Crave

Good thing, too. It was time to think about the future . . . of what lay beyond this ugly night and these gut- wrenching past three days.

Unfortunately, her mind was like a spectator at a car accident, loitering around the twisted wreckage and the bodies on the pavement, tangling up in memories of her and Isaac together. Eventually, however, she cut that unhealthy focus off, her rational side playing cop and forcing her thoughts to move along, just move along now.

The thing was, Isaac had come into her life for a good reason: Thanks to him, she had finally learned the lesson that Daniel’s death had failed to teach her. Bottom line? As much as you wanted someone to change and believed they could, they were in control of their life. Not you. And you could throw yourself against the wall of their choices until you were black-and-blue and dizzy as hell, but unless they decided to take a different road, the outcome wasn’t going to be what you wanted.

The realization wasn’t going to keep her from helping down at the jail or doing pro bono cases. But it was time to put some limits on how much she had to give . . . and how far she was willing to go. In all her peripatetic, Good Samaritan scramblings, she had been trying to resurrect Daniel—even though talking to his ghost should have been her first clue he wasn’t coming back. In discovering the truth about what had happened to him, however, and in trying to find some balance for herself, maybe she could finally put him to rest and move on.

Taking another sip from her mug, she felt a measure of peace in spite of the bizarre circumstances—

Which was when another gunshot went off in the front of the house.

Out in the hall, Jim had just been approaching the body with his crystal knife when he’d felt Eddie and Adrian’s presence in the kitchen. God, they’d timed their entrance perfectly. He’d been prepared to act on his own, but backup was never a bad idea.

“I’m in here,” he called out.

The pair came right along and neither seemed surprised at what was on the floor.

“Oh, man, Devina’s all over that one,” Ad muttered as he walked over to the remains.

“What the hell are you doing with that dagger?” Isaac demanded.

Well, matter of fact, he was going to do a quick exorcism. It was the only way to make sure that Devina was out of—

The first clue to the corpse’s reanimation was a twitching in the hands. And then in a rush, that godforsaken piece of meat picked itself off the ground and managed to focus the one eyeball that appeared to be working.

And didn’t that just remind him of Matthias.

Isaac let out a shout and fired his weapon, but that was like shooting a rubber band at a charging bull: The bull didn’t notice and you just lost what had held your newspaper together in a tidy roll.

Jim shoved the soldier out of the way and attacked in a lunge, his body tackling the zombie into the wall. The moment impact was made, the image of Devina’s face overlaid the decimated features of the man whose body she’d taken control of, the morphing reconfigurement smiling in satisfaction at him.

Like she’d won already.

Jim went for the stab in a quick, powerful jab, the crystal knife penetrating between the set of eyes that were corporeal as well as the pair that were metaphysical.

A screeching sound exploded from the zombie and a shaft of black smoke shot up in a vile stench, the dark fog coalescing, and then making a beeline for the front door. At the last second, it flashed under the wooden panels, sure as if it had been sucked out from the other side—and in its absence, the body of Matthias’s second in command crashed to the floor like the bag of bones it was, the source of its animation no longer held within the bounds of its flesh.

“Now it’s fucking dead,” Jim said as he breathed heavily.

In the shocked silence that followed, he looked over his shoulder at Isaac. The guy’s eyes could have given truck tires a run for the money in the diameter department, and water was dripping off of him, Adrian and Eddie having emptied the barrels of their crystal guns over his head to protect him.

Good move. Except . . . the evil hadn’t even tried to go for the soldier. It had taken off in the opposite direction.

Jim’s mental circuits went Las Vegas on him, his instincts screaming that this was wrong. All wrong. Second chance at getting to Isaac . . . and Devina had passed. Again.

Why had—

Like a curtain being wrenched back from a window, the landscape of the game suddenly became clear to him and what he saw rocked him to the core. Holy fucking shit . . .

Abruptly unsteady, he threw his hand out and caught himself on the wall.

“You are not the one,” he said bleakly to Rothe. “Oh, God save us all, you’re not the one.”

As Grier Childe burst into the archway in from the kitchen, Isaac spoke up. “We’re okay. Everyone’s okay.”

Which was only accurate to a point. Sure, Devina had apparently pulled an Elvis and left the building. And yeah, no one in the group glowed with an unholy shadow and Jim’s neck was no longer doing the OMGs. But they were far from hunky-dory.

The urgent question now became . . . who was that demon after? Which soul were they fighting over?

The cell phone, Jim thought.

As all kinds of people started talking and the air filled with voices, he put the noise out of his head and sunk down on his haunches. From beside the now twice-dead body, he picked the phone up off the floor and went into the sent box for texts.

He recognized the last number that had been hit immediately.

Matthias had gotten the picture.

The cold clarity that came upon Jim brought with it a kind of terror: He’d been trying to save the target . . . when all along, he should have been focused on the shooter.

CHAPTER 42

Reflex, not reflection.

That was where Isaac was as he stood in Grier’s hall with some kind of solution dripping off his nose and chin.

His brain could have spent a decade or two trying to figure out what the fuck he’d just seen, but that would have required time he didn’t have. As much as he didn’t understand—and that black hole was on a football-stadium scale—he was going to have to rely on what his eyes had shown him and leave it at that: He had witnessed a dead man get up; he had shot the bastard; and the only thing that had refloored the corpse had been some kind of glass or crystal knife. Then something had left the body and escaped out under the front door.

It was kind of like sKillerz, when you went into the paranormal-world part of the game. With a flick of the switch, the normal rules went into the shitter and you stepped into an alternate universe where people could disappear right in front of you and vampires lived in the shadows and pale men came after you instead of humans.

Of course, that was role play that you could turn off—and there was no pause button on this sitch. Which was why he wasn’t going to waste a lot of energy figuring it all out. Yeah, sure, maybe after this was over he’d ask Jim what the hell had just happened . . . but that was only if there was an “afterward.”

With the way things were going, some portion of the people standing in this hall might well be headed for an “afterlife.”

“Where did it go?” he asked Jim. “Not that black thing—the picture.”

As Jim looked up from the cell phone, the second in command’s words came back: Matthias is not in charge. So that meant some other mastermind was engineering a certain result by hitting the levers and pulleys of various puppets and scenes.

“Who?” he repeated.