As Lie The Dead (3 page)

I hated new and different.

The creature didn’t advance, but I never took my eyes off him. “Wyatt?” I asked.

“Never better,” he replied.

“Wyatt Truman?” the stranger said. I expected a bigger voice, something godlike to go with the strange angel wings. His was raspy, like someone who’d just inhaled a lot of smoke, and a little sharp. Not quite high-pitched, but definitely a few octaves above average.

The air behind me shifted. Could have been Wyatt standing; I wasn’t turning away to verify. “Yes,” Wyatt said.

I took stock of my meager weapons. I’d ditched
the gun back at Olsmill. Still had one knife in the ankle sheath, just a quick reach away—

“Are you Evangeline Stone?”

My foot jerked. With the backlight going on, I couldn’t tell if he was looking at me or not. “Depends on who’s asking and why,” I said. Using both hands for support, I carefully pulled my legs beneath me, planted my feet, and stood, taking care not to startle him. Until I knew what he wanted and how he knew our names, he was Handle with Care. Wyatt shifted to my left flank.

“You don’t look like Danika described you.”

Air caught in my throat, and my thoughts slammed to a halt. A gentle girl from a gentle race of shape-shifters, the young were-falcon had been killed during an ill-advised Triad raid on their colony. A raid intended to capture me—only I’d already turned tail and run. And in one of the worst brass decisions ever made, the apartment complex housing the were-colony had been burned to the ground, killing over three hundred Owlkins. Danika was another of many friends I’d lost in the last week of my life.

“Danika’s dead,” I said.

The stranger nodded. “And I grieve for her, as I’ve grieved for the rest of my people.”

“You’re an Owlkin?” Not possible. They shifted from human to bird form. I’d never seen or heard of an Owlkin—or any other were, for that matter—who could half morph.

“Disappointed?”

I glared, my cheeks heating. “No, surprised. For a second there, I thought I’d stepped into some cheesy B movie and angels were falling from the sky.”

He had the gall to laugh—a joyous sound I should have found irritating. Instead, it made me want to smile. “Then I’m sorry for my entrance,” he said. “Surprise is usually the best way to get honest reactions from people.”

“Well,” Wyatt said, “my honest reaction is anger. Did you really have to crush that car?”

The Owlkin looked down. “I guess I didn’t think that one through.” He leapt from the car, landing on the concrete as gracefully as a ballet dancer. Air whipped around us from his brown and gray wings, which he tucked in closer to his back. “My name is Phineas el Chimal.”

Close up, I saw a chiseled face to go along with his toned body. Sharp cheekbones and a narrow nose; round, heavily lashed eyes of the clearest royal blue I’d ever seen; smooth skin without a hint of stubble, even though his hair was coffee brown. He looked like a predatory bird; I thought of the osprey I’d seen last night, flying through a city it had no right to live near.

“Evy,” I said.

He smiled, showing off rows of small, perfect teeth. “Phin.”

“Could we possibly take this indoors?” Wyatt asked. “The sun’s up, and two blood-soaked people and a guy with wings standing next to a smashed car are bound to attract attention. And we’ve worked damned hard the last ten years to avoid just that.”

Phin bared his teeth—definitely not smiling this time. “You think burning Sunset Terrace to the ground wasn’t going to attract attention?”

“I wasn’t involved in that.” Wyatt’s voice had gone low, quiet. Dangerous.

“Your people were.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

They weren’t within arm’s reach, but I stepped between them anyway. “I thought we were going inside?” I said.

“You’re going to scare someone if you walk in the front door looking like you do,” Phin said.

Look who’s talking, wing-man
. “You got a better plan?”

“Which building?”

I pointed over my shoulder. “Fifth floor, east-side alley, I think. The balcony door got smashed in a few days ago, and I doubt it’s been fixed yet. You going to meet us there?”

Phin tilted his head like a curious bird. “I thought I’d give you both a ride up.”

“You can carry us both?” Wyatt asked.

“Certainly.” And at Wyatt’s baleful look, he added, “I can take you one at a time if you prefer.”

“I prefer.”

“Can we just go?” I asked. The longer we stood in the alley, the more sets of eyes I imagined on us. Watching and wondering, maybe snapping pictures with their cell phones. Gremlins excel at electronic interference, but if they don’t catch a download early, it can spread like wildfire.

Another of those instances of unwanted attention the Triads work so hard to prevent. Not that flying up to the balcony via Angel Express Airways was less noticeable.

“Ladies first?” Phin asked.

I looked at Wyatt. He quirked an eyebrow, his skepticism palpable. I didn’t suspect Phin would
whisk me off and drop me from a great height. If he’d wanted us dead, I was certain we’d never have seen him coming. So I winked at Wyatt and turned back to Phin. “How do we do this?”

“Could you remove that first?” Phin asked, pointing at my throat.

I touched the necklace, about to ask why, when I remembered it was silver. A single touch could give him a painful rash. I unhooked the clasp and tucked it into my pocket without a word.

Phin smiled. “Thank you. Now cross your arms over your breasts and tuck your hands beneath your arms tight for support.”

The positioning was a little awkward; however, I saw where he was going with it. He stepped around behind me and pressed close. A few extra inches put his chin by my ear. Perfectly smooth arms looped around my stomach and braced just below my own crossed arms. For all the muscle and sinew, he seemed oddly soft, as though half of his mass were air.

I’d known other shape-shifters, been friendly with the Owlkins for years, and yet everything about Phineas surprised me. This was the first time I’d been held so closely by one, felt such a difference in a body that moved and looked—sans wings—just like mine.

His massive wings beat the air, swirling it around us like the backwash of a rocket launch. We lifted up, as smoothly as if on a wire, straight into the sky. Every muscle in my body clenched. I wanted to reach down and grab his arms, secure myself to something solid now that I was dangling thirty feet off the ground. But I didn’t and was able to keep my eyes on the apartment
wall ahead of us, thankful for so many drawn blinds and closed curtains.

He exhaled hard near my ear. I felt his heart beat through my back, faster than a human’s. Power rippled through his body—strength unlike anything I’d seen in a were. No wonder we didn’t know about this half-shifted form.

Chalice’s patio loomed. One half of the sliding glass door was shattered, part of the frame busted out, remnants of a two-day-old battle. No one had boarded it up, which made sense if no one but the Triads had been inside in the last couple of days. They wouldn’t have cared enough to bother.

Phin landed just outside, on the narrow strip of concrete and metal that served as a balcony. It was empty of furniture or personal items—the view wasn’t much, so I can’t imagine she’d spent much time outdoors.

He let me go and stepped backward, breaking our contact. My skin felt cool and raw, like I’d stripped off a warm angora sweater on a chilly fall day, only to realize I wore nothing but a tank top.

“Thanks for the lift,” I said.

“My pleasure.”

No doubt
.

He grinned. “I’ll be right back,” he said, and leapt from the balcony in a rush of air.

His back-breeze ruffled my hair and pushed around the curtains just inside the broken door frame. I put the cross back on, then stepped closer, drumming up the courage to step inside. A slab of jagged glass was stuck to the bottom of the frame like a line of teeth, sharp and knee-high. Bloodstains on the carpet
had dried to black. The candlestick still lay on its side. Broken glass littered the interior.

Alex had handled himself well during that scuffle, with two other Hunters intent on my arrest. From start to finish, he’d held it together better than I expected.

My stomach knotted; I balled my hands to keep them from shaking. I was going back into that apartment. No, into our apartment. With Chalice firmly floating around in my psyche, I had no idea how I’d feel when I went inside.

I raised one leg and tucked it through the opening. Glass crunched beneath my sneaker. I drew my upper body through, mindful of the protruding glass waiting to shred my skin, pivoted, and then brought my other leg through. It left me facing the broken door, my back to her old life, but it didn’t block out the scents.

Scents I’d identified the last time—stale beer, cleaning products, a vanilla musk that might have been a candle—were not diminished by two days of airing out. The air was warm and humid, like a cellar. Just shy of ripe, and the unemptied trash can was surely to blame.

Another rush of wind preceded Wyatt and Phin’s arrival. Wyatt locked his gaze with mine, his eyes wide and cheeks a little pale. He must have seen something in mine, because his expression softened. Concern overtook his own discomfort.

“Evy? You okay?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said.
Liar
.

“Liar.”

Phin stepped sideways, just behind Wyatt’s right shoulder. Amazingly, his wings had vanished. Not just
tucked down low but completely gone. My day was getting more and more surreal. “Is she all right?” he asked.

“Just give her a minute,” Wyatt said.

“To do what?”

“I don’t need a minute,” I said, more confidence in my voice than in my heart. I turned, took three steps deeper into the apartment, and fell to my knees. Glass pricked through the fabric of my jeans. I gasped. My vision blurred as images and odors and sensations assaulted my senses, each one building on the last.

Sitting on the sofa and eating chips; watching television and laughing at stupid sitcoms; perched at the kitchen counter with soda and textbooks; heaving those texts across the room in frustration; sobbing on the floor, exhausted and confused; drawing a hot bath while prying a blade from a disposable razor. Greasy food and red wine and blood and flowery perfume and spicy aftershave, and dozens of other odors that were imprinted in Chalice’s memory. All of the things her body had experienced in that apartment, including her violent death, blending together into a potent memory cocktail.

I shuddered. Sharp pain stabbed behind my eyes. Everything seemed to dissolve as I flew apart. The carpet beneath me changed consistency. Nearby, someone shouted.

The sense of movement ceased. I opened my eyes and stared at a white-painted dresser drawer. Above it, a jewelry box and mirror. Chalice’s room. I’d accidentally teleported fifteen feet into her bedroom.
Shit
.

“Evy?”

Still on my knees, I twisted my upper body toward
the door. Wyatt and Phin watched me from the doorway, each man wearing an identical expression of concern. Phin’s was colored with shock, since I’d just winked out of existence for a split second.

“Wow,” Phin said. “That’s a neat trick.”

“It was kind of an accident,” I said. “I got overwhelmed.”

Wyatt moved forward and crouched in front of me. Warm hands cupped my cheeks, held my eyes level with his. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I think so. It was just a sudden rush of sensations.” I forced a playful smile. “Let’s hope I don’t do that every time I go someplace she frequented, or I may end up teleporting my ass into a solid wall.”

“Not funny.”

“Actually,” Phin said, “it is when you conjure up the correct mental image.”

Wyatt’s mouth fell open. His expression made me laugh out loud. I grabbed his wrists and squeezed. “I’m fine,” I said. “Swear.”

He recovered. Quirked an eyebrow at me. “You swear enough for both of us.”

“Smartass.”

“I thought I was a jackass.”

“Any sort of ass is fair game.”

“Whose apartment is this?” Phin asked loudly. An effective off-switch on the banter.

“Mine, I guess,” I said. Wyatt offered his hand; I let him pull me to my feet.

“You guess? Are we trespassing or not?”

“Not. Did you hear the rumor that I died and rose again, hence not looking like my old self?” He nodded. “Well, this apartment belongs to the woman
you’re staring at, and to her dead roommate, so by default, it’s mine.”

Phin looked around, his head turning in jerky moves—just like a bird. “How’d the roommate die?”

My heart skipped a beat. “I killed him.”

“Evy—” Wyatt started.

“What?” I snapped. “I pulled the trigger, didn’t I?”

“Alex was dead long before you shot him. He was helping you because he wanted to. You didn’t force him.”

I retreated to the other side of the bedroom. As alien as the white and pink décor had seemed the first time, I found an odd comfort in it now. Peace and a connection to childhood. Girlishness I’d never known during my own violent youth.

“Am I missing some important backstory here?” Phin asked.

“Yes,” Wyatt said, at the same time I said, “No.”

Phin rolled his eyes. “I’m glad we cleared that up.”

“Look, Phin,” I said, “you sought us out for a reason. What do you want?”

“It can wait.”

“For what, exactly?”

“A shower. No offense, but you both stink.”

We did. After smelling it for the last few hours, it was an odor I had largely ignored. Goblin blood smelled like seawater with a hint of rotting-meat sweetness, and now that we were indoors, the effect was worse.

“We’ve got time,” Phin said. “Clean up, and then we’ll talk.”

I eyed the closed bathroom door; my stomach roiled. “Easier said than done.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the bathroom is where my host killed herself.”

Much like two days ago, in front of the closet door where I’d been tortured and killed, I hesitated in front of another door. Apprehension tightened my stomach. Perspiration broke out across my forehead and between my breasts. I clenched both hands around the clean clothes I’d liberated from Chalice’s closet, afraid if I loosened them, they’d begin shaking.