“Yeah.” Cynda managed a smile, too.
So much for loyalty
. Riana gazed at her triad sisters, and seeing Cynda and Merilee with happier looks on their faces made the dread and worry feel farther away.
Sorry, Creed. I was loyal to them before I ever knew you
.
18
Creed didn’t miss the delicious aroma of fresh bread, fruit, spices, and roasted meat when he and Andy walked through the front door of the brownstone. He also didn’t miss the sexy maroon skirt and blouse Riana was wearing, or her bare feet. He was grateful the
other
stayed quiet, because for some reason, seeing Riana dressed casually turned him on more than seeing her in one of her body-hugging suits or those mind-blowing leathers they wore to go out hunting. She looked softer, and so much more vulnerable. He almost couldn’t stand it, and couldn’t help thinking how it would be to come home to her after a day’s work and be able to take her in his arms.
Then there would be those nights the chimes rang and she took off dressed like Catwoman, armed and dangerous, ready to fight God-knows-what. And what about the night she didn’t come back? What about the night he became like that poor bastard Corey James, lying in his empty bed, wondering if his wife was okay, if he’d ever be able to touch her again?
Creed shook his head.
You’re a little bit ahead of yourself, buddy. You’ve known her, what, a couple of weeks?
Maybe a lot ahead of himself, or so said the look on Riana’s face when he and Andy walked through her front door. Her expression was a mix of relief, excitement, and something else. Fear, maybe. Or worse—dread.
Great. I barely stop thinking about her all day, and she’s spent her time dreading my return.
He had a duffel and a garment bag full of more clothes, and Andy had three more suitcases plus an attitude about having to board her cat at the vet’s for another week because Merilee was allergic. Andy brushed past everyone to take their gear downstairs, and Creed just let her go.
“Place looks amazing,” he said as he sat down in one of the chairs facing the huge oak table. He scanned the repaired living room and tried to ignore the food, clothes, and trash all over the floor. Merilee, who was sitting in another one of the chairs working on some arrow fletching, gave him a dazzling smile before she scrubbed the fletching against her jeans to straighten it, put down the arrow, and got up from her seat. He almost moved aside, expecting her to hurl something straight at his heart. She didn’t, though. She just said something about getting drinks for everyone, and headed for the kitchen.
Cynda, who was dressed in a pair of green warm-ups, was setting out dinner on the big oak table—basted salmon, herb-crusted potatoes, peas, cranberry sauce, and a big basket of rolls. She didn’t speak to him, but didn’t glare at him either.
Something was definitely wrong in the universe.
The scent of cinnamon wound around the tantalizing smells of olive oil, spices, cranberries, hot bread, and butter, and Creed’s stomach growled. He didn’t know which one of the Sibyls knew how to cook, or if they all did, and he wasn’t about to ask. He kept his mouth shut as the women chatted back and forth, and gratefully accepted the plate and silverware Cynda offered him, along with one of the bottles of water.
Riana came into view and fixed herself a plate, and Creed found himself watching every move she made. Did she try to be so graceful? Did she know what she did to him with every move?
Apparently not.
Riana settled into one of the remaining chairs and crossed her sexy legs, showing just enough calf to make Creed miserable even as he ate. Cynda took a spot on the floor on the far side of the table, and Andy took the near side when she got back—sans cat-titude, thank God.
The Sibyls went first, giving a report of their home repairs and letting Creed and Andy know the Mothers were reporting increased Asmodai activity all across the globe. “The bastards seem to be getting more organized, targeting whole groups of Sibyls directly. We don’t know why aside from the obvious fact we kick their demon-asses every time we get near them—but more important, we don’t know why
now
. Sibyls have been locking horns with the Legion for a hundred years, and they’ve never paid much attention to us before.”
“Maybe you’re a bigger threat now,” Andy said, waving a roll and dropping more crumbs to add to the mess on the floor.
“Nothing’s changed on our side,” Riana said, the low timbre of her voice bringing an instant response from Creed’s body. She seemed to sense his thoughts, his immediate arousal, and turned to face him. “Something’s changed on their side. Like I’ve told you, the Legion is patient. I think they’re just moving to the next phase of pursuing their long-term goals. We’re just in the way. All the Sibyls. Everywhere.”
Damnit. Those eyes. Not to mention that every time she spoke, every time she moved, he imagined her on her back, eyes misty with desire, lips parted, moaning from the pleasure he gave her. He couldn’t survive if his cock stayed on this level of alert whenever he was around her. He had to get her out of his system—but he could only think of one way, and he wasn’t sure sex three or four times a night for the next ten years would do the trick.
“Creed told me something about what the Legion wants,” Andy said from the floor, rescuing Creed temporarily from the need to say anything. “To-do list for the assholes. Let’s see. That would be endless wealth and power, world domination, and us pathetic lesser life-forms in perpetual servitude to our proper lords and masters.”
“That’s about it,” Cynda said. “So what’s their next phase?”
Creed cleared his throat. “Corey James doesn’t know. He seemed like a straight-up guy in his interview.”
“Of course he’s a straight-up guy.” Merilee looked at him like he was an idiot. “Alisa married him, didn’t she?” She stabbed her fork into a piece of potato. “Sibyls aren’t psychic, Creed, but we have pretty good instincts.” Her gaze flicked to Riana, and her eyes narrowed. “Most of us do, anyway.”
“For example,” Cynda cut in, “Merilee thinks Davin Latch is bent, but she couldn’t find any proof.”
Merilee swallowed a huge mouthful of cranberry sauce and salmon. “No way the guy has stayed in D.C. that long with no skeletons in his closet.”
“We might know of one.” Andy raised what was left of her roll.
Everyone fell silent as Andy explained what she and Creed had learned from Alisa’s husband. The silence continued when she finished, too, until Riana put her plate down on the oak table in front of her and folded her hands in her lap.
“Well, that makes no sense whatsoever.” Riana’s gaze traveled around the room. “What could the Legion have against the Latch bloodline?”
“Do you think the senator used to belong?” Merilee leaned forward and put her plate down on the table, too. “I mean, if he did, and he backed out on them, maybe they want to control him by threatening his family.”
Andy scooted across the floor to the table. “If they wanted to control him, they would have swiped the kid, not killed him.” She didn’t put her plate down because she was too busy piling it with second helpings.
“Not necessarily,” Cynda said as she took another serving of potatoes. “Asmodai aren’t perfect machines. They can be confused and distracted, or the maker could fail to give clear enough instructions.”
“Somebody told the demon how to carve that boy up,” Creed observed. “It’s hard to imagine one of those monsters being so precise.”
This brought another long silence, during which the Sibyls looked from one to another. It was Merilee who put their thoughts into words. “So, what if the Asmodai was just there to serve as a protector for the real killer?”
“Which brings us back to Alisa James,” Creed said, then added quickly, “according to the evidence, that is. Her, or one of her triad.” He glanced from Riana to Cynda and then to Merilee. “They
were
there, Bette and Camille. I’d be willing to bet the partials found at the Latch house would be a match for them.”
He fixed his gaze on Riana, who lowered her head.
That’s okay, honey,
he wanted to say, thinking about the
other
’s response to Raven Latch earlier in the day.
We both keep our secrets, don’t we?
Instead, he said, “You knew that, didn’t you? All three of you knew it.”
“What, you wanted us to hand you two more Sibyls for suspects?” Cynda lost interest in her plate and put it on the floor beside her. “Fat chance.”
“Bette’s beyond our justice now.” Andy didn’t lose interest in her plate, despite the topic of conversation. She did shift on the floor to make better eye contact with Cynda, though. “Odd that she was the only one who died in Van Cortlandt Park, though. Do you think the big pack of demons was just a cover to take out one of the only other witnesses to this crime? Think before you answer, all of you, because either Alisa’s a nut-job psycho who might move against Camille, or both Camille and Alisa are at risk.”
“Are you interrogating us?” Riana asked, and Creed imagined he could see ice forming in the air between her and Andy.
As usual, Andy wasn’t fazed. “No. I’m warning you and asking you to think—to look beyond your basic belief in the goodness of all Sibyls. Who are the potential victims here?”
“I say we bring Raven and Davin Latch over here to question them.” Cynda ground both fists against the table’s edge. “No offense to NYPD, but we don’t have some of the limits you guys have to observe.”
Creed glanced at her. “Yeah. No shit. Are all your prisoners naked when they confess?”
Cynda’s green warm-ups started to smoke, and Creed’s shoelaces caught on fire.
“I think we’ve had enough for tonight,” Riana said as Creed used his hands to smother the flames. “Let’s get some rest and try this again tomorr—”
The chimes by the front door started to ring.
At the same time, all three Sibyls grabbed their tattoos.
Andy fumbled with her plate, spilled some potatoes on the floor, and looked around the table at her friends. “What’s up? More Asmodai?”
“Sssshhhhh.” Cynda put her finger to her lips, staring at the chimes.
Riana and Merilee were already up. They abandoned the food and dishes, dashed over to a closet and started jerking out leather bodysuits, daggers, a sword, and the bow and arrows. Creed got to his feet, as did Andy, hand on her sidearm. She swore quietly about not having the right bullets yet and being useless. Creed felt the same way.
Cynda shook her head and groaned. “It’s not Asmodai. It’s Herbert again. Bela says he’s screwing up the power grid around Trinity Church, and she can’t figure out how he’s doing it or where he is. They need our help to trap him.”
“Who is Herbert?” Andy and Creed asked at the same time.
“He’s a dickhead,” Merilee snarled. “For this I’m going to get to bed late?”
“He’s a dickhead with latent talent.” Riana walked back in from the kitchen and, as if Creed and Andy weren’t standing there, started taking off her clothes. “We can’t ignore him.”
“What’s latent talent?” Andy stepped in front of Riana, now naked except for a pair of lacy bikini panties—maroon, too, Creed noted—and a thin red tank top. “What’s a Herbert?”
“A
houngan,
” Cynda said, stripping off her clothes and reaching for a bodysuit. “A priest who practices Vodoun rituals. Herbert wants to be a
houngan
really, really bad. Problem is, the shithead has just enough latent talent—untrained affinity with the elements—to cause problems now and then.”
“So this guy does voodoo?” Creed rubbed his hand through his hair and tried not to watch Riana zip herself into form-fitting black leather. “Is he from the islands?”
“Hardly.” Merilee’s laugh was harsh. She had on her black suit and gloves now, but she was holding the face mask like she didn’t want to pull it over her head. “The sawed-off bastard’s a redheaded white boy from TriBeCa, raised by a Haitian nanny who taught him too much for his own good.”
“He probably learned from watching her work rituals to stick pins in his ass,” Cynda added as she pulled on her face mask.
“He likes to kill chickens and make a bloody mess,” Riana explained as she finished suiting up. “Freaks people out, bilks money from tourists and superstitious people to remove curses. That kind of stuff. But sometimes he actually puts out a little dangerous energy.”
“When he’s smoked too much weed,” Merilee said, still hesitating about her face mask. “Then we have to shut him down for the night.”
“Put the mask on, Merilee,” Riana instructed, belting on her daggers. “This won’t take long.”
Creed looked at the heavily armed women, amazed by the transformation. He knew the bodysuits didn’t give them any special powers, but the change was palpable, almost like a crackle of electricity in the air above their heads.
It’s like the planet suddenly knows they’re here, and nature’s standing ready to give them a hand.
And his next thought was,
So this is what it feels like to be Corey James
.
It was alien to him, to stand by and watch other people go out to do the fighting. He had never been so frustrated, or felt so powerless. He wanted to step forward, be the big man, and tell the women he’d take care of it, only he had no idea what to do.
Shit. No wonder the OCU hasn’t ever found real psychic activity. The Sibyls always get there first.
Riana herded her triad toward the door, then paused and looked back over her shoulder.
Wonder Woman,
Creed thought.
Wonder Woman in tight leather instead of an American flag and a push-up bra.
“I know this isn’t pleasant for you,” Riana said, and Creed thought she was speaking mostly to him. He imagined her bright green eyes shining through the eye slits in her face mask. “But please, this time, stay out of it and let us do our job.”
Andy kicked at the floor, but she nodded. “No worries. I’m not making the same mistake twice.”