Maker's Song - In the Blood Part 38

Her partner, Glen One-Eighty, gunned his cobalt-blue Kawasaki Versys beside them, jerking ahead a few meters. The black, bird-shaped V tattooed on his right cheek named his clan-Raven. As he dropped back, Von extended both middle fingers-f.u.c.k you twice. He caught the gleam of teeth as the nomad grinned.

f.u.c.k you twice. Dante's phrase. And Dante and Heather were the reason Von was on the road flying toward Portland and Damascus at 75 mph on the back of a Raven's Indian instead of sitting beside Silver on a plane winging to New Orleans.

One moment, Von's chatting with the pair of Ravens at a Dutch Bros. coffee kiosk inside the terminal; the next moment, pain ragged as a chainsaw blade chews through his relaxed s.h.i.+elds and into his mind. Literally knocks him on his a.s.s.

Dante.

Von funnels energy into his s.h.i.+elds, tightens and strengthens them. The pain vanishes, but his head still aches, the throb a phantom, a memory ghost.

He jumps to his feet and runs, blurring past the weekend tourist crowds, to the bank of pay phones. Fumbling Heather's card from his jacket pocket, Von plugs a debit spike into the pay slot and punches in her number.

Von grows colder with each unanswered ring. He leaves a message on her voice mail, then decides to ask a favor.

The Ravens had been happy-Honored, nightwalker bro-to take Von to Heather's house. No Trans Am. Von had vaulted the fence and walked around to the back of the house and looked in through the dining room window. The boxes Heather had packed were still there. So was Dante's duffel bag.

And Von had known. Calm and cold and intuitive.

Not a second team trying to s.n.a.t.c.h Heather. Not a car accident. Not even the G.o.dd.a.m.ned Fallen.

Alex Lyons had refused to take no for an answer.

All you have to do is heal my sister.

Lyons knew how to trigger Dante. Knew how best to hurt him.

Remembering what Heather had said about Lyons's home in Damascus, Von had sent to Trey in New Orleans and asked him to search the Internet for the address. Ninety seconds later, Von had asked the Ravens for a ride south.

Hand on Marley's hip, raindrops stinging his face like p.i.s.sed-off honeybees, Von wished they could eat up the road faster.

Shoulda never left Dante's side. Shoulda never let him walk away.

ALEX STARED AT THE Lord of the Underworld, the blood chilling in his veins.

She stood between the occupied beds, a smile on her lips, her mud-streaked face luminous as though a fire burned just beneath her skin and behind her eyes. Her hair was twisted with mud into dark coils sweeping against her shoulders. A long, white, gore-streaked tunic belted at the waist graced her slender form.

In one grimy hand, she held a spear from their father's collection, and in the other what looked like an apple or pomegranate or-no, too big, Alex thought, too misshapen and moist. She held a heart.

"Welcome home, my Xander," Athena/Hades said.

Alex's G.o.ddess of wisdom was drifting away from him with each breath she drew, a kite with a broken string.

A string Dante could not only mend, but reel back in and tether. Alex would make sure of it.

"I brought Dante home," Alex said, joining his sister between the beds.

"I know." She tilted her head, then shuddered. "He's dreaming."

"Thank G.o.d you're back," his father said from the right-hand bed, his voice thin with relief. "She's betrayed us. She helped the a.s.sa.s.sin into the house. She murdered your mother-" Rage throttled his words into silence.

"Consider it a mercy," Alex said. "Mother's been dying for years." He looked around the room, cataloguing all of his sister's additions to the decor.

A garland of bluish-gray intestines looped across the top of the closed curtains and hung down each side of the window.

A man's head, a small bullet hole marring the forehead, was perched on the nightstand beside Mother's bed. And in Mother's bed, a dark-haired woman in black slept, her wrists and ankles wrapped in leather restraints.

"The Tightrope Walker?" Alex asked.

"Yes, once," Athena/Hades said. "Now she's a meal for our Dante."

Still holding his sister's hand, Alex turned to face his father. Robert Wells stared at him with red-rimmed and furious eyes, helpless and full of hate. A well-deserved karmic kick in the gonads, Alex mused.

"I triggered Dante," Alex said, holding his father's gaze. "He did as you instructed. Rodriguez is dead. And I don't think it was a pleasant death. Dante's an effective tool, but not a very subtle one."

Father drew in a deep breath, then nodded. "If you hope to have any success using him, you need me, Alexander."

"I noticed your little safeguard. He can't even hold your name in his mind."

A smug smile curved his father's lips. "Keep this word in mind: Safeguards." "Keep this word in mind: Hood." His father's smile faltered. "Here's another: Duct tape. If Dante can't see your face or hear your voice, I've got a feeling he'll have no problem killing you."

"Unmaking you," Athena/Hades added.

Their father paled. "You still need me. I have the map."

"No," Athena/Hades said. "Dante needs to remember. When he does, he'll take you apart." Swiveling, she walked from the room.

"I can coax S into healing Athena," Father said. Sweat gleamed on his forehead.

"Y'know, I always thought Mother was right about one thing," Alex said, walking to the doorway. Pausing at the threshold, he continued, "I think Alexander the Great did have his good ol' dad, King Philip, murdered. Goodnight, Father."

Alex flipped off the light and closed the door.

HEATHER PULLED IN BEHIND Alex's Dodge Ram. She slid the Trans Am's gears.h.i.+ft into neutral, switched off the headlights, then the engine. The night, deep and endless, swept in and swallowed up all the places the doused headlights had abandoned.

She climbed out of the Trans Am and pocketed the keys. Not wanting to give Lyons another excuse to search her, she left her trenchcoat in the backseat. The air was thick with the smell of pine and moist earth, of the woods surrounding the houses. A nearby stream gurgled over rocks.

Pale light spilled from the windows and across the dark curves of shrubs and bushes. She glanced from one house to another, wondering which one she was supposed to go to; Alex had neglected to mention two houses.

Just as Heather started across the yard toward the main house, the front door opened and a light-haloed form stepped outside onto the porch, a gun in one hand.

"Cutting it close," Lyons said.

"It's not an easy place to find," Heather said. She stopped at the foot of the steps leading to the porch. "Let me give the car keys to Annie. Let her go. Why do you need all three of us?"

Lyons raked a hand through his curls, his face thoughtful. "You might have a point. C'mon in, let's see if we can reach an agreement."

Heather placed a foot on the bottom step. "You've lied to me before. I need a show of good faith," she said. "You let Annie take the car and leave, I'm yours."

"I've got Dante, so you're mine anyway." Lyons turned around and sauntered back inside the house. "Annie's negotiable."

Body tight as a fist, Heather climbed the steps. She walked into the house. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Dante on the sofa, still unconscious.

"He's fine," Lyons said, a knowing smile on his lips.

Telepath. She was going to have to be very careful. "Where's Annie?" Her gaze skipped around the room-leather recliners, wide-screen TV, bookcases, coffee table-marking window locations, possible exits, hall, kitchen archway.

"My sister's fetching her." Lyons nodded at the recliner closest to the sofa. "Take a seat, Wallace. Get comfy. You're gonna be here a while. Oh, and hands out, wrists together."

After her wrists had been secured again with flex-cuffs, Heather perched on the edge of the recliner, the leather squeaking beneath her. Alex went to the sofa, bent, and waved a capsule of some kind under Dante's nose. Dante stirred, then his head jerked away from the capsule. Heather caught a whiff of something acrid.

"Rise and s.h.i.+ne," Lyons murmured. He slipped the capsule into his jeans pocket. Hooking a hand around Dante's bicep, he hauled him upright.

Dante shook his hair back from his face. Blinking, he looked around the room and Heather could just imagine what he was thinking: Where the h.e.l.l am I now? He looked at Lyons and something very dark and dangerous flashed across his pale face.

"Did I pay for Annie?" Dante asked, his Cajun accent thick, his words slightly slurred. "She safe?"

"No," Heather threw in before Lyons could answer him. "He lied to us. He's still holding Annie."

Dante's gaze s.h.i.+fted to Heather and the dangerous light faded from his face. "You okay, cherie?" His eyes were gla.s.sy and dilated, just a thin ring of deepest brown slashed with red circled each pupil.

"I'm good," she said. "I'm just trying to convince Lyons to give Annie the car keys so she can go."

Dante's gaze returned to Lyons. "Did I do what I was f.u.c.king supposed to do?"

Lyons nodded. "You did."

A muscle in Dante's jaw flexed. "Yeah? Then why you still holding Heather and Annie? You want me to heal your sister?

I'll do it."

Lyons chuckled. "Just like that?"

Dante nodded. "I can be as easy as you want me to be. Just let them go." His nostrils flared as though he'd caught a whiff of something bad, then he turned and looked toward the hall. "f.u.c.k," he whispered. The stench of death wafted into the air, greasy and thick, and carried on a murmured tide of words Heather couldn't make out. A tall, slender woman in a white Grecian-style gown streaked with dark smears and smudges walked into the room. She held a spear in one grimy hand, her other hand locked around a wide-eyed Annie's arm.

"My sister," Lyons said. A strange mix of love and despair swept across his face. "The Lord of the Underworld."

A chill rippled down Heather's spine. If this was Lyons's sister, then she was worse off than Heather had imagined, much worse.

"What do you see, my Hades?" Lyons asked, his voice hushed.

The murmured tide of whispers stopped. Athena Wells looked at Dante.

"I can't see beyond his beautiful face," she said, her voice low and full of wonder. "I've tried and tried and tried. Either he blocks the way or he is the way."

"The way?" Lyons questioned. He moved around the sofa and pulled Annie from his sister's grasp, walked her to Heather's recliner.

Heather saw the fear in Annie's eyes. "It'll be okay," she promised. "We'll get you out of here."

"I f.u.c.ked up," Annie whispered. She looked away, blinking, jaw tight.

"Give me the car keys," Lyons said, holding out his hand.

Rising to her feet, Heather worked her fingers into her jeans pocket, snagged her keys and pulled them from her pocket.

She flashed a look at Annie, one her sister caught, then fumbled the keys. They jingled to the carpet.

Annie scooped them up like a first baseman diving for a low ball.

"Whoops," Heather said.

Lyons looked at her, an almost smile on his lips. "Smooth, Wallace." Opening up his pocketknife, he cut through the flex- cuffs binding Annie's wrists. "Okay, all right, Annie can go. I'll even walk her out to the car."

The glint in Lyons's eyes hinted of nastiness to come: a bullet fired into Annie's skull underneath the evergreens, her body dumped into the trunk of Heather's car, or maybe out in the woods.

Cold lanced through Heather. "No, wait-"

With a quick shove of his hand to her chest, Lyons pushed Heather back into the recliner. She landed hard, her head bouncing against the back of the chair.

A blur of fluid motion rocketed across Heather's field of vision, a blur of leather and white skin launched from the sofa.

Lyons slammed to the floor, Dante on top of him. The gun Lyons had just pulled somersaulted from his hand, across the carpet, and disappeared under the TV stand.

Heather jumped to her feet. "Annie! Run!"

Annie whirled and bolted out the front door.

"Both of you!" Dante yelled, straddling Lyons. "f.u.c.king run!" Hands still cuffed behind him, he dipped his face toward Lyons's throat. A flash of fangs and then he slashed into either the arm Lyons had flung up or into his throat.

Outside on the porch, Annie stopped in front of the window and mouthed run. But Heather shook her head and motioned for Annie to keep going. She wouldn't, she couldn't, abandon Dante. They were in this fight together.

Annie's eyes widened in horror and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Skin p.r.i.c.kling, Heather spun around.

The Lord of the Underworld drove her spear into Dante's back, just beneath his left shoulder blade. Dante sucked in a sharp, pained breath. She yanked the spear free, the tip flinging dark droplets of blood through the air. She swiveled around to face Heather, a breath-stealing smile on her lips. Heather froze.

Outside the Trans Am revved to life. Gravel scattered under tires.

"Welcome to h.e.l.l," Athena Wells said.

37 BROKEN.