Forsaken: The World of Nightwalkers Read online

  “I never thought I would see the day when he would leave her side in order to join us on ours,” Ram said.

  “I did.”

  Ram raised a brow. His short laugh was obviously incredulous.

  “Truly, I did,” Jackson assured him. “There was always something…feverish to the way he sought his battles with us. And I don’t mean feverish in the way that Odjit was, high with the fever of fanaticism. There was a part of that aspect, but I always thought it was to different ends. Odjit was like any bewitching cult leader, alluring and promising the true path…spouting that we, the enemy, were the reason why we would be kept from the light of the sun, should Amun ever rise again. But in the end she was simply hungry for power, as so many people are. But for Kamen…” Jackson tapped a thoughtful finger against the wood of the chair arm. “Kamen was seeking something. I can’t quite put my finger on it. But I always thought that if I could just get him in a room, face-to-face, that he might listen to a voice of reason.”

  “Then you thought more of him than I did. The only reason he is here is because this thing he has awakened has him terrified. The enemy of my enemy is my friend sort of thing.”

  “Perhaps. But I suspect far more depth to him than just the shallow image of a man hiding in defeat. At the very least, we can take from this that he believes Odjit is truly gone from her body…or from any control of it. This god of bad mischief is in control of her now and that…I’m afraid that leaves us at a frightening disadvantage. At least we knew what to expect from Odjit. All we know about Apep comes from distant memories of vague stories of a long-dead version of our religious beliefs. This is going to take a great deal of research by minds far more attuned to this sort of thing than either of us.”

  “And I suppose you have someone in mind.”

  “As a matter of fact.” Jackson smiled with wicked arrogance and Ram answered with a smile of his own. The intent in that expression was everything Menes. There were just some things that never changed about Menes, no matter how many lifetimes and no matter who his host was, there was always going to be that smile of utter, casual confidence. “I was thinking of whistling up SingSing, your new Djynn friend.”

  “SingSing?” Ram’s tone was every bit loaded with the disbelief and incredulousness he felt. “She’s an absolute child bouncing around in a Djynn’s costume. If you bring SingSing into this mix you’re asking for a can of crazy. And between you and me, nothing about her screamed scholar to me.”

  “Perhaps not,” Jackson allowed with a nod. “But I’m willing to bet she knows quite a few other Djynn, some of whom might be thousands of years old, and who might know about things that took place thousands of years ago, if indeed she doesn’t know for herself.”

  “Even if she did know it’d be like trying to get information out of a six-year-old,” Ram muttered.

  “She’s lost her filter, no doubt. It’s a blessing of the very old and the very young. The young are too innocent to know better. The old no longer care what people think about what they say or do.”

  “I suppose. Is she going to move in as well?” Not that they didn’t have more than a dozen bedroom suites packed into the enormous house, more than enough room to fit a small army in with them. But then Ram realized what Jackson was doing, and this time both brows swept up high. “You want her here. Her and whomever else you can get your hands on of power from the other Nightwalker races. Jesus, Jackson.” Ram ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Tell me you’re not thinking of inviting Wraiths.”

  “I’m desperate, not stupid.” Both men shook off the sensation of fear that skirted them. It was understandable, considering the subject matter. All one needed was to look into those cold, dead white eyes and you just knew you were staring down something unholy. “The day I have to go to the Wraiths for help is the day I know we are in truly dire circumstances. A day I pray never happens.”

  “As do I.” The thought had Ram frowning darkly.

  “Such serious faces,” Docia tsked as she swept through the screen door. Ram’s serious face disappeared instantly as he smiled up at her.

  “Very likely it was due to my missing you,” he said with obvious charm.

  “Flirt,” she accused him. But she preened under the compliment. She was still new to the idea of being worshipped for every breath she took. It really used to irk Jackson the way his sister thought less highly of herself than he did, and it pleased him very much to see that changing. She had changed a great deal in the month or so since her Blending that they had spent separated.

  There was a clicking sound, the sound of doggy nails on the flooring of the porch, and Sargent, formerly of the Saugerties Police Department’s K-9 unit, sat down at the heels of the woman he had followed out. Docia absently reached down to scrub at Sargent’s ears.

  He really should have stuck to his guns and sent Sargent back to the SPD, Jackson thought with a frown. The dog had turned out to be every bit as fearless and loyal as his former K-9 partner, Chico, had been. If he was confessing truths, he had to admit that once Sargent had stopped goofing off, his training had gone far more quickly than was normal for a K-9. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Menes had something of a sixth sense when it came to animals. Jackson had been having a hard time getting Sargent to listen and behave himself, in spite of him having shown a great deal of affinity for both of those things as a pup. But once Menes had come on board Sargent had fallen over himself to listen and please his altered master. Jackson might have felt put out if not for the pleasure it gave him to have Sargent trained at long last.

  But that didn’t change the fact that he had walked off with thousands of dollars’ worth of investment for the SPD, leaving them a K-9 unit short when they had only had two available to begin with. It wasn’t as though they could ring up the K-9 kennels and instantly have a replacement. That kind of training took time…and even the two expensive pups Jackson had sent them as a replacement wouldn’t be ready for work for over a year.

  “Remind me to make a little donation to the SPD,” he said absently to no one in particular.

  “How much? I’ll take care of it,” Ram said briskly.

  “I need you doing other things besides bookkeeping.” Jackson frowned at him. “Do we have a bookkeeper?”

  “Not on site, but there’s a soft-spoken little Bodywalker female named Nailah who does the heavy lifting where that’s concerned. But she’s not exactly a heavy-hitter power-wise so I don’t know if you’d want her where she might end up in the thick of things.”

  “We all have our part to play,” Jackson said. “And our meek might surprise us one day. As it is—”

  Jackson broke off and an expression Docia had never seen before washed over his face. He lurched up out of his chair, the awkwardness of the movement tipping the beer bottle out of his hand. It hit the deck and bounced, spinning as it did so, spewing its contents over Docia’s feet.

  “Hey!” she cried out, dancing back away from the bottle although it had come to rest and the damage was already done.

  She might have complained just then, but that unfathomable expression on Jackson’s face had turned to a mixture between outright fear and unmistakable courage rising up in the face of that fear.

  “Docia, get inside,” he said, grabbing her arm, turning her around and pushing her roughly in that direction. “And take Sargent with you. Marissa!”

  He bolted off the deck, clearing the stairs to the ground without touching a single one. By then Ram understood that something was wrong and he grabbed for Docia’s arm and stood up all in the same movement.

  “Ow! Hey! Why is everybody grabbing at my arm? I can walk on my—”

  “Docia,” Ram hushed her fiercely.

  “Marissa!”

  The way her brother shouted for Marissa sent a cold shiver of awareness creeping like icy dribbles down the length of Docia’s spine. Jackson had broken into a dead run, everything about him screaming with fear.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Leo hear
d Jackson yell and immediately knew something was very wrong. He moved quickly to the nearest window, ignoring the fierce pain that came with moving too fast. There would be time later for muscle and sinew to repair, at that moment it was nothing but a minor inconvenience to him. Even as he visually tried to discern what was happening, his mind was mapping out the fastest route to the gun case in the parlor. Actually, he didn’t need to map it. He’d been obsessing over getting hold of one of those guns. With that supernatural prick in the same house as he was? He’d be damned if he was going to walk around unarmed. Given their strength, their power, and their speed, it was not exactly what you would call an even match, but Leo would feel better armed than not. He’d gotten the drop on one of them before, and that was before he had even known what they were, so he’d damn well prefer the ability to do it again.

  Jackson was running hell-bent for leather across the front yard, his boots kicking up a dotted line of dust clouds, his speed everything unnatural. It was the first time he was seeing Jackson use some of his new ability but he didn’t have time to indulge in the crawling distaste the image evoked within him. Jackson was heading up the drive, toward the good doctor and her garden spot.

  That was when a ragged stream of energy seared across Jackson’s path, like a lightning strike from an ominous thundercloud. Dirt and rock and carefully cultivated landscaping spewed everywhere, bringing Jackson up short with a skid of his boots. Leo and Jackson looked up simultaneously. The next instant Leo bolted for the parlor, grabbing up a heavy iron bust of the god Anubis from one of the end tables as he went. He reached the case, hauled back and smashed the glass with the statue. To his consternation it didn’t break. The only hint he had even hit it was from an impact fracture in a white spiderweb shape. But there was a small hole in the center of that web and that told him the glass was reinforced, but not unbreakable.

  It took three more smashes with the statue before the glass gave up the ghost and created a hole large enough for him to thrust his hand through. He grabbed for the nearest gun, a black Berretta, .45 caliber with a laser sight mounted along its spine. Something that would come in handy in the dark. He checked the chamber and the clip, finding them loaded and ready. He didn’t come across any more ammunition, so what he had was going to have to do and he would have to make every shot count.

  As he ran to the front door, he almost collided with Docia, leaping over Sargent as it was, and exploded onto the porch. All of which cost him a great deal, making him clench his teeth in agony and wonder if he’d just reinjured things that weren’t healed as yet. He flipped on the laser sighting with his thumb and with two hands pointed it into the sky. There was another belch of severe energy, the white of it blinding him and seemingly coming out of nowhere. But there was no way that was natural, and he knew that because it struck right at Jackson’s feet again, forcing him back, his leap covering enormous amounts of ground. The air between him and the dirt was incomprehensible to a man who had not seen any other displays of a Bodywalker’s power other than those of Kamenwati and Chatha, and those encounters had not been anything like this at all.

  No, theirs had been a very special brand of psychopathic supernaturalism.

  Ram was off the deck already and the savage, ominous rumble of natural thunder filled the air. Right before Leo’s eyes the sky blossomed with thick black thunderheads, whereas it had been a perfectly clear night beforehand. He knew this was Ram’s doing. Leo had been told Ram could control the weather, although he had no idea what a few rainclouds were going to do to help the situation.

  Another bolt of white energy burst out of the sky, the beam of it scorching past Jackson’s back. The intent was clear. Jackson would be hit if he moved forward, and hit if he moved backward. He was trapped out there in the open, like a frog on a lily pad in the center of a vast lake and nowhere to jump for safety.

  Leo’s lack of a target frustrated him. He rapidly cleared the stairs to shorten his distance to Jackson, all the while keeping his weapon trained on that empty sky. Something was there. They couldn’t see it, but all three men knew something was there.

  And it was toying with Jackson.

  That, more than anything, told Leo he was dealing with another sick paranormal psychopath.

  Just as Ram was closing in on Jackson, a new bolt of energy lashed out of the night sky, but this one hit Ramses square in the chest and literally blew him off his feet. The impact sent him backward by at least thirty feet, the impression of his body tearing up the earth, kicking up dirt and dust. Then the Bodywalker was still. The hit was horrifying and Docia’s scream came from the house behind him. Leo turned from the empty sky and tracked his aim back toward the house. There was a potted cactus, quite thick in circumference, to the right of the door. Two bullets into one side of the ceramic pot holding it made it explode and the heavy cactus within toppled over in front of the door, effectively blocking it shut, its spiny skin a natural deterrent to anyone thinking of touching it and shoving it out of the way. He saw Docia hit the door and was satisfied when he saw that she was unable to open it. That wasn’t to say she wouldn’t find another way out and into the fray, but it would take her more time…maybe enough time for them to deal with this…whatever “this” was.

  He tracked his aim back up to the sky, hurrying over to the very still form of Ram. He bent in order to touch fingers to the fallen man’s carotid artery, trying to detect a pulse while keeping his full attention trained upward. Whatever it was would show itself eventually, and he would be ready for it when it did. Leo exhaled with relief when he felt the awkward thrum of Ram’s pulse. For all their power and longevity, and as amazing as their ability to rapidly heal was, these people were more than capable of dying. And while he mistrusted the bastard, Docia loved him. It shone from every bright smile and warm cuddle he had seen her give him. It would break her heart if something were to snatch him away from her.

  “C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered under his breath as he aimed up at the sky, “do it again. Show us what a badass you are. You can do it.”

  That was when a furious Gargoyle blasted up from the ground in the garden, enormous wings spread wide, skin turned to heavy stone and a face as grotesque and frightening as any gargoyle on top of a church might be. Ahnvil was a thing of power, as were Stohn and Diahmond, two other Gargoyles that had launched into the air from the direction of the house. Jackson had told Leo that these were their bodyguards, their supernatural protectors. They were strong and nearly impossible to kill and would never stop in their endeavors to protect the Bodywalkers they were pledged to.

  There was nothing for them to attack, that they could see, but they all knew the general area to aim for. And then, like ducks in a shooting gallery, those massive beams of energy shot out of the sky and picked the Gargoyles off, one by one, sending them thundering back down to the earth, deadweights of stone.

  But it was enough. Enough for Leo to see that the energy beam remained solid, from inception point to end point, for the beat of a few seconds, telling him exactly where the attacker might be. He blew off four shots, the recoil from the Beretta jolting through him.

  Like a magician yanking a cloth away to reveal the lady or the tiger beneath it, the thing in the air winked into view. It wobbled around, and Leo was sure he had hit it.

  “Leo, no!” Jackson shouted, much too late. The woman…and it was a woman…attacking from the night sky whirled to face Leo’s direction. She was wearing white from head to toe, long auburn hair streaming in blowing wisps around her head, like some kind of Clairoled medusa. A stain of blood spread across the white of her clothing.

  Right over her heart.

  Lucky shot that, Leo thought. Right before he realized he’d shot her in the heart and she was still floating up there in midair as if it meant nothing to her at all. She lowered herself closer to the ground and Leo readied himself to fire another volley of bullets. She had to have a vulnerability somewhere, and he…

  He recognized that face. He didn’t kn
ow how, but it was like a barely remembered snatch of a dream. A dream where he had…

  Cut her throat.

  This was the woman he had killed, slitting her throat, dropping her down on the floor to bleed out. This was the woman who was the catalyst behind Kamenwati sending Chatha to find Leo and capture him so that the Templar could deliver vengeance on him in her name.

  Odjit.

  The name came to him about two seconds before her laughter filled the night air.

  “Very well,” she said, her voice echoing and powerfully loud all around him. “If you wish to die first, I can oblige you.”

  “No!” Jackson shouted the word and suddenly Leo was shoved back by a powerful force, as though a linebacker had rammed into him, sending him sprawling into the dirt. His gun flew out of his hands as he gathered a faceful of dirt and excruciating pain hit him everywhere at once. He could swear he’d heard something snap, some bone in his body no doubt. But he was too stunned to feel anything in specific right then.

  But he saw how Jackson’s shout drew Odjit’s attention and she lowered herself even farther and faced him.

  “You,” she said, “are dangerous.”

  Jackson’s response was to throw out both hands and shove, as if he were pushing her off himself, had she been anywhere near close enough for it, which she wasn’t. But just the same she was sent backward, much in the same way Leo had been sent flying. That was when it really sank in that Jackson had been the one to shove Leo out of the way of Odjit’s attention. But unlike Leo, she didn’t even come close to hitting the ground, and, outside of a midair tumble, she was almost completely unaffected by his attack.