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What was clear? The series of gates—and they got progressively newer and more sturdy. Eddie opened each in succession, all the while wondering who the hell would go to this kind of trouble to keep trespassers off their property.
“I got a bad feeling about this,” he muttered.
“Aw, come on. It’s an adventure, right?”
“Not the kind we’re going to enjoy.”
The angle of ascent grew stiffer, and the disorientation permeated the car, a fuzzy wave going into Eddie’s body and messing with his mind as nausea turned his stomach.
Finally, they came to the last barrier. Twenty-five feet tall, with signs warning it was electrified, the gate linked up a twenty-inch-thick concrete wall that seemed to go to the ends of the earth in both directions.
As they passed through, the conviction that they had to turn around struck him hard—no really, they needed to never come here again, ever—and Ad coughed into his fist like he also had bile rising in his throat, and the car itself sputtered…
And there it was.
The drive made a turn and revealed a great gray stone mansion and a courtyard with a winterized fountain.
“He’s here,” Eddie breathed. “Lassiter is here.”
Ad hit the brakes and peered upward. “Because he took Bram-damn-Stoker for a roommate—oh, cool, they got gargoyles.”
The grand house had a variable roofline that suggested its layout extended deep into the property to the rear, and it was not hard to picture a Game of Thrones dragon coming around its spire. Off to one side, there was an attached garage that was bigger than most municipal facilities, and on the other, a freestanding miniature version of the larger whole that was clearly some kind of caretaker’s cottage. All around, diamond-paned windows glowed with yellow light—but suddenly, shutters started to come down in a coordinated descent, as if the mansion had taken an Ambien and the stuff was kicking in.
“Make sure you have your halo on,” Eddie muttered as he popped the handle on his tiny door. “I don’t think we’re going to have to knock.”
“My disco ball is like my American Express. I don’t leave home without it.”
As Eddie got out, he assessed the front entrance of the palace. A set of carved double doors was anchored by a set of stone steps that belonged on a cathedral.
With the shutters locking into place at the base of all the windows, Eddie murmured, “They know we’re here—”
Instantly, warriors in black leather appeared from out of thin air, guns up and targeted, their massive bodies blocking the entrance in a clear message that if you wanted inside, you were going to have to go through them.
Vampires, Eddie thought. That Stoker crack was no joke.
“Well, if this isn’t the best welcome wagon I’ve ever seen,” Ad said in a cheery voice. “I feel right at home!”
Eddie shot over a glare that was studiously ignored. Then he focused on who he guessed was in charge: One of the fighters was standing at the head of the steps, his military haircut and grim, dark blue eyes suggesting that he was very comfortable with killing things—yet the fact that neither he nor his troops had immediately pulled a trigger was a clear indicator that he had a brain.
Lifting his palms up, Eddie said, “We mean no harm. We’re just looking for—”
Behind the fighters, the cathedral doors blew open by some tremendous force, the carved panels slamming back against the stone jambs. What appeared was the stuff of nightmares: A tremendous male, his eyes hidden behind black wraparounds, his powerful body clad in black leather, his waist-length black hair, which fell from a widow’s peak, draping his powerful shoulders.
With the illumination streaming out from the interior, it was as if he were supernatural.
Except he was not. He was mortal. And his presence made the others uncomfortable—though no one broke ranks, their expressions tightened, and Eddie couldn’t understand why. The guy looked like he could will death if he wanted.
But enough with the size-up.
“We’re looking for Lassiter,” Eddie said in a loud, clear voice before things escalated. “We’ve come for the angel.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rahvyn could not believe she had found Lassiter.
She had not understood the golden arches that she had been shown by the Book, and this eatery, wherever it was, had not been her intended destination. Yet when she had re-formed? She had found herself before the very landmark that had been illustrated—so clearly, this was the ancient tome’s doing, this coming here.
“Would you like fries with that,” Lassiter said unto her.
Staring up into the male’s eyes, she briefly lost her voice. Such extraordinary eyes he had, all the colors at once ringing round his pupils, the hues swirling and iridescent—and his gaze was not the only thing that arrested her. Though her memory of him had been keen, it was nothing compared to his actual physical presence, his blond-and-black hair gleaming in the dull lighting, his shoulders so broad under his black pullover, his lower body filling out loose black pants she recalled being referred to as joggers.
