Alex answered, “What’s up?”
EJ said, “Refining original query. Any military postwar storage facilities been breached since the war? Something buried deep?”
Alex said, “Buried?” and then, “Fuuuu—On it.”
The connection ended.
Their enemies didn’t have Nyoka or Walter. None of the other players were powerful enough to control a demon. Konstantin was a much more likely candidate to handle demon power, but a much less likely candidate to allow himself to be branded and a working placed into his flesh unless total control was assured. Nyoka, Karson, Terenzio Marrazzo, Ravensport, and Konstantin. Nyoka had met with Londyn…
The tea shop.
Nyoka had introduced herself into the plan, disrupting everything. The bad guy in charge took her and was still trying to regroup.
EJ bent over his bodyguard and placed his ear directly over Walter’s brand. Skin-to-icy-skin. Listening. He was only half aware of the sudden silence in the apartment. Of Walter’s shock at his touch.
At the brand’s deepest level, EJ heard drums. Strange rhythms. Tribal, hypnotic, compelling.Forget. Forget. Forget.
He sat back. In the 1700s, when Walter was branded for running away, Nyoka had applied aforgettingworking to give her friend peace, but the working was untrained, unwieldy.
A fullgeaswould sing like the choirs of heaven. That had to come during those blissful weeks on the Mediterranean seashore…
He bent again, whistled a note. Listened with his magic.
Ahhh.She had created layers. One allowed Walter toresistthe control of Willim. An anticontrol working would mesh with controlling demon possession. Initially, Nyoka had given Walter a gift, then later had added multiple layers resulting in ageas. While Walter slept on their holiday? Why? And why did thatgeasmake Walter important to their enemies?
Unfortunately, it was nearly dawn, and while Walter was strong enough to not go up in flames if not fully protected from sunrise, he would get a major sunburn. Their fanghead was weak and worn and suffering from blood loss. He’d also been on an anemic diet for too long.
Grizz considered her 1911. Left the round in the chamber. Stepped back.
EJ pushed to his feet. The world whirled. Spun. Swooped. EJ landed butt-first on the floor with a thump that vibrated through him. He caught his upper body with his braced arms, his legs splayed in front of him. A cat stepped up his leg and settled across his thigh.
He’d spent too long in Theta and Delta. Too long supporting his sister. Shared too much of his own magical energies. He was depleted. And he hadn’t kept watch on his fuel gauge. In the depths of his mind, Delta was wilted and frayed, instead of the neatly folded brain waves usually residing there.
Walter’s finger twitched. A faint note sounded.
Without thought, EJ tossed the cat at Pretty Thang.
It had barely left his fingers as Delta Mode tried to open. Failed. But EJ spun from the floor. He caught Grizz at her chest. She rolled away, cursing as she flew.
The room erupted. Weapons’ slidesschnickedback.
He slammed the bloody stake back into Walter.
“One guard at his head. One at his feet,” EJ snapped. He sank back to the floor and heaved breaths until he could speak again. “Villetti, I need your null head and arm cuffs. The ones sufficient for vamps. Sorry, Grizz. Did I hurt you?”
“A few bruises and dented pride,” she said. “What the hell?”
“Walter’s brand sang. Villetti!”
“Americans. Always in so much hurry,” the cop said, all Italian, both hands making those motions Italians used to show irritation, fingers-to-thumbs, rocking the hands back and forth. He eased Angie to the side and tucked the blanket around her. Standing, he rummaged through his gear, returned, and dangled null cuffs in front of EJ. He drew a weapon, but placed it on the coffee table and knelt beside EJ, cop eyes piercing. “You look like crap.”
“I feel like crap. Thinking like crap too. The stake hasn’t been doing its job. He’s still conscious. He was a slave. He’s gotta be…under stress. The brand just activated again. I’m open to suggestions.”
“Stress. Understatement.” Villetti placed both open cuffs on Walter’s stomach above the stake. He took in the guards, none of whom had put away their weapons. “We will do this slow and steady. Grizz, you are too far away. Headlock with your weapon at Walter’s temple. Peg, lie across his legs with multiple stakes ready to shove in if he moves when the current one is withdrawn.”
The cop looked around, spotted Pretty Thang, and added, “Prick your finger or make a thin cut on your wrist. Hold it over Walter’s face. He needs to feed.”
Pretty Thang set the cat on the sofa and sighed. “Even my blood is beautiful, I get it. But why me?” No one replied, and theman pulled a small blade from a pocket sheath and a tiny ag-plas flat-pack from his other side. He smeared a drop of the contents onto the inside of his arm and rubbed it in with the other wrist. The scent told EJ he was using Ster-num, a trademarked gel created for use on the battlefield and in field hospitals. The garlicky-stinking, fast-acting, hard-to-find gel would sterilize skin and numb it for about twenty minutes. Pretty Thang slid the flat of his blade across the layer of gel and then cut his arm with the edge. He positioned his wound over Walter’s mouth.
