In the Blood

  “That’s the spirit.”

  The room smelled of hot circuits and cinnamon potpourri, but underneath Alex caught a whiff of something that stank of rotten eggs and singed hair drifting from Athena’s study lab. “How did your experiment go?”

  “Unsuccessful,” Athena murmured. “I need more material.”

  “Okay, I’ll take care of it.” Alex sat on the sofa beside her. “What else have you done today?”

  “Studied.” Her eyes scanned the images on the monitor, sliding right, then left.

  “Ah.” Meaning she was studying Dante, watching the med-unit footage yet again. He sighed. “We need to talk.”

  “About…?” Athena looked up. Lamplight glimmered in her eyes like sunshine on calm water and, for a moment, her eyes seemed translucent, palest ocean-green.

  “What happens next.”

  “I’m listening,” she said, returning her gaze to the laptop’s monitor.

  Alex wrapped his fingers around the monitor’s edge and folded it shut. “Enough. It’s time for you to stop studying.” He pulled the laptop from her reluctant grip and placed it on the coffee table.

  “But I need to understand him,” she protested. “When I look, I can’t see anything beyond him and I don’t know what that means.”

  “You’re tired, that’s all,” Alex said. “You need rest.” The dark smudges beneath her eyes testified to that and to all the restless, sleepless nights she paced away. But her visions were always right, sleep or no sleep, meds or no meds.

  Visions Father knew nothing about.

  “I’ve got to figure out how to undo Dante’s programming.”

  “You can worry about that after I bring Dante home. C’mon, fresh air. Meds. Move your butt.” Alex grasped Athena’s hand and pulled her to her feet. He led her through the kitchen and out the back door, easing the screen door shut behind them.

  He released her hand as she settled into the swinging bench on the porch, then he sat beside her, wood creaking comfortably beneath him. Without looking, he grasped Athena’s hand again. Her fingers, warm and hard, curled around his.

  Alex drew in a deep breath of moist, pine-scented air. “So much better.”

  “If you say so.”

  A quick glance revealed the smile shadowing his twin’s lips. He smiled too.

  “The SB is probably planning on killing Father,” Alex said, his gaze on the night sky. He watched the stars light up one by one like votives in a church. “Hell, the Bureau might’ve even rubber-stamped it after the fiasco with Moore.”

  “Do they know Father’s the one who tipped Ronin off to Bad Seed?”

  “I doubt it. That’d require some real intelligence work.”

  “What if they kill Father before he teaches you how to use Dante?”

  “We’ll have to hope that doesn’t happen,” Alex said. “I’ve armed Father and the security’s tight, but…” He shrugged. “A pro could get past all of that. I’ve tried and tried to get Father to go underground.”

  “Maybe they’ll send a bumbling amateur or a poor shot instead of a pro. It’s not like it’s the mafia. It’s the government.”

  Alex laughed. He leaned in and pressed his forehead against his sister’s. Heard her quiet, never-ceasing thoughts: Does Father dream now? Of power and gods? Of all he can never be? And shall never have?

  Athena’s mind refused silence, refused to rest.

  Alex straightened, relaxing into the bench as it swung back and forth, back and forth. The wood creaked, drowning out the sound of Athena’s thoughts/whispers. He didn’t have to look to know her lips struggled to keep up with the ideas streaming through her mind.

  “I don’t think Dante knows about Father’s role in his conditioning,” Athena said. “I don’t think he knows about Father, period.”

  “That’s good. Then he won’t be expecting us.”

  “What happens next?”

  “I go to Seattle,” Alex said. “Trigger Dante, dope him when he’s finished doing what he’s supposed to do, then bring him home.”

  “How are you going to get close enough to him to dope him?” Athena looked at him, her blonde curls tumbling across her face, curls she brushed back automatically.

  “Shoot him from a distance. In the back, preferably.” Alex considered all that he’d read about Dante, replayed in his mind the footage that his twin obsessively watched: Dante cups Moore’s face. His hands tremble. Glow with blue light. His hair snakes up into the hair and energy crackles.

  Dangerous.

  “Amen, brother,” Athena whispered. “But soon he’ll be a part of us. We’ll give him Father to play with—after we restore his memories.”

  “Can we do that? Restore his memories?”

  “I don’t know, but there must be a way…”

  “Unless the damage is too great,” Alex finished.

  “Green waters of remembrance,” Athena said, her voice a low monotone, her oracle voice. “He’ll need the green waters.”

  Alex’s skin prickled as his twin’s gaze turned inward, seeking the sacred. “Green waters? For Dante? What do you mean?”

  “Green and green and green.”

  “What else do you see?”

  “The old cow’s time is almost here,” she murmured.

  “Do you see it? Mother’s death?”

  Athena laughed. “Yes, a vision of a near-future event. I see a pillow over her face and my hands over the pillow.”

  “An overdose would be simpler, less suspicious.”

  “Ah, but less fun, Xander, and I have so little.”

  Alex squeezed his twin’s hand and listened to her circling thoughts: A pillow over her face, my knee and heart and hands over the pillow. Welcome to hell, Cow. Let me be your guide.

  Call me Hades.

  Madness or divinity? Was there even a difference?

  Father had tinkered with his and Athena’s genes while they were still in the womb. He’d wanted gods. But believed himself disappointed.

  He was wrong. He had his gods. Just not the ones he’d planned for. Dante hadn’t been the only one to keep secrets. Father had designed his and Athena’s telepathy, but he knew nothing about their other gifts.

  “Yes and yes and yes,” Athena whispered. “Secrets. Godhead. With Dante we’ll have the perfect trinity—Conqueror, Counselor, and Creator. We’ll begin a new age. After we punish the wicked first, of course.”

  “But of course,” Alex agreed. “Isn’t that the first rule in the Godhead and Divinity for Dummies handbook?”

  “Prick.”

  “Thank you for noticing.”

  Athena squeezed his hand. As always, her touch somehow completed him, closed a circuit. He shared the silence with her as they rocked back and forth in the swing.

  But it wasn’t truly silent for her. No.

  If only Father had devoted his medical and research skills toward helping Athena instead of funneling it into the swirling drain that was his dying wife. If only he hadn’t viewed Athena as a flawed project instead of a daughter.

  A daughter who’d needed him. Once. But not anymore.

  The wind-in-the-pines sound of Athena’s whispers ended the silence. Alex squeezed her hand, then released it. “Time for your meds,” he said, standing.

  Still whispering, Athena rose to her feet. Her gaze was turned inward, truly lost in thought. Alex opened the screen door, guided his twin into the house, and walked her into the living room. Whispering, she sank onto the sofa, automatically crossing her legs under her.

  Kneeling beside the coffee table, Alex picked up the little paper cup holding Athena’s meds—antipsychotics, antianxiety, tranquilizers—and placed it carefully in her hand. “Put in your mouth and swallow.”

  Athena raised the cup to her lips, tossed back the pills. Alex slapped a bottle of water in her hand and she drank obediently. He picked up the syringe containing her sleep dose.

  Alex glanced at his twin. Listened to her oracle whispers and wondered: Could he keep Athena und
er control until Dante arrived? Could he keep her balanced and calm for a few more days? She was slipping deeper into madness and it terrified him to think she might plunge so deep into the abyss, he’d never find her again, never recover her.

  Rolling up the sleeve on Athena’s left arm, Alex swiped the injection site with an alcohol swab. His nose wrinkled at the sharp odor.

  “Coldandcoldandcold,” Athena whispered.

  “Sorry. I should’ve warned you.”

  A few more days, he could do that, keep her calm. He had to—for both of them. He’d pick up more material for her experiments.

  “I need you to stay here while I’m gone,” he said. “Don’t go into the main house, and avoid Father. I figure the SB operative will target only him, but collateral damage is usually allowed if necessary.”

  “Yesandyesandyes.”

  “If you could be well again,” Alex said, his voice low and rough. “If you could return to your career and everything you’ve had to leave behind, would you?”

  “Xander.”

  Alex looked up and into Athena’s eyes. Her gaze seemed more lucid than it had in years. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” she said gently. “I see more clearly than I ever have. I don’t need to be healed.”

  Something twisted tight in Alex’s chest. He nodded. He inserted the needle into his sister’s cleaned skin, and thumbed the plunger.

  “I’ll never leave you. I promise,” Athena whispered.

  Alex leaned forward and brushed his lips against his twin’s forehead. She’d said the words he’d longed to hear from her, but instead of the joy he’d imagined—the circuit closed once again, the womb bond that she’d unraveled five years ago to protect him finally restored—he felt only a stark desperation.

  Her promise was empty and beyond her power to fulfill.

  The bond would never be restored. The circuit would never be connected, closed, an infinite loop. Not until Dante repaired her misfiring synapses and stilled the lightning storm within her hyperactive brain.

  Athena tilted her head as though listening—and Alex knew she was—to all the ideas and thoughts pinging through her never quiet mind; she unhooked her thoughts from his.

  “Is there anything else you need me to get for you when I go out?”

  A smile dimpled Athena’s cheeks. “My Xander,” she said; then she giggled, a sound Alex hadn’t heard from her in years, girlish and light, happy; it spun like a Ferris wheel through his heart.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked, a grin pulling at the edges of his mouth.

  “Could you pick up a copy of Godhead and Divinity for Dummies?”

  Alex laughed. “C’mon, let’s get you in your PJs and into bed.”

  He scooped her up from the sofa and into his arms. A pang of sorrow shafted him as she looped her arms around his neck. She was so light, his goddess of wisdom, buoyant with far-sight, untethered to the earth. He imagined her floating away from him, rising higher and higher into the midnight sky until she disappeared from view.

  As Alex carried his sister to the bathroom, the wind-rushing-through-the-pines whisper of Athena’s voice filled the hallway, and the corridors of his heart.

  11 FRAGILE

  Seattle, WA

  March 22

  ANNIE ZEROED IN ON the rumpled boxes marked WAL LACE, SHANNON. She’d knock the fucking things clear out of the dining room, out of the universe, a fucking home run. She swung the crowbar with every ounce of her strength, weighted the piece of steel in her hand with every dirty, festering bit of her hate.

  She caught a blur of movement at the edge of her vision, then the crowbar struck hard, smacking into flesh instead of cardboard. The force of the impact shuddered up her arms and into her shoulders. She stumbled forward, slamming her hips against the table’s edge as the crowbar was wrenched from her hands. Her gaze fell across the photos arced across the polished wood.

  She looked into her mother’s sightless eyes. Saw her curled up and dead on the ground like some fucking Raid-gassed cockroach.

  Your mother’s been killed in a car accident. She’s not coming home.

  With a guttural scream, Annie threw herself onto the table, sweeping everything off—photos, papers, table runner. Grabbing one of the boxes marked WALLACE, SHANNON, she hurled it with all she had. It exploded against the wall. Glass shattered. Steel-hard fingers wrapped around her upper arm and spun her around.

  Black hair. Sunglasses. White skin and hot hands. One hand held the crowbar, the other held her. “Who you pissed at, p’tite?” Dante asked, tossing the crowbar across the room and out the open window.

  Hawking up a big loogie, Annie spat on him. Spittle gleamed on his pale face. Lifting his arm, he wiped his face clean against his latex-clad shoulder. A smile quirked up one corner of his mouth. “Good shot.”

  “I swear to fucking God, I’ll fucking kill you, if you don’t let go!”

  “Guess you’re gonna hafta kill me then, cuz I ain’t letting go.”

  Annie hooked a fist at Dante’s gorgeous face, swinging right-left-right, but she missed him. She rammed a knee at his crotch, but missed again. “Godammit,” she snarled. “Quit moving!”

  Not able to wrestle/kick/punch her way free of Dante’s grip, she decided to change tactics and went limp, collapsing to the floor. His fingers slid away as she fell.

  Annie rolled over on the carpet, her fingers closing around a jagged piece of glass, and she rose to her knees. She sliced the glass shard across her scar-ridged wrist. Blood welled up dark and thick. Catching a peripheral blur of movement, she slashed out. She felt the splinter bite into flesh and smelled coppery blood. Heard Dante suck in a breath.

  Suddenly he was kneeling in front of her, his pale face tight, his unshaded dark gaze determined. She ducked and weaved, tried to climb to her feet, but he shadowed every move. She stabbed at him, over and over, the glass splinter whistling through empty air as he seemed to vanish.

  Then his fingers locked around her wrists. He yanked her in close, held her tight against him. The shard of glass finally slipped from her blood-slick fingers and he wrapped his arms around her.

  Annie felt her muscles bunch, snap taut, and then give. Her knees folded and even as she collapsed into Dante’s embrace, she felt lighter than air, buoyed by the feel-good magic of tequila and oxy, but she could never rise high enough.

  Leather and latex creaked as he sat on the floor, cradling her in his lap.

  “I fucking hate her,” she whispered, curling against him, against his heat.

  “I got that,” he murmured.

  “I’m glad she’s dead,” Annie managed to say through a throat gone tight. Her heart felt like a red-hot knot in her chest, burning her up from the inside out, a fire she couldn’t douse, a knot she couldn’t untangle.

  Dante pushed her hair back from her face. “Wanna tell me why?”

  “No. I hate you too.”

  “T’es sûr de sa?” His scent swirled around her, like autumn, like Halloween—burning leaves and frosted earth and ripe apples.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means: You sure about that?”

  “Oh. Yeah, I’m sure I hate you. Kinda.”

  “Okay,” he said. Then he started singing, his voice soft and husky and sexy. “Laissez-faire, laissez-faire, ma jolie, bons temps rouler, allons danser, toute la nuit…”

  Annie wasn’t sure if he was singing in French or Spanish or fucking Cajun, but the melody was as soothing as a hand stroking her hair.

  As she closed her eyes, she thought she glimpsed black wings arching high behind Dante, the undersides glimmering with a hint of deep blue. Held within this dark angel’s arms, she listened to his song, and his voice fell like a cool waterfall against her rage, tugged like nimble fingers at the tangled knot of her heart.

  Annie opened her eyes and touched bloodied fingers to Dante’s pale face. Blood trickled from one nostril, so one of her punches must’ve landed, after all. His skin felt fevered. She traced his
lips. He shivered and closed his eyes, but kept singing.

  “Si toi t’es presse et occupe, mon ami, courir ici, courir la-bas…”

  “Kiss me.”

  Dante’s eyes opened, dark and wary, but Annie saw hunger in their depths. His song ended as he lowered his head and kissed her, a quick amaretto-and-blood flavored smooch on the lips.

  “No.” She reached up and captured his face between her hands. “A real kiss.”

  “I don’t think so,” Dante said with a wicked smile. “You’ve been naughty.”

  Annie stared at the slender fang tips his smile revealed. Her heart kicked hard against her ribs. Nightkind. Could be implants. Had to be implants.

  “If you’re a vampire, do you kill when you feed?”

  Dante’s smile faded. “Sometimes, yeah.”

  Annie paused, mulling over his answer and deciding he was trying to scare her—the fucker. “No big deal, but do you hafta kill?”

  “Not always, no.”

  “Can you make me into a vampire?”

  “Yeah, but I won’t, so don’t fucking ask.”

  Before Annie could ask another question, he pulled free of her hands and lifted his head. “Heather’s here,” he breathed, easing them both to their feet. His gorgeous, bloodstained face lit up like an autumn bonfire and Annie knew she no longer existed.

  OUTSIDE, DANTE HEARD THE low rumble of a car’s engine, a sports car or muscle car, throaty and powerful. But he also heard Annie’s heart hammering against her ribs, triple-timed by drugs and adrenaline. He glanced at her. She pressed against him, her eyes dilated and wide.

  “Kiss me,” she said urgently. “Kiss me hard.”

  Dante shook his head, listening as the car’s rumble grew louder, vibrating in up through his boot soles and into his spine. Through the front window, he caught a glimpse of the car, low-slung and sleek, turning into the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. With a low purr, the engine died. Silence filled the house.

  “Kiss me,” Annie repeated, voice low. “Or I’ll tell my sister you broke in and attacked me.” Her fingers wrapped around his belt and tugged.

  Dante heard a door open and then heard shoes on gravel. The car door thunked shut. He tilted his head and regarded Annie through his lashes. “Yeah?”