Born in Blood (The Sentinels) (21 page)

Only he was the one holding the chalice.

“Sokar was our leader,” the voices hissed.

Zak didn’t need to ask if Sokar was the body in the sarcophagus.

He knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

“A necromancer?” he instead demanded.

“Yes.” The image pulled back to reveal several robed figures standing behind him, their arms raised with the same wounds on their wrists.

“He, along with his trusted disciples, remained behind to ensure the rest could escape,” the voices explained. “His sacrifice saved hundreds of high-bloods, but has left us trapped between the world of the living and the world of the dead.”

The images abruptly ended, the room once again filled with shadows.

Zak contained his flare of frustration. He had a thousand questions. There was so much of the high-blood history that was hidden, or even lost in the mists of time.

But he wasn’t a fool. He’d been allowed to see precisely what the strange voices wanted him to see and no more.

He couldn’t fully trust anything he might be shown in this place.

“You still haven’t told me why I’m here.”

The answer came without hesitation. “The imprisonment of Sokar has stolen the connection to the dead that was once the birthright of the necromancers. We have long waited for one to be born who could return what was lost.”

“And you believe I am the one?”

“We shall soon discover.”

That wasn’t precisely the assurance that Zak was hoping to hear, but he bit back his demands for a more definitive promise of ultimate glory.

“You will give me the power to raise the dead?”

“Open the gates,” the voices whispered. “And the power will be yours.”

Without Fane’s intimidating presence to scatter the gawkers, Callie was prepared for the avid stares as Duncan led her through the police station.

Some curious. Some hostile. Most wary. As if convinced she was some dangerous demon who worshipped the devil beneath the full moon and raised zombies on the weekends.

Moving past the large room filled with desks, filing cabinets, the usual office equipment, as well as suspicious cops, Callie kept her chin held high.

She wasn’t going to apologize for who she was.

Muttering his opinion of cops who had bigger guns than brains, Duncan put a possessive hand on the lower curve of her back as he urged her toward the back of the room.

“Ignore the idiots,” he said, loud enough for his words to be overheard.

Watching as one of the younger cops deliberately wrapped his fingers around the grip of his service revolver, she smiled wryly and murmured, “Easier said than done.”

Duncan glared at the cop until the younger man flushed and turned away.

“I could shoot them if you want,” he offered.

“That seems a little extreme.”

His glare swept around the silent room. “Not to me.”

A door was suddenly thrown open and a small, dark-haired woman appeared.

“If you all have time to stand around scratching your balls then there’s a stack of cold case files in the basement I can start handing out,” she announced, her hands planted on her hips as she watched the cops scurry to look busy. “No? Good.” She turned her attention to Duncan and Callie. “This way.”

Callie hid a smile as they were led out of the room and down a short hallway. This had to be the infamous Chief Molinari. Somehow she’d thought the woman would be six feet tall with horns and a tail.

Not that her diminutive size made her any less intimidating.

In fact, she reminded Callie of the Mave. Stern, frighteningly competent, and ruthless when necessary.

Keeping his hand on her lower back, Duncan urged her closer to his side as they followed the chief down the hall.

“You said the man asked for me?” Duncan demanded.

“Yep,” the chief confirmed. “He wandered in off the street. He says his name is Hektor. No last name.”

Odd.

“And he claims to be the owner of the coin?”

Molinari’s heels clicked on the industrial tiled floor. “He said it belonged to his—”

Duncan and Callie exchanged a puzzled glance as her words trailed away.

“His what?” Duncan at last prompted.

“Brotherhood,” the chief muttered.

“Brotherhood?” Duncan frowned. “Is he a gangbanger?”

“You have to see to believe.”

The chief halted in front of a two-way mirror, nodding toward the interrogation room on the other side.

The room was deliberately barren, with white walls and a linoleum floor that were bathed in a harsh fluorescent light. In the center of the space was a long table with a half dozen wooden chairs.

But it was the lone man seated at the table who captured Callie’s attention.

“Christ, what now?” Duncan muttered.

Callie was wondering the same thing as she took in the stranger. He was a thin man in his late forties with short black hair smoothed from a narrow, ratlike face. His skin was tinted a honey brown, as if burnished from long days in the Middle Eastern deserts. An image only emphasized by the long white tunic he wore over a pair of loose pants.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied the small wooden box that he’d laid on the table in front of him. On the worn top was carved a strange symbol that resembled the bird that had been etched onto the vessel. The vessel that had held the coin stolen from Calso’s safe.

Callie felt a sudden surge of hope.

This man clearly had some knowledge of the coin. Was it possible he could help them find the necromancer responsible for stealing it?

Duncan sent her an expressive glance that revealed he’d noticed the symbol as well, then, with a nod toward the chief, he led Callie into the interrogation room.

“Hektor,” he murmured, heading toward the long table. “I’m Sergeant O’Conner and this—”

“High-blood,” the man hissed, surging to his feet as he stared at Callie with open contempt.

Callie came to an abrupt halt, astonished by the man’s reaction.

Not by his obvious hatred for high-bloods. That was all too common.

But his ability to instantly realize that she was more than human.

Most of the local cops had seen her at crime scenes. They would easily recognize her, even if they hadn’t already known she was coming to the station with Duncan.

But without Fane at her side, and her eyes hidden by her reflective glasses, it should be impossible for a stranger to know she was a high-blood.

Duncan, on the other hand, didn’t seem remotely interested in how the man had known. He was stiff with a fury that made the air prickle with a sudden heat.

“This is Ms. Brown,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “She’s a partner in this police investigation”

Hektor’s dark eyes flashed with a matching fury. “I won’t speak in front of my enemies.”

“Watch your mouth, you—”

“Duncan, it’s okay,” Callie hastily interrupted, scenting violence in the air.

“No, it’s not,” he growled. “The bastard can learn some manners or I can kick his ass.”

“Either she leaves, or I do,” Hektor muttered, unwilling to back down an inch.

A true fanatic, Callie acknowledged with a grimace.

“I’ll wait outside.”

Duncan jutted his chin to a stubborn angle. “That’s not necessary.”

She reached to lightly brush her hand down the rigid muscles of his forearm. She wouldn’t allow Duncan to risk his job because of her.

“There’s no use in wasting time,” she said, turning toward the stranger with a cold smile. “Besides, the stench of prejudice is making me queasy.”

There was a long silence as Duncan struggled to contain his urge to shove his fist into the man’s face. At last, his cop training allowed him to resist his thirst for blood, although his expression warned he was just waiting for an excuse to snap.

With a muttered curse, he walked with her back into the hall, his hands clenched at his side.

“There’s a private conference room next to the chief’s office,” he said, his voice rough. Callie understood. He’d already been infuriated by his fellow cops’ reactions to her. Now he had to allow a complete stranger to insult her. For a man who was devoted to protecting others, it had to be making him nuts. “Wait for me there.”

She discreetly brushed her fingers against his tight fist, her smile teasing. “I’ll be fine.”

His lips parted, but before he could remind her that her welcome wouldn’t be any warmer among his friends, she was turning to make her way down the hall.

The sooner Duncan could question the stranger, the sooner they could get out of here. And she really, really wanted out.

Stepping back into the main room, Callie kept her gaze trained on the open door on the back wall, her pace steady. She hoped to slip past unnoticed. Hey, cops might be trained to be observant, but shouldn’t they be busy doing police things?

Eating donuts, playing poker, harassing high-bloods ...

As if to punish her for her snarky thoughts, she’d just entered the empty conference room when someone stepped in behind her, firmly closing the door.

Spinning around, she came face to face with the gray-haired coroner she’d seen at more than one crime scene.

“I need to speak with you, necro.”

Her heart sank even as her chin tilted. She’d known this was coming. Duncan’s friends weren’t going to be any more pleased with their relationship, no matter how brief it might be, than Fane and her friends.

Still, she’d hoped it could be avoided until after they’d captured the mysterious Lord Zakhar.

As unlikely as it might seem, there was the possibility that they would need the humans.

Resisting the urge to tell him to go to hell, she instead calmly met his dark scowl. She would try not to be a total bitch, but then again, she wasn’t going to be a damned wimp.

“I have a name,” she pointed out in deliberately cool tones.

“Brown, right?”

“Callie.”

“Callie.” He shrugged, clearly not interested in becoming BFFs. “I’m Frank. I’m a friend of O’Conner.”

“I know who you are.”

“I think we need to have a little talk.”

She nodded, her expression bland. “So talk.”

The cop frowned, almost as if caught off guard by her calm reaction. Maybe he assumed all freaks were raised by wolves and incapable of common manners?

“Do you want to sit?”

“No.” She had no sympathy for his sudden unease. “Say what you have to say.”

He hesitated before he squared his shoulders. “Did you know O’Conner’s ex-wife just got remarried?”

Ah. So that was the direction this was going to take.

“He told me,” she said.

“He was gutted when his marriage ended,” Frank informed her, the sincerity in his tone revealing he truly believed what he was saying. “It was even worse when he found out she was going to become another man’s wife. Susan was his soul mate.”

Callie might have been devastated by the stark claim if she didn’t know the truth. Now she merely shrugged. “Why are you telling me this?”

His mouth thinned at her refusal to react as he expected. “A man does crazy things when he’s been hurt,” he pressed. “Things he later regrets.”

“By crazy, I assume you mean spending time with me?”

“I’m sorry, but if he was in his right mind, he would never be with a—”

“Freak?” she helpfully supplied.

Heat crawled beneath his skin, his gaze shifting to the rows of chairs that faced the podium at the far end of the room.

“I’m not a fanatic. I don’t hate high-bloods,” he said in gruff tones. “I just know that you sort of people aren’t meant to mix with humans.”

She made a sound of disgust. How many people over the centuries had been made to feel isolated by those precise words?

“Separate but equal?” she said in a cold voice.

He hunched his shoulder. “Something like that.”

Her lips twisted. Okay. Maybe not so equal.

Jerk.

“I appreciate your concern for your friend, but Duncan is a big boy,” she said, hiding her disgust behind a mask of indifference. This man was Duncan’s friend and colleague. If their relationship continued then she would have to at least pretend she didn’t find him a total tool. “Don’t you think he should be allowed to make his own decisions?”

Frank’s expression hardened. Like most cops, he was used to people falling in line when he gave an order.

“Around here we take care of each other; it’s the only way to survive,” he growled. “If you truly care for O’Conner, you’ll walk away and let him find a woman who fits into his life.”

“His life or yours?”

“Think about it,” he warned before turning to leave the conference room, slamming the door behind him.

Callie rolled her eyes, wryly wondering why she hadn’t returned to Valhalla where she so obviously belonged.

“Welcome to the real world, Callie Brown,” she muttered.

Duncan returned to the interrogation room in a mood that was on the wrong side of shitty.

Studying the smug little bastard, he wanted nothing more than to shove his foot up his ass. Or maybe he would shove a few of his too-white teeth down his throat . . .

Unable to do either, he folded his arms over his chest and met the dark gaze that was studying him with blatant suspicion.

“What the fuck are you staring at?” he snapped.

The dark eyes narrowed, his nose flaring as if he was sniffing the air. Or could he be sensing that Duncan wasn’t entirely human?

“Are you—”

“You have until the count of five to tell me what you know about the coin before I throw your ass in jail for obstruction of justice,” he abruptly interrupted.

As much as he wanted to beat the fool to a bloody pulp and leave him for the trash, he needed whatever information he might have about the coin. And he wasn’t going to get anything out of the man if he feared Duncan was a high-blood.

Hektor bristled, but thankfully accepted that Duncan was human.

“I came here for your assistance, not to be threatened,” he said stiffly.

“I don’t give a shit. Tell me about the coin”

The man licked his thin lips. “It has a long history.”

“Sumerian?”

Hektor hesitated, clearly not willing to give away more than he had to.

“It doesn’t matter. The coin was created by the Brotherhood in the earliest days of civilization.”

Necromancers. Mysterious coins. Secret brotherhoods. It sounded like a cheesy plot from
Indiana Jones.