Seduced by Lies (5 page)

If your mind dislike any thing, obey it. I will forestall their

repair hither, and say you are not fit.

— William Shakespeare, Hamlet

I UNDERSTOOD CURTIS'
grief. He felt like he failed his cousin, but I wasn’t convinced he could have done anything to make things better. We drove in silence, the GPS giving us directions to the next victim’s house.

Curtis opened the newspaper, rereading the article about Phoenix Allen, a young woman who had died too young. “Do you think her brother, Billy, really saw what did this?”

The news reports had been vague, and Billy didn’t look like the most reliable witness in the television news clips, with his skinny tattoo-covered arms and rotten teeth indicative of a meth user. Still, we didn’t learn much from Mr. and Mrs. Barley, so we had to follow every lead no matter how hopeless it might look. We couldn't let any more people die.

“I’m not sure. Maybe. We’ll know soon enough.” We pulled in to another run-down lot, but this didn’t look like the last house, worn by years of owners too old to put the work into maintaining it. This was a doublewide trailer with beer cans littering the front yard. A huge German shepherd barked at us the moment we left the car and approached the door, lunging at us until the chain choked it, pulling it back with a whine.

That didn’t stop the dog from barking. In another life I would have been scared, but I wasn’t that timid little witch anymore. I let my inner wolf blaze in my eyes and stared down the dog, growling until it whined and dropped to all fours, rolling on his back in a submissive pose.

I scratched his head as Curtis looked on wide-eyed. “That’s badass," he said. "I wish I could do that.”

Adrenaline from the wolf pumped through me, and I smiled. “It
is
pretty badass.”

Billy opened the door and glared at us. “What the hell do you want?” He noticed his dog, panting in joy under my belly rubs. “What the hell did you do to Cujo?”

Cujo.
How original. “He’s a nice dog,” I said, ignoring the stench of piss and beer and bong water wafting from this hovel. Focus on what's nice. “Nice trees around here. I’m Rose and this is Curtis. His cousin was killed the same way your sister was, and we heard you might have seen what did it?”

Billy’s bloodshot eyes widened. “Ah, man, that sucks. I sure as hell saw something. Come on in.”

I didn’t want to step foot in his house—and I use the term
house
lightly—but what choice did I have when we needed information? My wolf senses never shut off completely. Even in human form I had a heightened sense of smell… and, boy, I wished I didn’t as the rancid decay of Billy’s dwelling assaulted me. I gagged, hiding it with a cough, as he gestured us to his ratty, torn up couch. I eyed it suspiciously and sat on the very edge, hoping we didn’t catch anything contagious while here.

Billy walked to a cooler stuck inside his broken refrigerator. Classy. He held out a beer. “Want one?”

I shook my head. “No, we’re good. Thanks. Can you tell us what you saw? We heard it was an animal?”

Billy perched a barstool and took a deep swig of his beer, wiping his mouth on his arm and burping. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

I was not in the mood for games and it occurred to me we should have brought Sam. Her mind-reading abilities would come in handy right about now. “What do you mean?”

He took another swig, emptying the can. "It looked like a wolf, but…" His eyes darted around as if someone might be listening.

Curtis leaned forward. "But?"

Billy grabbed another beer and chugged before setting it down. "But it had red eyes," he said in a hiss. "Huge teeth. And it was bigger than any wolf I'd ever seen."

I suddenly had the urge to giggle. It was like being inside a morbid, drug-infested retelling of Little Red Riding Hood. Fighting the urge, I instead asked, "Where'd you see it?"

He lit a cigarette, but one puff and I could tell there was more than just tobacco in there. I was going to need a shower after this.

"A grove deep in the forest,” he said. “Me and my sis used to go hiking there. Good place to smoke a few joints and chill, ya know? It was bitchin’ in the daylight, and we wanted to see it at night. So we did." He paused. "It didn't look bitchin’ no more. Smelled like pig shit and ass. Smelled like a fucking demon, yo."

My pulse quickened, thoughts of my demon father and my trip to the demon realm causing a visceral reaction in me. "A demon?"

He nodded. "That's what it was."

If he was right, and I wasn’t convinced he was, this could be seriously bad. "Can you show us where you saw it?"

Billy shook his head and took another hit of his joint. "I can't go back there."

"Please,” I begged. “We want to find this animal."

“Wasn’t no animal. I tolds ya. It was a demon straight from hell.”

“Right,” I said. “We need to find this demon before anyone else gets hurt.”

He squinted his eyes at us. "And then what?"

"We can kill it," I said. "For your sister."

That seemed to convince Billy. "Okay. Let's go, yo." He pulled out a rifle from a closet, which did nothing to reassure me. "It’s gettin’ dark. The demon may have come back."

Man delights not me. No, nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.

— William Shakespeare, Hamlet

FATHER PATRICK PULLED
out a thick book filled with velum-like cream paper that seemed ancient. It was bound in carved brown leather inlaid with gold and handwritten with a quill pen and black ink. At least, I imagined it had been a quill pen. The edges of the pages had intricate images with more gold inlay.

He set it on the table in the secret library and flipped through the pages until he reached the image of a wolf standing on two legs, part man and part beast, holding a helpless woman in the air with one claw.

"Lycans are designed to kill," Father Patrick said.

"Designed? Like someone made them?” I asked.

"Yes," he said, his face grim.

"The Church?" I couldn’t fathom this. I wasn’t Catholic, despite Father Patrick’s best attempts to save my soul. Growing up in foster care, the old priest had been the only stable father figure I had, and his Church the only real home I knew, but his religion never quite settled in me. Still, I had a hard time imagining the Catholic Church as Enemy Number One. "Designed to kill who?"

"A special kind of being." Father Patrick turned another page, showing an image of a man with wings. "Nephilim," he said, pointing to the picture. "The offspring of angels and humans."

But that means… "I remember reading about them. God sent the flood to destroy them, but saved Noah and his family. But, that can't be true, can it?"

"It happened a long time ago, and even I am not old enough to remember that," he smiled.

Father Patrick may not be old enough, but shifters could live a long time. Was it possible someone still lived from those ancient days? My head spun as my world suffered a huge paradigm shift, like a psychic earthquake displacing lifelong held ideas of truth and upturning everything. This is how Sam must have felt when she found out the truth about her school and home.

Father Patrick continued. "Some believe that those with supernatural or paranormal abilities are descended from the Nephilim."

"That's why we have powers?" I asked. "Because we're related to angels?"

Father Patrick shrugged. "The Church believes it is so."

"What about you?" I held my breath, waiting.

"Yes, I do believe. I think Sam’s father, Mr. Steele, had found a way to tap into Nephilim power and pass it on to others. That's how he created paranormals."

"Is that why the Bishop and Ryder are here?" The pieces started to click together. "To destroy us like the Nephilim?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, I don't believe so."

Another piece clicked into place, and I shuddered. "This lycan, the one murdering people…" I paused. "It's targeting paranormals."

O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!

Is it not monstrous that this player here,


But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,


Could force his soul so to his own conceit


That from her working all the visage wann'd,


— William Shakespeare, Hamlet

NOTHING ABOUT THIS
experience was particularly comforting. The fact that the drunk, stoned meth head was the only one carrying a weapon didn’t help my nerves. At least I had my own power as a shifter. Still, even a wolf could be killed with a bullet. And Billy didn't seem to like me.

The sun had already set, casting dark purple shadows over us as we walked through the woods. The moon hung high in the sky and white mist hovered around our ankles. I felt like I was in a horror movie.

"Should we call for some help?" Curtis put a hand on my shaking arm.

"No," I whispered. "My shifting and your speed can handle one animal." I didn't tell him that I doubted we'd find anything more than tracks. Why would a killer return to the scene of the crime?

We were in a valley, surrounded by mountains. When we got near the enclave, Billy froze. “The demon’s gonna get us. We should go back.”

I reluctantly put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s our job to destroy the demon, remember?”

His body shook, but he nodded and moved forward, holding his shotgun out with an unsteady hand. I locked eyes with Curtis, both of us more scared of the guy with the gun than any demon, even if the demon thing was real.

Another unbidden memory hit me. Blake, Demon Blake, dying after taking my dark power away, freeing me from my curse. Not all demons were evil.

I wiped at the tear on my cheek and took another step, sniffing the air. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the smell of our companion, normal animal smells, but no wolves.

And then…

I smelled something. Another human. But who would be crazy enough to walk out here this late? Besides us, of course.

Bushes rustled a few feet away from us. Branches snapped.

And then I saw something in the woods. Eyes. Red, glowing, demon eyes.

Billy dropped his gun and screamed, then turned and ran.

I moved to follow, my heart pounding in my chest. Under the influence of the moon, with fear filling my veins, my wolf tried to break through. My body convulsed, tried to change. Got stuck.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. I collapsed to my knees groaning in pain.

Not now. Please not now.

More rustling.

The demon, or whatever it was, drew closer. A growl rumbled through the woods, and I hadn’t been the one to growl.

Curtis had followed Billy, catching up to him in split second, but stopped and dashed back when he saw me fall.

“No!” I screamed, more afraid for him than myself. “Go! Run, Curtis. Run!”

He didn't listen, trying to lift me up by the arm. The thing in the woods closed in, and I saw something that looked like a wolf, but stood on hind legs like a man, covered in fur with long, sharp claws, glowing eyes and a snout full of sharp teeth gleaming in the moonlight. My Little Red Riding Hood analogy no longer seemed so funny.

I pushed my wolf to shift and felt my bones and body realigning as the pain ended and my power poured into me. "Run," I yelled, getting ahead of Curtis. "Run!"

The beast turned its attention to him. And charged. And before I could leap to save Curtis, before he could dash away, the beast attacked, biting into him. I heard flesh rip apart. I heard a howl, and the beast disappeared into the night.

I ran over to Curtis, shifting back to human. He lay on the ground, shivering despite the warm night. His shoulder bled, his shirt and skin torn where the beast had bitten.

Billy leaned against a tree, staring at us wide-eyed. He pointed his finger at me. “You’re one of them. You’re a demon, too. I saw you turn into one of them.”

I looked over to Billy, my stomach filling with dread. “I can explain. I’m not the same as what you saw.”

But Billy didn’t wait to hear my explanation. He ran off into the woods, leaving his shotgun behind but carrying my secret with him.