes. “But it was shitifying for me.”
“You think I can’t relate to that? My demon has lost control more than once, and I was forced to be nothing but a spectator while it wiped out everything in its path. Neither of us can be sure that your demon won’t do the same thing again. But if it can trust that you don’t need it to protect or defend you, it shouldn’t push you too hard for dominance in a critical situation. And one way to be sure you’re fully protected is by conjuring the flames of hell.”
She poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “I don’t think this will be as effortless for me as it is for you.”
“Maybe not, but we’ll see. Call your wings.”
Heat briefly blazed down her back as her wings snapped out. She flexed her back muscles, making them flap a few times. They were heavy, despite being gossamer.
Knox stroked one wing as he said, “They are your connection to the flames. Think of them as the bridge between you and this power that you wouldn’t otherwise have access to. As long as the bridge is there, the flames can come to you. Without it, they can’t reach you.”
“All right.”
He began to slowly pace in front of her as he spoke. “Your wings are out. The bridge is there – what happens next hinges on you. The night you called the flames, I tried to calm them. I couldn’t, because they weren’t answering to me right then. They weren’t there for me, they were there for you. They raged out of control, yes, but only because your emotions were out of control.”
“You’re saying I can control them?”
“Control them? No. You can guide them, ask things of them, even try to direct them. But you can never control them, just like you can never control your demon. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Bummer.”
His mouth twitched. “But if you stay focused, if you channel your emotions into one direction, the flames will do the same.” He slanted his head, adding, “Mostly.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean ‘mostly’?”
“Like I said, they can’t be controlled. I wouldn’t go as far as to say they have their own mind. They don’t. But they have their own will.”
Having been surrounded by their strength and power, Harper could agree with that.
“The point I’m making is that if you give them a target, they will focus on it. If your anger hadn’t been so out of control and had instead been focused on Roan, the flames might have swallowed him whole rather than surround the entire trailer and then, traveling outwards, consume whatever they touched.”
She narrowed her eyes as the comment triggered the memory of Knox standing there as red, gold, and black flames spouted from the ground to devour two dark practitioners in an alley. No other destruction, no sticking around to burn anything else – the flames had died down as quickly as they’d come. Huh.
“And now we practice.” Knox threw an old photograph of Crow onto the ground. “There he is, Harper. There’s the bastard that targeted me again and again. He wanted me dead, and he used you to try to get to me – he even went as far as to try to cut out your womb so you could never carry my child. Killing him was almost a kindness, really, considering the pain he deserved to feel.”
She licked her lips. “You want me to call the flames to devour the photograph?”
“Unless you’d rather I’d brought a living person. Your ex would be my preference.”
“The dolphin would be mine.” Harper rolled back her shoulders. “Talk me through what I need to do.”
“Tap into the link you have to your wings – the link that allows you to call them to you. It may feel physical, but it’s psychic in nature. Find it.”
Harper didn’t need to search for it. The link was as much a part of her as the wings themselves. “Got it.”
“Good, now you’re stood on that bridge we were talking about. Crow is your target. Stare at that photograph and think about him. Think of everything he caused, every bit of pain the people around you suffered. Think of what he did to you and what he would have done to me.”
She did, feeling fury build inside her like a firestorm. “The link… it’s getting hot. Really hot.”
“I want you to direct every bit of the rage in you at that picture. Feel the rage, and focus on the cause of the rage… and call the power that’s on the other side of the bridge.”
She glared down at the photo, trying to project her anger onto it. “The link’s super, super hot right now.”
“Don’t break away from it,” he said, hearing the wariness in her tone. “The heat can’t hurt you. You know that. Focus on the photo, Harper. Focus on Crow.”
She sensed the power on the other side of the bridge raring to be released; she called to it. The air buzzed and the ground trembled, making the dead leaves at their feet flutter. It scared her enough that her resolve faltered for a minute.
“They won’t hurt you, Harper. They can’t. Direct them at Crow. He slapped you, he sliced you open, he tried to remove your womb and —”
Harper winced as an almost unbearable power shot up the “bridge” and flames erupted out of the ground with a roar. She stepped away from the blistering heat, even as she marveled at what she’d done. They consumed the photograph easily, but they didn’t die down.
Knox was instantly at her side. “Okay, Harper, I want you to shove aside the rage. Crow is gone now. Dead. He can’t hurt you ever again, and he can’t hurt me. It’s over.” He whispered into her ear. “All over. That’s it, good girl. The flames did what you needed them to do; now let them go.”
The flames slowly eased, and the buzz in the air died away as the power returned to where it came from. The photograph was gone. All that remained were ashes that were dotted with a red residue. Harper gaped at him. “I did it. I actually fucking did it.”
“Of course you did it.”
She smiled. “Can I do it again?”
“I had
a feeling you’d say that.”
Harper clasped the door handle, staring into the dark, mostly bare room. The cradle was shaking in time with the baby’s cries. Her heart ached at the sounds. The cries weren’t loud, sharp or high-pitched. They were more fussy, whiny “Where are you?” cries that held a little indignation. But they still tugged at her, drawing her into the room.
She walked toward the cradle – each step was slow, careful, tentative. Some part of her wanted to turn and flee, though she didn’t know where the wariness came from. But she kept moving purposely forward.
The cries lowered to soft, nasal snorts… as if the baby knew attention was coming its way. Harper swallowed as her unexplainable wariness built. Still, her steps didn’t falter. And then she was there, staring into the cradle.
So tiny, she thought, with a smile, as she watched the baby writhe and kick. It squinted up at her, eyes dark and familiar. Then those eyes bled to black, and the cradle burst into flames.
Harper woke with a silent gasp, wincing as the spotlights in the mahogany ceiling pricked her eyes. She quickly became aware that she was lying on the living room sofa, covered in a blanket that Knox must have thrown over her. He’d muted the wall-mounted T.V. that she’d been watching before she fell asleep. Well, calling on the flames of hell was tiring.
Double-blinking to clear her vision, she sat upright on the curved, beige sofa that was identical to the one opposite it. A shadow fell over her, and she looked up to see Knox staring at her, his head cocked.
“You’re awake.”
“You sound disappointed.” Watching him slip on the jacket of his suit, she realized… “You’re going somewhere and were hoping you could leave me behind.” Sneaky.
“No such luck, apparently,” he grumbled.
“Where are we going?”
He looked about to argue, but instead he sighed and said, “To visit McCauley’s mother.”
“You know who she is?”
“We’re pretty certain it’s a she-demon from our lair by the name of Talia Winters. McCauley bears a strong resemblance to her. Of course, she can confirm it for us.”
He walked soundlessly along the light pine flooring and over to the beautiful fireplace. Grabbing her cell phone from the mantel among her knickknacks, he tossed it to her. She’d added a few other personal touches to the spacious, high-ceiling room, such as the thick oak book shelves and the soft throw blanket that was the same ocean blue as the Persian carpet.
“I recall Talia being pregnant,” Knox added. “She claimed that the child died shortly after its birth.”
“I’m guessing it was exchanged for a human child who did die shortly afterwards.” Harper stood and did a long, catlike stretch. “Tell me about Talia. I don’t recall ever seeing her.”
Knox curled an arm around her and drew her against him. “That’s because strip clubs aren’t really your thing.”
“She’s a stripper?”
“Yes. She’s unmated, has no other kids, and is rumored to be a junkie. I’m not sure how true that rumor is.” He caught her lower lip between his teeth and tugged, smiling at her gasp. “Tanner is coming with us and he’s almost here. As soon as you’re ready to leave, we’ll head to her apartment and find out.”
“All I need is a quick coffee; then we can go.”
A short while later, Levi drove them to what was a shady part of Las Vegas. Harper thought her old apartment building was bad. This area was way worse. It was the kind of place you expected to find squatters and addicts, and should worry that you might be hit by a stray bullet. The building itself was covered in graffiti and strange yellow stains, and it also looked charred in places. Many of the windows were grimy while others were broken or bordered.
“Again, I’ll watch over the car,” said Levi.
Since there were small groups of shifty people scattered around, Harper figured that was a good idea.
Tanner opened the rear door so that Knox and Harper could slide out. Knox led the way as they headed to the building, and Tanner remained behind her – they were boxing her in, protecting her. It galled her on one level, but she decided to let it go.
Some dubious-looking juveniles were sat on an old couch outside, smoking and drinking. Humans, she sensed. They boldly stared, but something on Knox’s face made them look away. They might not know what he was, but they were wise enough to sense the danger in him.
The front door creaked as Knox pulled it open. Harper’s nose wrinkled. The air was dank and dusty. She could smell pot, urine, dirt, and something… wrong. Rancid. Yep, this place was definitely much worse than her old address. Glass, cans, used needles, and other trash was scattered along the floors and stairwells. It was dim, thanks to the loose wiring hanging out of a hole in the ceiling where a lightbulb should be.
Knox looked at the broken elevator. “She lives on the third floor, apartment B.”
“Then up we go,” said Tanner.
Knox again walked ahead as they climbed the cluttered stairs. She was almost surprised when no rats or cockroaches skittered past them. The walls sure were thin, because Harper could hear tenants arguing, laughing, and blasting their music.
Finally, they reached Talia’s apartment door. Knox knocked, but there was no response. He knocked again, louder this time.
The neighboring door opened, and an elderly human woman peeked out; face worn and haggard. “You’ll have to knock hard,” the human told them. “Talia tends to sleep through the day.”
“I see,” said Knox. “Thank you.”
The old woman made a huffing sound and disappeared into her apartment.
Knox banged his fist on Talia’s door almost hard enough to make it rattle. The sound of stomping and cursing coming from inside was soon followed by the door being yanked open.
“What?” snapped a tall, almost-wafer-thin blonde. Then she got a good look at Knox and paled. “I’m s-so sorry, Mr. Thorne, I-I didn’t know it was you.”
“That’s okay, Talia,” said Knox. “We’d like to speak with you.”
She blinked and shoved a hand through her loose, dull-blonde curls. “Um, yeah, okay, sure. Come in.”
The floorboards beneath the thin carpet creaked as they walked inside. Harper had been looking forward to escaping the stairwell scents. Honestly, it didn’t smell much better in here. Dust. Stale food. Cigarette smoke. And a sickly, cloying perfume.
The apartment was small and sparsely furnished with clothes strewn everywhere. The stained wallpaper was peeling from the walls, revealing cracks in the plaster. Harper could see the tiny kitchen from where she stood. Could see the piles of dishes in the rusted sink, the broken cabinet doors, and the cluttered countertop.
Feeling eyes on her, she cut her gaze to Talia. The she-demon was looking at her, taking her measure, as if wanting to assure herself that she was the prettiest in the room. Whatever. Harper just stared at her until Talia finally averted her gaze. She bore a strong resemblance to McCauley with her dark eyes, high cheekbones, dimpled chin, and small ears that protruded slightly.
Her tank top and shorts bordered on indecent, but that could be because it was seriously hot. Even with the sound of voices, T.V.s, and a dog barking, Harper could hear the air conditioning unit clanking on and off. She wondered how the hell the woman managed to cope in the heat.
Harper knew a lot of people ended up in places like this when they were down on their luck, but she got the feeling that Talia just didn’t care enough about her life to respect herself or anything in her possession. Or maybe it was just that she was too fond of drugs to care about much else, because if her sallow skin, bloodshot eyes, and contracted pupils were anything to go by, the whole “Talia’s a junkie” rumor was true.
Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment as she glanced around. “The place is a bit of a mess.” She shoved aside the threadbare curtain and wrestled open the rusted window. “Sorry I took a while to answer.”
“That’s fine,” said Knox.
She wrapped her arms
around herself and lifted her chin. “Um… so… what do you need?”
“Did you see the news recently?”
She blinked rapidly. “You mean, like, on T.V.? I don’t watch the news. It’s always depressing stuff. Murders and assaults and war.”
“There was a recent story about a woman who drugged her six-year-old son, shoved him in an oven, and tried to burn him alive.”
Talia’s brow furrowed. “What?”