Furious Fire: Grimm's Circle, Book 8 (8 page)

I fought the urge to laugh in hysteria. He was so very
not
human with his lack of expression, his speed and strength—if I let my imagination get away with me, I could maybe even let myself believe he
was
some sort of robot. I almost wished he was just another demon, because then I’d know how to handle him.

Or at least how this would end.

If I couldn’t get away, then I’d just die.

Probably after a lot of pain and blood… I suppressed a shudder. My greatest fears lie in those thoughts I never let myself think. But it could only last so long. I was stronger than a lot of humans and I was faster. But I was still only human. I had to eat. I had to sleep. I could be injured. I bled. And I would die.

There was the faintest noise, like the sound of clothes gliding over that big body, but that was the only warning I had and I whipped my head, staring at him as he placed himself in front of me.

“The first life. Tell me.”

“I
can’t
,” I said, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. “Nothing was clear those first few lives. It wasn’t until the last couple that anything really…stuck.”

He lifted a brow.

Flushing, I jerked my head away and stared at the wall. It wasn’t a pleasant thing to stare at with that eye-searing red, but better the wall and those hideous prints than at him. “There are just echoes from that first life, like I’m waking from a dream and all I have are the fragments.” There was always Tommy, though. Always him. I didn’t say his name, though. “So I don’t really count it. I remember…shadows of the next one. That is when I started keeping track.”

“If you can’t remember it, how do you know you even lived it?” he asked. It was a very logical question.

Turning my head, I met his stare. “Because I
feel
it.”

There was something in that life that mattered. Something I’d needed.

Somebody
. My heart tightened and Tommy’s face flashed before me. I knew him. I still didn’t know how, didn’t understand why. But I knew him. I
needed
him—or I had. Once.

I wanted to sob, as simple as that. Sob for the life I’d lost.

He
was part of that life, this man with whiskey eyes and hair shot through with red.

That was why the only time I felt complete in any life was when I saw him. It didn’t matter that each time had been right as I stood facing down death. The memories came then, memories of blood spilling into my throat, of a fiery pain ripping through my chest, too many deaths, too much pain—they swarmed up and tried to take me under. Slammed into my mind.

There was another memory, one that my mind tried to block from me even now, but it became clearer all the time.

The shadows of one of the earlier lives.

Breaking glass. Broken screams. Blood thick and liquid in the back of my throat…and Tommy’s unforgettable eyes glowing down at me.

A hand touched my head, grabbing me. Instinctively, I jerked away.

But his other hand came up and I was trapped there, pinned by the man with weird silver eyes. “Chase it,” he said, his voice implacable.

I tried once more to jerk away, but there was no escaping him and then, even as I opened my mouth to rage at him, I felt him
inside
…inside my head, inside my thoughts. Pushing at the wall that I so often hid behind, knocking it down…and dragging me along with him.

Then I was there.

Chapter Seven

England 1885

All around her there were screams.

Tilly stood in the corner, in front of three other girls. Alice had a knife.

Tilly had a gun.

She wasn’t sure if it would be enough.

One of them…

Think of it and you’ll go mad,
she told herself.

“We have—”

She clamped her hand over Ellie’s mouth but it was too late.

The footsteps she’d heard out in the hall changed position. They’d been near the narrow staircase. Tilly didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. All the other girls were panting, a couple of them close to sobbing.

She lifted the pistol, leveled it at the door.

She knew how to handle the weapon in her hands. Once, a man who’d liked to hit her while he had used her had staggered out of her bed drunk, and sick. He’d ended up that way after she’d slid something into the brandy she’d been told to fetch for him.

He’d left his pistol there, along with a ring. She’d hidden them, lied, and when the madam hadn’t believed her, she’d taken a slap that had knocked her to the ground.

It had been worth it. She’d sold the ring a month later and kept the pistol, practicing with it every chance she had.

That had been seven months ago and her hands were steady as she held her breath and waited.

“We have t’ leave,” Mary whispered, her brogue thickening until Tilly barely understood her. “Out the window, now.”

Tilly ignored her.

The door creaked as it swung inward.

All the noise faded away. The groans coming from downstairs, broken, ragged pleas, and the occasional scream. The scent of blood hung in the air…blood and death.

Monsters walked through the whorehouse that night, but the monsters wore the faces of men.

Right now, the man smiling in at her had a devilish hunger in his eyes and he licked his lips as he raked her over with a look. He came inside, closed the door behind him.

“Well, well,” he said, his accent the flat one of an American.

He glanced past Tilly and winked at the women clustered there. Mary stiffened. Ellie whimpered. “Hush now,” Tilly said, wishing she could offer some comfort, some reassurance.

“You ought to put that down, love, before you get hurt.” He smiled, offering what might have been a charming smile if his eyes hadn’t been full of deadly, seductive promises.

“If I put it down, then I wouldn’t be able to kill you, then would I?” Tilly said, taking aim.

A bark of laughter escaped. She’d amused him. Lovely.

He moved toward her.

She squeezed.

She didn’t know who was more surprised by the fact that her bullet took him square between the eyes—the girls at her back, or the man himself. He hit the floor.

She heaved out a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived. Ellie started trembling, a whimper falling from her lips. Trepidation tripped up Tilly’s spine as she turned to the girl.

“No,” the girl whispered, her head whipping from one side to the other as she fell back. “I won’t…I won’t!”

Mary dropped her knife and caught the girl. “Ellie!”

Ellie screamed, and then, she went limp, sagging to the floor. Her knees hit the wood and instinct pulled Tilly back. Shudders wracked the girl.

“Ellie, what’s wrong…tell me!” Mary caught the girl’s shoulders, shook her.

“Mary, get away from her,” Tilly said.

Mary didn’t even seem to hear.

The other two girls looked over at Tilly, but before she could even understand how to say what needed to be said, there was a flash, light glinting off metal.

And then, the arcing spray of blood.

For one macabre moment, Mary remained there, one pale hand rising to staunch the flow of blood as she stared at Ellie. Then, slowly, she toppled.

“Get away,” Tilly said to the other two. The twins. Brown hair with bright green eyes and giggly voices, they’d always annoyed Tilly with their inability to make a decision without the other.

But in that moment, she feared for them.

They were so close.

“Get away from her,” she said again.

As one, they swung their heads to look at Ellie—or the thing that now controlled her.

That was the last thing they did. More blood. Tilly raced forward, but she was too slow.

Her foot slipped in the blood and she went down, sliding in the obscene red. One twin went down, then the other.

And Ellie turned on her.

“I’m displeased with this turn of events,” Ellie said, her voice…odd. Flat. Strangely deeper.

She started forward and Tilly lifted her pistol.

Ellie went still, her gaze wary. “I don’t like taking the body of a woman. Now I’m trapped here until this thing dies. It’s a cursed bother. I—”

Ellie stopped, cocked her head.

Then, without saying another word, she lunged for the door.

I broke free.

Free from the memory, free from the odd, scary-ass man in front of me, and threw myself against the window. If only I was a little stronger, maybe I could make the damn thing
break
. Death was going to find me soon anyway, why not choose my own way for once?

“Don’t…” I gritted out, panting as I stared at him. “Ever…do that…again.”

I was drenched with sweat. My hands shook. I could still feel the blood on me. I could feel men, drunk and panting on top of me. I could remember…my stomach rebelled.

Fourteen. I’d been fourteen and my mother had sold me to the madam because she’d run out of money. A day later, I’d been raped by a man so large and filthy, the smell of him had nearly made me vomit.

I could have happily lived without those memories. And now I was trapped with them.

“Kalypso,” he said, his voice strangely gentle. He lifted a hand.

I don’t know how he knew my name. If he could climb inside my mind like that, force my thoughts and memories to follow whatever path he chose, he could probably find out
anything
he wanted to know. My name was easy. Slapping away the hand he lifted toward me, I drew my knees up. A sob caught inside my chest. Burying my face to my knees, I fought to keep that cry inside me.

I felt ruined. Stained. A hundred dirty hands grabbing at me…even though it had been more than a century ago and all responsible for it were rotting in their graves now.

I didn’t want these memories. Not at all.

Guilt and indecision rode him hard.

On the other side of the suite, Will stared out a window facing the river but his eyes saw nothing.

Or perhaps that wasn’t true.

He saw what she’d seen…and all the things she wouldn’t allow herself to look at, at least not yet.

She’d tucked herself away in a shadowed corner with that pistol of hers and she’d killed two more demons before they’d taken her.

Finn and Ira had arrived before they finished with her. She’d heard sounds of fighting even as she struggled to free herself. She hadn’t understood what it was she heard, but he’d recognized the voices in her memories, the familiar sound of demon death and battle.

He’d also seen the faces of his Grimm.

Now he had the memory of her emotions inside him as well.

You…
She’d looked at Finn and it was like she’d waited her whole life for that moment.

She’d been bleeding, dying from a knife that had been shoved through her gut, twisted with excruciating thoroughness, and she’d lain in her own blood and the blood of her friends for what felt like a lifetime before Finn and Ira made it to her side.

Anger rode Will once more as he heard Ira’s voice through her ears.

She’s dying anyway, mate. Doesn’t matter if she dies alone or not. We’ve got demons to run down. Let’s go.

And Finn…she’d looked at him and all the pain faded.

You
.

“You know him every time, don’t you?” he murmured.

Head bowed, he stared at the floor. Until he’d looked into her dark brown eyes, his path had seemed so clear. No, he hadn’t
felt
the answer—there were times when he simply knew what he was to do and he both loathed and accepted those moments. When he
knew
, then he didn’t have to feel like this, torn with doubt. But when he
knew
, he had no control over the outcome and even when lives were lost, he didn’t have to wonder if he could have done anything different. He only had to carry the guilt of those deaths on top of so many others.

He’d thought he’d
known
.

It had seemed so terribly clear. But then he’d met her and he realized that he’d been following the wrong cues. What he needed to do was
find
her. But now what?

There was no clear answer here, no clear direction.

The only thing that was clear was this…if he ended her life as he’d planned, it wasn’t going to stop this cycle. And when she returned, it was all too likely Finn would learn what had happened. Perhaps not this time, or the next, but it would happen.

That could well be the thing to push Finn over the edge for good.

He shoved away from the wall and turned to look at her, but the need to find an immediate answer was cut short as the medallion he wore heated and a familiar tug in his gut grew—then it wasn’t a tug.

It was an outright wrench on everything inside him.

Wary, he lowered the shields he kept around himself and swore as Finn’s presence slammed into him, even from halfway around the world. Although Finn lacked the telepathic abilities most of his Grimm possessed, Will didn’t need it to connect with him. It was more a burden to him than anything that his abilities had yet to reach a limit—a burden, because no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop the violence, couldn’t stop death…couldn’t prevent others from making mistakes like he’d made, and nothing, absolutely nothing, he did would undo all the wrongs in his past.

The heaviest burden of all.

Pushing it aside he reached out, focused on Finn’s mind, merged.

Scotland

Ruminating over the computer he’d grown rather fond of, Finn nursed a pint of ale and read through yet another report.

Following your gut was fine and dandy, but his gut told him there was a lot more going on than what he was seeing on the surface. He needed to dig deeper.

So, deeper, he was digging.

He’d caught a bit of the news earlier—a team was searching the island he’d just left. The inn was a popular vacation spot and the innkeeper well known by locals. Missing now, and although the reporter hadn’t confirmed it, Finn had caught the unspoken words.

It didn’t look good.

Another missing person.

Add that to the evidence of others he’d found.

The families Will had sent him to search for…

Brooding, he continued his search.

He’d thought he’d find bodies. Vankyr, the most animalistic of the demons who could walk on this plain, had been known to feed on flesh. The newer ones couldn’t take in more than a few bites, but over time, they grew to crave it. Entire settlements had been lost to their ravening. It had been ages—decades or more—since that had happened.

In recent years, they’d stuck to grabbing individuals or small groups, plucking them up in twos or threes, moving around like gypsies to avoid catching notice.

People tended to notice if too many people disappeared from one locale, after all.

One would think it would catch notice.

One would think…

Finn tapped his pen against his notepad, eyeing the list in front of him. He’d gone through the official missing persons databases, combed through them until his eyes bled.

Now, he was checking other avenues.

One in particular.

And what he found was disturbing.

People were searching for loved ones—without the aid of official help. Well, it seemed they’d tried.

A Facebook post.

Trying to find my sister. Was going on a weekend trip to Wales with BF, never came back. Authorities haven’t been able to help. She’s 28. They’re engaged to be married. Both of them are missing. Help us find them…

Evidence of another person who’d gone missing in Ireland—a twenty-two-year-old who’d wanted to backpack through the United Kingdom and Europe.

Have you seen my son? He left in April. We heard from him two weeks later, but nothing since. See site for info. REWARD! Please RT

On a website that looked like it was devoted to news of the weird and mysterious variety, there was a post about a large group that had gone missing—it listed names, dates of birth, pictures…and when Finn tried to run those names through a search engine just out of curiosity, he found Facebook pages for a couple of them. None had been updated in more than a year—the updates had all been prior to the previous April.

Finn hadn’t spent the past two decades hiding from encroaching technology. He’d actually almost welcomed it—a distraction, a way to keep his mind busy.

It took him very little time to unearth phone numbers, places of employment. He checked his watch—calculated the time difference. Close to five in California but worth a shot. One of the missing men had worked for a software company.

He dialed the number and waited until somebody picked up.

“Hello, I’m trying to reach Eric Burris.”

There was a faint pause—a clicking that he recognized as fingers striking on a keyboard. Then the woman on the other end replied, “I’m sorry, but Mr. Burris is no longer employed here. Would you like to speak somebody else?”

Finn ran his tongue across his teeth. “No. Thanks.”

He dialed another number.

When he was done, he’d contacted seven businesses…and he’d reached nobody.

He wasn’t lucky enough to actually get any information, but then again, he hadn’t really tried.

If they needed it, then Will could go after it and pluck it from a memory or whatever.

Finn had enough here to tell him something.

That group, eighteen in all, had disappeared while hiking in the Canadian Rockies. It was entirely possible they’d gotten lost. That did happen, he knew. But if they’d just gotten lost, why hadn’t somebody run up the flag over it? Called in for help?