Oh, shit. She tried to second deadbolt. Unlocked too.
Double shit.
The doorknob was locked, though. Time seemed to slow down, and she motioned Charlie back. “If anything happens,” she whispered, “run.”
“Shit all over that,” Charlie whispered back. “I’m not leaving you in the lurch.”
“Don’t argue with me.” Chess pulled the key back out. Dropped her keys in her bag, transferred her knife to her right hand. Here goes nothing. She turned the knob slowly, slowly, the knife’s prickling buzz in her hand reaching a crescendo. The door ghosted open, Chess hanging back and staring into darkness.
She lifted the knife, the blue glow penetrating the gloom. Saw nothing but her front hall, the back of her couch, the window beyond orange with citylight. Come out come out wherever you are. Or did I leave the deadbolts unlocked? I was nervous, I might have . . . but I don’t think I did. I don’t leave my deadbolts unlocked. Ever. That’s like begging to be robbed.
“Chess?” Charlie whispered.
She motioned for quiet and took a step forward, pushing the door open wide. Nothing hiding behind there. Probably in the kitchen, that’s where I’d hide if I wanted to surprise someone—
She barely had time to choke out a cry when the hand closed around her wrist and jerked her off her feet. The knife went flying, another hand clapped over her mouth, and Charlie zoomed around the corner, yelling Chess’s name. Chaos descended, the door kicked shut and Chess suddenly struggled with frantic fear, “Charlie! Charlie!” Screaming through the hand on her mouth, striking out with fist and knee and fingernails. She finally regained enough presence of mind to sink her teeth into the hand and heard a faint hissing in-breath. He was strong, locking her wrist with his free hand and actually picking her up off her feet. He had to work to subdue her. She kept biting, kept kicking, and heard Charlie yell again, sounding more surprised than hurt.
“Calm down!” a familiar voice sliced through the hubbub. She heard a thump and a male cry of pain, sounded like Charlie had scored one. “Calm down, Chess, it’s me! You’re safe, it’s okay, just calm the fuck down!”
Ryan? She went limp, breathing heavily, and he slid his hand away from her mouth. Chess found herself caught in a bear-hug. He squeezed just short of pain and buried his face in her hair again, her cheek was smashed against something that felt like his chest. He was warm, very warm, and it even smelled like Ryan, the peculiar scent of male and demon-tang that followed him around. Oh, my God. “Ryan?” I sound dazed. I feel dazed. How did he get in?
The hall light flipped on, and Chess heard a slight, definite click. “Let go of my sister, asshole.” Charlie wasn’t messing around. “Or I’ll blow your fucking friend’s head off.”
Oh, boy.
A definite tremor went through Ryan’s body. Chess wriggled free, his arms going loose and dropping down to his sides. He stared, not at Charlie but at Chess, his eyes unblinking and gone deep and dark. He had never looked more feral, his eyebrows faintly drawn together and his hands slowly curling into fists. She wondered if he was fighting those “instincts” again.
Charlie had her knee in the other man’s back, and Chess saw, with no real surprise, it was the hunk in tweed, Paul. And her sister was holding a very nice baby Glock, the end of the barrel pressed to the back of Paul’s skull. Charlie’s hair was wildly mussed, her eyes all but snapped sparks, her linen jacket was torn and she’d lost a shoe.
She looked magnificent. Chess’s heart hammered in her throat. The wild urge to laugh rose up inside her throat, died away. Where did you get that gun from, Charlie?
“Chess?” Her older sister was breathing rapidly, her ribs almost flickering. “These guys friends, or should I put a bullet in this asshole’s head?”
Oh, Charlie, God bless you. “Charlie, this is Ryan. The one on the floor is Paul. Guys, this is my sister, Charlie.” I saw you kill a man with your bare hands, Ryan. But wouldn’t you know, I’m actually glad to see you. “You can let him up off the floor and put the gun away. I don’t think they’re here to kill me.”
“Are these the good guys?” Charlie didn’t look convinced.
“Ryan is.” She heard the conviction in her own voice and winced. “The guy you’re holding down is an arrogant fuck, but he’s basically all right.”
“What are they doing hiding in here?” But Charlie eased up on the gun with an ease that spoke of long practice. “Did you give them a key?”
“No, I didn’t.” But it’s not the first time he’s grabbed me just as I got through the door.
Ryan was still staring at her. He was shaking, she realized, his fists visibly trembling. His jaw was set, his eyes glittering—he looked like a man on the edge of murder. “Ryan?” Her throat was suddenly dry. “You okay?”
“Ow,” Paul spoke up. “Get off, woman! God, I’ve been beaten to a pulp by goddamn Inkani today, I don’t need any more.” There was the sound of movement, then a long, low whistle. “Shit. Stay still. Listen, Ms. Barnes, you’d better touch him.”
She stared, fascinated, as a muscle twitched in Ryan’s cheek. He hadn’t blinked once. He stared at her like he was trying to stare his way through her. “What the hell are you talking about?” She shifted her weight as if to step back, and Ryan twitched.
Chess froze.
“Look,” Paul said quietly. “Just step up to him, nice and easy, and touch him. Skin on skin’s best. He’s worked himself into a state worrying about you, and right now he’s fighting to stay calm. Just trust me on this one, okay?”
Trust you? Oh, sure. You’re an arrogant fucking Malik who wants to steal my library . . . but you did help me get away from those things. All right. “Ryan?” I sound like a little girl, all breathy.
“I’m serious, woman. You want him to snap? Calm him down, or he’s going to go ballistic.”
Since when is that my problem? But she swallowed, and stepped forward slowly. Very slowly. He watched her, his eyes half-closed and volcanic tremors going through him in waves. Christ, he looks ready to explode. “Ryan? Take a deep breath, calm down. Okay?”
Another step closer. He watched her; if his fists got any tighter his palms might start bleeding.
“What the hell’s wrong with him?” Charlie whispered. Chess didn’t blame her, the waves of rage coming off Ryan shimmered like heat over pavement.
“He’s fighting his instincts,” Paul whispered back. “Don’t worry. She’ll calm him down, he won’t hurt her.”
“How do you know?” Charlie didn’t sound convinced.
Hear, hear, Chess seconded. Ryan stared at her, the glimmer of eyes under his lids oddly hot.
“She’s about the only person safe from him right now. Stay still.” Thank God Paul sounded calm.
You and I are going to have a long talk about this, Mr. Tweedy. A nice long coffee klatch. Chess reached out, her right hand meeting Ryan’s. Her fingertips touched his fist, hard as rock and shaking a little. What am I supposed to do? Last time he got this upset he wanted me to talk to him. I wonder if that would work now? “Ryan.” She heard herself using her firm-but-gentle voice, as if she was talking to a five-year-old at the library, or a feral cat. “Take a breath, calm down. It’s all right. Everything’s all right. I didn’t know you’d come back here. I thought you were gone with your partner.”
A shudder went through him. His fist unloosed, his palm turned out, and he grabbed her wrist. She almost flinched, expecting him to squeeze, but his fingers were gentle. Almost exquisitely gentle. He still stared at her, a muscle flicking irregularly in his cheek.
Keep talking, you idiot. Calm him down. Okay. “I hope you guys didn’t clean out my fridge. I’m a little hungry. We were planning on going out for Thai. I’m going to spend the night at Charlie’s, it seems safer than staying home alone. Now you’ve got your partner back everything’s cool, right? I’m glad he’s alive.” But who was in that room? And your fingerprints are probably in there. God. What are you going to do if the police come afte
r you? “I’d ask you what happens next, but you seem a little occupied right now. This is my sister, she’s a lawyer but don’t hold it against her. I had no idea she was carrying a gun.”
The tension was slowly leaving Ryan’s shoulders. A little sense began to come back into his eyes. Chess tried again. “I’m glad to see you. I don’t like you picking the lock on my front door, though. Or leaving it unlocked. Although who would come in and try to steal my TV with you in here, I don’t know. Nobody’s that stupid. I hope.”
He took a deep breath, his eyes closing and his mouth relaxing. His face smoothed out. The rage simmering in the air drained away. Chess let out a long, soft breath, relieved. She pulled gently against his hand, trying to free her wrist, but he didn’t let go.
“Chess.” His voice was harsh, strained. “Are you all right?”
He sounded like he was being strangled. Chess swallowed, hard. “I’m fine,” she soothed. “I think I pulled something running away from there, and I’m not at all happy about this turn of events, but . . . I’m fine. I’m glad you didn’t disappear. I thought you were going back to the Order.”
He shook his head. “They wouldn’t have me,” he whispered. The last of the tension left him, his shoulders sagged. “I told you, I’m on your side. I’m useless to them now.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she pointed out. “You’re the only one I trust.” Christ, did I just say that? I think I did. Lord help me, I’ve gone and got myself attracted to a guy who scares the hell out of me and kisses like a thunderbolt. Not to mention kills people with his bare hands. We’re going to have to talk about that, Ryan.
Amazingly, one corner of his mouth curled up in a smile. “Really?” He sounded delighted and hoarse all at the same time. “You mean it?”
“Of course I mean it,” she soothed. “We’re partners, remember? Now, how about you calm down and quit scaring all of us?”
Ryan nodded. There was a shadow of coal-black stubble on his cheeks, his shoulders slumped, and he suddenly looked tired. “Sorry.” He sounded sorry, too. “I was worried about you.”
Oh, Lord. I’m in too deep. Who would have guessed? “You were? Well, I’m okay. I’m here. Are you okay now?”
He nodded, once, sharply, then let go of her wrist. Chess almost flinched again, controlled the movement. His eyes opened back up, and he looked down at her. She caught a flash of something far back in his dark eyes—something like resignation, maybe—and her heart leapt into her throat. She was suddenly very conscious that her hair was sticking up all over her head, she was wearing damp clothes that smelled like an alleyway, her face felt sandy and her mouth foul from sleeping on Charlie’s office couch. Her heart was in her throat, and the world seemed to have shifted off its axis by a couple of crucial degrees.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, as if she hadn’t heard him the first time. “Really, I am.”
“It’s all right.” She got the idea he was apologizing for more than scaring her, and that she was agreeing to more than she’d bargained for. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I’m very far from okay,” he said calmly. “But you’re alive. I’ll be fine. Now who the hell is this, and where the hell have you been?”
* * * *
Charlie took a whiff of the luminescent blue goo in the glass jar and wrinkled her nose. “What the hell is in this? It smells like Wrigley’s gone bad.”
“Rotten Juicy Fruit? I never thought of that.” Chess, standing in the bathroom doorway, scrubbed at her hair with the towel. She was beginning to feel a little more like herself now that she had taken a short, hot shower. God bless whoever invented indoor plumbing. “It’s good for bruises and scrapes, and I think it healed a concussion.”
Paul was at the window, looking out into the alley. He was extremely quiet, and Chess found out she liked him better that way. He kept glancing back over his shoulder at Ryan, who seemed much calmer now. But still, there was a gleam in Paul’s eyes she didn’t think she liked.
“Concussion?” Charlie had brushed her hair and found her shoe. She eyed Ryan uneasily as she capped the jar; he sat across the table from her, loading a clip with bullets Paul had produced. “Did he do that?”
Charlie was not convinced of the advisability of letting two armed men stay in her little sister’s apartment, but even she had to admit that Ryan didn’t seem like a threat. And that it was, after all, Chess’s house, and Chess got to say who stayed. A full half-hour of discussion had brought them that far, at least.
“Indirectly. He pushed me out of the way when a demon came for me. I fetched up against a Dumpster pretty hard.” In fresh jeans and a T-shirt, with her bag on the table and her knife safely sheathed—even if blue light did glitter out between the hilt and the sheath—Chess thought she just might be able to handle this. “It wasn’t his fault.”
Ryan glanced at her. It was a short look, somehow managing to convey gratefulness. She found herself smiling back at him, an expression that felt natural. Even unshaven and obviously tired, he still looked extremely . . . attractive. In a stubbly, dangerous, dark-eyed sort of way.
Stop it, Chess. He killed someone. And you still haven’t asked him about those bodies in the room. Who were they?
Charlie yawned. She had probably been at work since six and was a little punchy. “You still coming over to spend the night? I’m famished, Chess, in case you’ve forgotten. I need food.”
Chess was dying to ask her where the gun had come from, decided it could wait. I haven’t forgotten. Christ, I only took a ten-minute shower. “I’ll go for Thai with you. I don’t know if staying here is a good—”
“Staying here’s safe,” Ryan interrupted. “I’ll stand watch.” He finished loading the bullets into the clip and examined his work, satisfied. The bullets themselves looked odd, silvery and more slender than any other ammunition she’d seen, which granted wasn’t a lot. Guns made her nervous.
“That’s very nice of you,” Charlie said, politically enough, “but you’re not on the lease, and Chessie hasn’t invited you. And I can’t say I’m impressed with your behavior either.” She sounded like Mom. “Chess, can I raid your closet? These shoes are killing me.”
Chess waved a hand, picking up a comb and starting to fight with her hair. “Knock yourself out. But you leave that black cashmere sweater alone.”
“You’re no fun.” Charlie hauled herself up from the table, gave Ryan one of their mother’s patented I-Know-You’re-Up-To-No-Good looks, and whisked away into Chess’s bedroom, pointedly closing the door behind her.
Ryan met Chess’s eyes. “Staying here’s safe,” he repeated. “I’m sorry.”
Boy, this is turning into a situational comedy. All we need is the wacky gay friend and a laugh track. She sighed, dragging the comb through her hair and leaning against the door. I feel like I could sleep for a week. “I want to ask you something.”
“What?” He didn’t look toward the window, but she felt his attention shift all the same. Paul had been extremely quiet. Too quiet, as a matter of fact. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he wasn’t happy with this chain of events, despite being rescued. Wonder of wonders, though, he hadn’t made a snotty comment since she’d gotten home. Instead, he just kept glancing speculatively at Ryan.
“Those . . . in the room. Who were they?” It bothers me, you see. It bothers me a LOT. Chess yanked a tangle out of her hair, wincing.
Paul piped up. “Businessman.” He sounded flat and bored, but something in his tone told her he wasn’t as blasé as he wanted her to think. “They rented the room out from under me, and I had to stay away, the Inkani were everywhere. I guess they thought he was me. And the hooker—”
“Woman,” Chess corrected. “Woman. Not hooker.” You arrogant son of a bitch.
Paul’s shoulders stiffened. “Woman,” he echoed, tonelessly. “Sorry. They might have thought she was you.”
Not fucking likely. I’d never be alone in a room with you. Chess dragged the comb through her ha
ir, dropped her eyes. “And the . . . the boy.” The boy. The one who grew like Michael Jordan on crack. The one who stretched out and produced big-ass claws that looked like his phalange bones were popping out through his fingertips. That one. What about him? “He . . .”
“He bargained his life to the Inkani for something. In return, he got a soldier demon in him. He was an assassin, Chess. He was coming for you.” Ryan slid the clip into a gun, chambered a round, started in filling another clip. His hands moved easily, habitually, as if he did this all the time.
Maybe he does. “I . . .” You killed him. You killed him, Ryan, and acted like it was no big deal. I’m not sure how I feel about that. Killing demons I can handle, but people . . . no. No. “So you’ve found your partner.” She half-turned, tossed the comb so it landed on the counter, an accurate throw that didn’t delight her as much as it should have. “So what now?”
“Paul’s called in,” Ryan said steadily, his eyes on his work. “In a couple days the city will be full of Malik. They’ll get the Inkani under control and start apprenticing potentials to you, with your permission. The sooner we get more potentials awake and on the track to becoming Golden, the sooner they can start spreading out to other cities and taking them back. The Inkani will try to take you for their Rite of Opening, but they won’t get close enough to touch you. If we can get through the next week, it’ll be smooth sail—”
“Hold on. I told you, I don’t want anything to do with your Order.” They’re after my library, dammit, and I won’t let them have it.
“They won’t take your library,” Ryan said softly. He still stared at the clip, loading it with quick fingers. “I won’t let them. And you have to play ball with them one way or the other, Chess. It’s a good way to protect yourself. You’re not just a skin hunter, you’re a Golden. They’ll behave themselves. Besides, if you play ball with them they won’t hunt me down like a rabid dog.”
“Ryan—” Paul’s shoulders hunched. He was looking more miserable by the second.