Leah, I can’t think of an easy way to say this, so I’m just going to come right out with it. Your brother was adopted.
What? Leah stared at the letter in confusion. It couldn’t be! It just couldn’t. But… She read the line again. Yes, it really said that. Really said that Owen was adopted. But how? And why? Well, read the rest of the letter, stupid. Eagerly, she did so.
I imagine you’re sitting there with a shocked look on your face right now, which isn’t surprising. No one would ever guess it, I know. You and Owen look so much alike, how could anyone know that you aren’t truly siblings by blood? But it’s true.
Back when your father and I first married, we wanted to start a family so badly. But no matter how we tried, nothing happened. I went to a fertility specialist, and he said I might never be able to conceive. That was when we started looking into adoption. We’d barely started to look, when lo and behold, a lovely young girl came forward with a beautiful baby boy she couldn’t care for. She let us have him freely with only one condition—that we never, ever under any circumstances tell him or anyone else that he was adopted. Your father and I even had to sign a legally binding agreement to that effect!
Well, I’ve kept our promise all these years, but I feel the need to break it now. Once I’m gone, Owen needs to be told. I know what you’re thinking—why didn’t I send this letter to him? The answer is because we’ve grown so far apart these past few years. I know your brother has been busy with medical school and his own life, but I just don’t feel that I’m able to talk to him anymore. And besides, he needs someone to break this news to him gently. That will have to be you, my dearest Leah.
I confess I have an ulterior motive in sending you this letter instead of Owen. I had also hoped to bring you two back together somehow. You were so close as children, and it hurt to see the way you grew apart. You need each other now that I am gone, and I hope and pray you find each other again as adults and learn to love each other the way you used to.
Love,
Mom
Leah crumpled the letter in her fist and took a deep, gasping breath. So that we can learn to love each other? Oh, Mom, if only you knew.
Unable to help herself, she started to cry—great, rasping sobs that shook her entire body and felt like they were tearing her apart from the inside out. All this time. All this time she and Owen had been fighting against what was a perfectly natural attraction. Tearing themselves up—especially Owen—over what they thought was an illicit, incestuous love, when there was no blood relation between them at all.
And all this time I had the letter in my suitcase. If only I hadn’t been such a coward! If only I’d opened it sooner! And poor Owen. How is this going to affect him? To learn that Mom and Dad weren’t really his parents. It’s so strange. So traumatic. How can I tell him without hurting him? All those years and he never knew…
Leah took a deep, hitching breath and tried to calm down. Forget about the past; she had to think of the future. And the main thing was that she had the letter now. She could show it to Owen and gently break the news. Then, once he was over the shock, maybe they could move on to other subjects. Like the fact that their love wasn’t wrong after all. That they could be together without breaking any taboos. They could even get married, she thought excitedly. Have a quiet little wedding with just the two of them. Go on a honeymoon and finally finish what they’d started at Owen’s loft.
But that was a long way down the road, she was sure. First Owen would have to get over the shock of learning he was adopted. And Leah intended to be there for him every step of the way. She wanted to support him, to let him know she loved him as much as ever, despite the bad way they’d ended their last encounter.
I have to tell him. Have to call him right now and set up a time to meet. I can’t tell him over the phone, of course. Have to convince him to see me face-to-face. That way I can take things slowly and sort of ease him into it.
Just as she was searching for her cell phone, a sharp rap sounded at the flimsy front door. Leah jumped, startled by the noise that reverberated through the otherwise silent apartment. After going cautiously to the door, she peeked through the peephole to see Mr. Filcher, her new landlord, standing outside with a sheaf of papers in one hand and a toolbox in the other.
He looked about the same as he had the first time she’d asked to see the apartment—balding and scruffy, with a huge, hairy belly hanging over the front of his too-small black pants. He wore a wifebeater that might have been white at one time. Now it was yellowed and covered in stains. It showed the thick slabs of his arms, and a patch of coarse black chest hair sprouted from the top.
“Ms. DeMarko?” he called, rapping again with the hand that held the paperwork. “Got your lease papers here.”
Leah’s hand hovered over the doorknob. For some reason she didn’t want to open the door. There was something she couldn’t define—a chill in the air. A feeling of wrongness that crept up her spine like an icy finger. But it was just Mr. Filcher, and though he was grubby and extremely unattractive, he didn’t strike her as dangerous.
“Ms. DeMarko?” he said again. “Look, I don’t got all night.”
Sighing, Leah opened the door a crack. “Yes, Mr. Filcher?”
“Got your lease papers.” But instead of handing them to her, he took a step closer. “And I came to look at that leaky faucet too.”
“The faucet?” Leah had almost forgotten about the leaky bathroom faucet she’d noticed when she first looked at the apartment. Of course, it didn’t really matter now, since she was sure she’d be moving out almost as fast as she’d moved in. She was positive Owen would ask her to come back as soon as she told him the good news.
“Sure, the faucet. Gotta get it fixed. Drives up the water bill if you let it go.” He looked at her, his pale blue eyes somehow eager. “Won’t take but a second.”
Leah frowned. What’s wrong with his eyes? Weren’t they brown before? “I’m sorry, but I just ran a bath in there, so I don’t think you can work on it right now,” she lied, thinking fast. “Maybe you could come back later—”Like after I’m out of this hellhole.
“Nah, we can let it drain. I got time.” Before she could make another excuse or shut the door, he had pushed his way inside.
“Mr. Filcher, really—” Leah began, but he had set the toolbox on the floor and was already getting something out of it. Her eyes widened when she saw what he had in his hands—a roll of silver-gray duct tape and a piece of yellow nylon rope.
“Run, Leah! Get away!” The voice in her ear was so loud, it was nearly a shout. Leah wasn’t sure where it came from since there was no one standing beside her, but she didn’t care. The feeling of wrongness had grown into a pocket of freezing-cold air that enveloped her entire body.
She turned and leaped for the half-open door, intending to get as far from her new landlord as fast as she could. She reached, her fingertips brushing the cheap wood of the door; she was almost out—
A rough fist grabbed her by the hair and pulled so hard that Leah was yanked off her feet. Pain blinded her, and she landed flat on her back with a breathless gasp as all the air left her lungs.
Suddenly Mr. Filcher was straddling her, leering down at her with a frightening grin that exposed brownish teeth that had somehow grown long and sharp. His pale eyes had red flames dancing far back in their piggy depths.
“Now, you little angel cunt,” he said, his voice thick and distorted. “We’re going to have some fun.”
* * *
“Jael? Jael, can you hear me? I’m in terrible trouble here. Ariel’s been taken. By one of the upper-echelon demons, I think. He’s possessed a human, and he’s got her, and I can’t get to her. Because there are so many of them—too many of them—between me and her. Every time I cut one down, twenty more appear.”
A listening silence, but no reply.
“Jael, please! If you can hear me, come. And bring anyone you can to help. There are too many…too many.”
More silence, and again, nothing.
“Please, Jael—please!”
Faintly, from far away. “I hear you, Elloria. Are you all right?”
“No! And neither is Ariel. Please, come quickly.”
“I’m with Micah all the way across town.”
“Bring him. We’ll need someone with a truly corporeal form to fight off the possessed one. If we can cut a path to the door, that is. This place is crawling with demons.”
“I don’t want to overload his mind.”
“Would you rather see Ariel dead or worse than dead? I know you don’t like to, but you’re going to have to take a chance. Just bring him. And come quickly. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.”
“On my way. Hold on, Elloria.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about. Almighty help me, I can hear her screaming! What is he doing to her? Hurry, Jael. Hurry!”
Chapter Thirteen
Owen was walking down the hospital corridor, heading for his office after what had to be the longest surgical consult ever. He’d had a full day and had been about to get off when he’d been called to the ER for a seventeen-year-old boy who was in bad shape. The kid had been bouncing on a trampoline in the backyard, landed a flip wrong, and tried to catch himself on his hands when he fell off the tramp. He’d shattered his right radius—a compound fracture, with the jagged edge of the bone showing through the torn and bloody skin.
Owen knew as soon as he laid hands on the boy that the injury was well beyond the ability of his secret healing talent. There was no way he could knit up the shattered ends of the bone with just a touch, the way he was sometimes able to smooth out much smaller and less serious greenstick fractures. In fact, he was reasonably sure he would have to use an external fixation device to repair it.
But the problem wasn’t the long and difficult surgery he was facing; it was the boy’s father. Apparently the kid was the star pitcher on his high school baseball team, and Dad was already counting on him to have a pro career. He’d cornered Owen and demanded to see his credentials, asked about where he’d attended med school and what his GPA had been, and even wanted references from patients he’d operated on in the past. Owen had answered calmly at first, but then with increasing irritation. When he’d finally pointed out that the man’s son was in severe pain, Dad had answered proudly that “Junior” was used to pain.
“Suck it up, right, Son? Shake it off. Rub some dirt on it.” He’d tousled the boy’s hair, ignoring the fact that his face was gray and sweaty with agony. “We can wait if we have to,” he’d told Owen. “Nothing but the best for my future all-star here. So if you need to fly in a specialist—”
“I am a specialist, Mr. Novack. I’m an orthopedic surgeon. Now do you want me to operate on your son or not?”
The father had blustered and complained and generally wasted time, but finally agreed that yes, Owen could do the operation. He acted as though he was doing Owen a favor, entrusting him with a future Hall of Fame pitcher, and made veiled threats to sue if his son’s arm wasn’t as good as new when it was healed.
As he walked down the hallway, Owen could still hear the irate father’s voice in his head. “Do you know what a top pitcher makes these days, Doc? Millions. That’s a lot of responsibility. A lot of lost income if everything doesn’t turn out absolutely perfect.”
Son of a bitch. Owen had half a mind to have the triage nurse page Dr. Beaker, the other ortho on call. Actually, considering the day he’d put in already, he was more than entitled to do exactly that. The only thing that kept him from doing so was knowing there was nothing but an empty apartment waiting for him. He was bone weary, but there was no way he’d be able to sleep. He’d just lie in the big, empty bed and stare at the ceiling and think of her. Of Leah.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Might as well stay. If I go home, I’ll just tear myself up inside. At least here I’ve got a distraction.
He was just turning down the long hallway that led to the OR to scrub up, when a familiar voice called his name. Turning in surprise, he saw Jael running toward him, a grim expression on his face.
“What—” he started to ask, but before he could get out the rest of the question, Jael had hold of his arm and was towing him straight toward the doctors’ parking lot. Owen tried to resist, but the other man was even stronger than he looked—almost supernaturally strong, it seemed. “Jael, stop. I’ve got to scrub up for surgery,” he protested.
“Beaker’s taking care of it. Now move.”
“But what—”
“Your sister’s in trouble,” Jael informed him as he dragged him out into the muggy Tampa night. “Don’t ask questions. Just drive.”
He dragged Owen to the low-slung sports coupe Owen had bought the year before and shoved the keys into his hands. Owen barely had time to think that he’d left his car keys in his locker and wonder how the hell Jael knew his combination before they were speeding out of the parking lot.
“How do you know about Leah? What’s wrong with her?” he demanded as Jael directed him to take the on-ramp to 275 North.
“I believe she’s under attack.” Jael’s pale green eyes glowed with an eerie light in the darkened car, and somehow he seemed to be taking up even more room than a man of his considerable size should. Looking at Jael’s back, Owen thought he saw a strange, white, glimmering—a ghostly outline in the dark of…of what? Wings? But that was crazy. Impossible. Just the thought of it made his head ache.
“How do you know? Did somebody call for me and you took a message?” It was the only explanation Owen could think of. Although why the TGH operator hadn’t simply paged him overhead was beyond him.
Jael only looked at him. “Something like that.” His voice was a low, anxious rumble. “Listen, Owen. When we get to your sister’s new place, you may see some things.”
“What things?” Owen glanced at him apprehensively and then back at the road. He was doing over a hundred miles an hour, weaving in and out of slower-moving traffic, and he needed to pay attention to his driving.
“Things that…well…things that might make you doubt your sanity.” Jael sighed. “But don’t. Just concentrate on helping Ariel.”
“Who?” He cast another quick look in Jael’s direction. Was it possible the other man was just going crazy and taking Owen along for the ride?
“Leah. Concentrate on Leah.” Jael exhaled deeply and shook his head. “Sorry, this is a surprise attack. We never dreamed they’d dare… Here—take the Fletcher exit!”
Owen zipped the little Audi to the right, thankful as he had never been before for its excellent handling. Unfortunately they had to slow down considerably until he felt like the car was crawling.
The entire time he was driving, Jael sat very still, with his head cocked to one side. It looked like he was listening to a radio station only he could tune in on, and the expression on his face was growing grimmer by the minute.
“What?” Owen finally asked, unable to help himself. “What’s going on? I can tell you know…something.”
Jael shook his head. “It’s not good.” He turned to Owen. “When we get there, you’ll need this.” Seemingly from out of nowhere, he produced a long, shining knife—no, it was more like a sword, Owen saw—with an elaborate golden hilt. “Here.” He held it out hilt-first to Owen. “I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do on this plane of existence. And it will flame up when you encounter evil.”
“What are you talking about?” Owen eyed the golden hilt without taking it. “Look, man, I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t have any martial-arts training or anything.”
“You don’t need any training. It will come to you when you take the sword. So take it. We’re here.”
Owen looked back at the road to see that Jael was right. They were parked in front of a shabby, run-down-looking building at the far rear of a large apartment complex. It was strange, since he didn’t remember guiding the car into the complex at all, but now he had
other things to worry about. Jael shoved the sword into his hand and got out of the car.
“Follow me,” he told Owen, his pale eyes flashing. “Stay right behind so I can clear a path. The minute I move out of the way, go through the door and kill the one holding your sister.”
“Wait a minute. Kill who? And why would you have to clear a path?”
Jael frowned. “I told you before, there is no time for questions. Do as I tell you if you want to keep the woman you love alive and undefiled.”
“Jael—” But the other man was already striding forward, leaving Owen to follow, which he did because there didn’t seem to be anything else he could do.
They went over the curb and through a patch of dead brown grass that crunched under their feet. The slight sound made Owen notice that the entire complex was eerily silent. There were no cars driving by, no people out and about, even though it was a Friday night. What the hell is going on? He looked around uneasily and gripped the golden hilt of his sword, wondering what he was getting into.
Then they reached the back of the building, and he did hear something, but not with his ears. It was a strange, shrieking sound, as though someone were scratching their fingernails down the biggest chalkboard in the world. The sound set his teeth on edge and made him want to fight. It was like a signal his body understood even if his brain didn’t. Even stranger, the temperature seemed to have dropped sharply. Owen shivered, feeling as though an icy wind had blown through him. But he hadn’t felt it on his face or body—he’d felt the chill with his mind. He frowned. What the hell?
And then everything happened at once.
“Come on!” Jael shouted, his deep voice rising to a roar above the deafening, silent shriek. He had somehow produced a sword of his own, and he was swinging it from side to side, cutting into…into what? Owen didn’t know, but there was definitely something there even though he couldn’t quite see it.