Revelations: Book One of the Lalassu (14 page)

His talent for invisibility was a large part of why Dalhard hired him. It wasn’t a true psychic gift, of course, but rather the innate ability to adjust his demeanor and behavior to remain unnoticed and unremarkable in almost any circumstance. His boss had needed someone inconspicuous who would observe what he could not, go to the places where he did not dare to be seen, someone who could manage the vast reaches of the corporation—both legal and illegal branches—while giving Dalhard plausible deniability. He had never been subjected to Dalhard’s persuasive influence. His boss knew it would have triggered a fierce reprisal, and it allowed him to be the one person who could tell the boss when something was a bad idea.

He was beginning to believe he would have to exercise his privilege soon. Dalhard showed signs of obsession with the Harris brothers and their mysterious sister. He was ignoring the progress of the other prospects, not to mention the rest of the business. Karan would ensure Dalhard Industries remained profitable and secure, even if its CEO strayed. Dalhard was useful as a front man. He had patience with the public side of the business, patience Karan would never match. But Karan had spent too long building the company to allow his boss to waste it all on a frivolous obsession.

The club was an example. It had seen better days, likely as a movie theater or vaudeville stage in the thirties, and gone steadily downstream since. The crowd clearly had money, despite the poor location. He made a mental note to examine the business opportunities in these types of performances. Plenty of people and companies could not afford the New York tourist market in the city, but here was a golden opportunity just waiting for someone to shine it up.

The lights dimmed and a new set of performers took the stage. Karan discreetly removed his phone from his pocket, waiting for the right moment.

The women teased the crowd with their feather fans and extravagant accessories, but Karan was not interested in bared flesh or cheap thrills. He studied the woman called Onyx, snapping pictures subtly. He compared the image on screen with the yearbook shot until he was certain. He left the club, rejoining the shadows. Once outside, he sent the text.

She is here
.

Chapter Twenty-One

“You want us to kill a man.” Eric repeated the words flatly.

Dalhard paused to check his phone. “He’ll be in shortly.”

“Dude, this is the worst joke I’ve ever heard.” Vincent shook his head and turned away.

“I’m quite serious. Think of it as a demonstration. A test of your speed, strength, and ferocity. Properly documented, it should create a great deal of demand.” The smoothness of Dalhard’s patter slipped. The brothers no longer held his full attention.

Eric studied him, desperate for any information that could help them survive and escape. “What’s in it for us?” he demanded.

“Money.” Dalhard seemed genuinely surprised by the question, his eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. “Lots of money. I make money, you make money. Mutual benefits. I’m not a villain from a comic book or some overdramatic film. This is all part of a business plan.”

The door to the hall opened and a scrawny, filthy man covered in tattered clothes was shoved in. The only thing intact was an old T-shirt with a Superman logo on it. He muttered to himself constantly, wide eyes flickering across the room so quickly it seemed impossible that he could really see anything. The stench of stale urine and booze settled deep in Eric’s throat.

Both the brothers frowned and moved away. Vincent covered his nose and made gagging noises.

“This is Mr. Rogers. Kill him,” Dalhard instructed quietly.

“No,” Eric’s answer bounced back reflexively.

“What if I threaten to put a bullet in your brother’s head if you refuse?” Dalhard asked, adjusting his cuffs.

“Then you need to rethink your fucking not-a-villain speech,” Vincent snapped.

Eric shifted his weight slightly. Whatever the glass was made of, he doubted it would hold against a feral’s strength and speed. His mind flickered over the guards’ positions in the hall, the brief glimpses of the layout. Could he trust Vincent to follow, after what Dalhard had done to them?

“No! NononoNONONO! Get them off! Get them off!” Rogers began to scream, flailing wildly. Eric and Vincent both moved to the edges of the room, staying well out of his way.

Dalhard nodded to himself. “It’s a noble instinct, protecting others. But things are rarely simple, are they?”

“He’s crazy. He can’t be a threat to you.” Eric stepped back, flexing his shoulders.

“Would it make a difference if I told you he was killing pets? Cutting them up for food?” Dalhard offered details as if they were of no consequence, but Eric noted the interested gleam in the man’s stone eyes. Eric had to stay focused on their real enemy, not the distraction. Dalhard continued. “Would that make it morally acceptable? What if it were children? What then?”

“I’m not killing someone on your say-so!” Eric yelled.

“Demons!” The crazy man screamed, yanking out a knife and charging at the brothers.
Not just a distraction
.

“What the fuck!” Vincent scrambled out of the way, falling.

Faced with an actual attack, Eric’s face hardened, and his movements became fluid and deadly. He had no choice if they were to have any hope. He shifted to avoid a wild knife strike. Stepping behind his attacker, he wrapped thick arms around the man’s neck. Leaning in, his mouth moved for a moment before he yanked his hands in opposite directions, using his strength for a painless break.

An audible snap echoed through the room. The man collapsed onto the floor, his neck twisted in a position never intended by nature.

“Worst fucking job interview ever,” Vincent breathed from the floor.

Eric slowly straightened and faced Dalhard, his face aching from tension, locked in a dark mask. “You got what you wanted.”

“Indeed I did.” Dalhard’s slow smile of satisfaction chilled Eric. The other man re-entered the room, completely ignoring the body sprawled on the floor. “I’ll arrange to have you both taken somewhere more comfortable.”

“I take it we have the job.” Eric met the man’s eyes, but it took every instinct to hold himself steady as Dalhard approached him. His mental resistance to the man’s powers might be the only advantage they had right now. He couldn’t betray it. Dalhard’s perfectly manicured hand fell heavily on Eric’s shoulder and once more Eric felt the dizzying impinging of a foreign consciousness. It stroked at his memories, diminishing the horrid crack of snapping bone and suddenly limp flesh. It tugged at the pain of being locked in a box in the darkness and left alone to wonder about his family.

He let the intruder succeed in relaxing him even as he clung to the memories deep inside.
Hold tight. I won’t forget what he’s done to me.

“Vincent, are you all right?” Dalhard solicitously helped Vincent to his feet. Vincent’s head snapped up.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He spoke the words slowly and carefully, as if they might shatter to reveal the lie.

“I’ll have more food sent to your suite.”

“More food is never a bad idea.” His brother’s speech rhythms returned. He moved and sounded like the old, carefree Vincent, except Vincent would never have been carefree with a corpse still cooling in the room.

“Follow me, gentlemen. I think you’ll like what we have to offer.”

Michael’s fingers ached from tension as he watched the show from backstage. Superficially it might appear to be the same performance he’d seen last night, but he could see the rigidity and tension in Dani’s movements. Something lurked inside her, something dangerous. A smart man probably would walk away, but he refused. She needed his help as much as Bernie did.

He’d be lying to himself if he claimed his motives were all altruistic. The kiss had been amazing. He could still taste a lingering hint of oranges and jasmine on his lips, and he’d resorted to the schoolboy trick of holding a clipboard in front of himself to disguise the aching hardness swelling behind his fly. Part of him wanted to drag her offstage and back to any area with a reasonably comfortable flat surface. The other part of him wanted to forget about the flat surface.

The emotional atmosphere of the crowd tugged his awareness away from his fantasy-fueled discomfort. He scanned faces, surprised to see so many lips curling in contempt and disgust, eyebrows knotting hard over noses. People were talking louder and in shorter sentences than a few minutes ago. Their gestures were sharper and more agitated. The crowd was quickly turning ugly.

What could have set it off? Two nights ago, everyone seemed relaxed and ready to laugh. Now the laughter had a brittle, sarcastic edge. Bells of familiarity started to ring through his consciousness.

The club Joe had taken him to, he realized. That had been like this: anger and desire pumped way out of proportion for an evening out. But it hadn’t lasted long.

His mind rapidly put pieces together into a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to see. Dani had been at the club. She’d left right as he and Joe were arriving. Something dark and alien rested inside her, something hungry and violent. It had to be influencing people. It sounded like something out of
The Twilight Zone,
but then so did everything else that had happened this week.

The performance finished and the dancers came offstage. Dani avoided his eyes, muttering something about needing a drink. She yanked on a top and jeans with profane energy. He took a step toward her, but she skittered away like a frightened animal, heading for the bar.

“She’s definitely got it bad.” Opal shook her head, clacking the strings of pearls draped around her.

“She’s not the only one.” Michael leaned against the wall, raking his hand through his hair.

“Give it some time. You’ll both get used to it. I’m going to head home. I’ve got a paper due this weekend, and I don’t like how the crowd is acting tonight.” Opal grabbed her clothes to get dressed.

“What about the rest of the show?” Michael asked, surprised.

“Candy will take my spot. She could use the money.” Opal nodded at one of the part-timers, a pretty redhead with languorous curls. “And I could use the break.”

“Dani mentioned you were having trouble with one of the customers. She called him Redneck Whiskey.” Michael couldn’t help stealing a look across the agitated club. Dani downed her drink in a single swallow and pressed the glass to her head.

“That’s the one. The way he watches, it makes it all feel dirty and sordid.” Opal curled her lip. “Usually when I dance, I feel powerful and sexy, like I’m on top of the world.”

“But he makes you feel afraid.” It wasn’t a guess.

“Yeah. Like he’s decided to have me gift-wrapped and sent to his hotel.” Opal studied the crowded bar. “Listen, do you mind walking me to my car? It’s just around the corner.”

“It’s no trouble at all.” Michael smiled. Such a little gesture of chivalry, but now it was familiar turf, an ordinary sort of heroics.

“Thanks. We can slip out back.” They walked together out the backdoor exit to the alley. It was hard to believe that only yesterday, he’d followed Dani there. Everything had changed after that moment.

“Raoul’s been walking me to my car every night in case Redneck decides to show up. He takes good care of all of us.” Opal fidgeted with her car keys. “I hate to bother him when he’s so busy.”

“You have good instincts,” Michael commented as he held the door for her. “People second-guess their instincts too much. They know there’s danger, but they don’t want to make a bad impression or seem paranoid.”
Or are completely overconfident
, his conscience reminded him.

“My instincts have been screaming overtime lately. I don’t even notice being afraid any more. I’m too used to it.” Opal shrugged.

Michael started to answer, but movement on the street caught his attention. He stopped, trying to resolve the shifting patterns of black against shadow into something that made sense. Opal tensed, and her knuckles paled around the keys.

The shadows became a man dressed in a plaid shirt, blocking the exit from the alley to the street. Opal’s eyes widened in fear and she stepped back, shaking her head in instinctive refusal. The door clanged shut behind them, locking them out.

Michael moved to stand between Opal and Redneck. “Step aside.”

The man weaved on the spot, swaying back and forth as if too drunk to stand, but no bleariness dimmed his eyes. He barely acknowledged Michael’s existence; he only saw Opal. “Pretty, pretty,” he crooned as if calling a cat.

Opal clutched Michael’s arm, and her terror swamped into him. Her mind and body were frozen, paralyzed by the flood of adrenaline. The moment she’d imagined and feared for weeks was playing out, leaving her trapped.

“Sir, you need to step back,” Michael ordered, forcing himself to shut out Opal’s panic.

“So pretty.” Redneck swayed forward. “Don’t want to talk to me.”

“That’s right. She doesn’t want to talk to you.” Michael was fairly certain the man wasn’t actually drunk, but something had influenced him, pushing aside his inhibitions and judgment. With a sinking feeling, he wondered if it could be whatever lurked inside Dani. He remembered the fight from the nightclub and braced himself. Redneck might be past talking down.

“No one wants to listen to me.” The man actually sniffed in self-pity.

Michael eased Opal backward a step. If the other man charged, he needed room to maneuver. He was unsteady enough that they should be able to slip past him if they timed it right.

“This time, she’ll listen.” Redneck reached into a pocket and pulled out a shiny, snub-nosed gun.

Michael froze. A gun changed the equation. No amount of training let someone dodge bullets.

Redneck charged.

Michael tried to trip him, and the other man tried to dodge. Mostly—the edge of Michael’s foot scraped along the outside of his calf, hissing against the fabric and knocking them both off-balance. Michael slammed into the uneven brick wall, scratching his arms and legs raw. Redneck fell forward, his hand catching on Opal’s blouse and ripping it wide open.

Opal screamed.