Traveling by motorcycle was much less difficult than by car, though a little frightening as Zayne cut in and out of traffic like he was in a race to beat his own personal record for how many times a car could lay on its horn.
I loved it—the air on my skin and the wind that tugged at my braid, how my thighs fit to his, and the way it felt to hold him this tight—but, most important, I loved how, whenever we stopped, he reached down and rubbed my knee or squeezed it.
Also, the fact that we weren’t walking.
I really loved that, too.
Zayne was able to snatch a spot down the road from the massive hotel, which took up nearly an entire block and looked like it had been transported from France.
“The hotel is beautiful,” I said as we walked down the sidewalk.
“And it’s old. I think it was originally built in the 1800s.” He kept a hand on my lower back as he guided me around a cluster of tourists snapping pictures of the tiny gargoyles and water spouts that were carved under many of the windows.
I sighed. “This place is going to be so haunted.”
He chuckled. “Just ignore them until we’re done.”
“Easy for you to say,” I muttered.
“He’s here,” Zayne said when we neared the entrance.
Under a blue awning stood Cayman, and I wouldn’t have recognized him if it hadn’t been for Zayne. He was dressed in a black suit—an expensive-looking black suit—and loafers. Actual leather loathers. His dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and when he saw us, he raised black brows.
“You look nice,” I told him.
“I thought I’d dress the part.” He glanced over us. “Obviously you two did not.”
I looked down at my black leggings and gray T-shirt. Zayne was in leathers, and I guessed we probably should’ve thought about how we’d fit in. Or not.
“We’re not here to walk a runway,” Zayne commented.
“But if you did, I’d pay for front-row tickets,” Cayman quipped, and I grinned. “You two ready?”
When Zayne nodded, Cayman stepped aside and opened one of the heavy doors. Cool air rushed out, beating back the heat. Inside, I knew at once I was going to need to keep my sunglasses on. I was overwhelmed by the dazzling bright lights from the crystal chandeliers, and the grandeur of the palatial lobby. I’d seen some expensive artwork and designs before—Lord only knew how much the Great Hall back in the community had cost—but this was insane. Everything seemed to be made of marble or gold, and I had the sudden urge to run back outside and wipe off my feet.
“Wait here,” Cayman said. “I need to get us a key to the floor.”
Cayman sauntered up to the registration desk and leaned in, catching a young man’s attention. I had no idea what he said, but within a minute, he came back to us with a hotel key card jutting from between two fingers.
“That was fast,” I commented.
“I got the magic voice.” He winked at me. “Follow me.”
We passed a koi pond and through a massive number of columns flanked by numerous potted palmy plants. Between some of the leafy green flora, I noticed a pacing woman, her hands clutching at voluminous violet skirts, who was surely a ghost.
We arrived at a set of elevators. Cayman led us to the last one, swiped the card and then stepped in.
“Come on, children,” he called out. “No time to spare.”
I lifted a brow as I glanced at Zayne, but he only shook his head as we stepped into the surprisingly cramped elevator. Light jazzy music floated from hidden speakers.
Cayman hit the button to the thirtieth floor. “I expect that, as soon as these doors open, we’ll be greeted in a not-so-fun manner. I can take care of them—”
“In other words, kill them?” I cut in.
He looked at me. “Uh. Yeah.”
“How about Zayne and I knock them out or otherwise incapacitate them, and you do something with their memories,” I suggested. “That’s what we need.”
The demon broker pouted. “That’s not nearly as fun.”
“You’re not here to have fun,” Zayne pointed out.
“Says who?”
“God,” Zayne sighed, stretching his neck from one side to the next.
“Well, God ain’t my boss.” Cayman rolled golden-hued eyes. “But whatever. I’ll do as you ask, but I make no promises about the memories I’ll leave behind. I think I’ll give them a new obsession with BTS, who have officially replaced 1D on my best-things-ever list.”
I opened my mouth, but the elevator came to a smooth stop. Zayne eased in front of me as the doors opened. “Three on the right, two on the left. Room 3010. I’ll take the right.”
“Excuse me,” a deep male voice called out as soon as Zayne stepped into the hall. “I need to see some—” His words ended in a thump as Zayne shoved him hard into a wall.
I darted out, my narrow gaze focusing to the left as a man dressed in a black suit peeled away from the wall, reaching for his waist.
“Nope.” I caught him by the shoulder and spun him, then grabbed the back of his head. I introduced his forehead to the wall and let his body fall as I shot forward. I heard another body crumple behind me, quickly followed by a yelp from what I assumed was Zayne reaching his third man.
The guy in front of me had grabbed his gun, but I was faster. Spinning, I kicked out and caught him along the fleshy inside of the elbow. The gun flew into the air as the man grunted. Zayne caught the gun as I gripped the man by the shoulder and used his weight against him to drive him to the floor. The crack of the back of his head told me he was going to have one Hell of a headache when he woke up.
“Nice,” Zayne said, tossing the gun to Cayman, who was kneeling by the second man.
“You weren’t too shabby your—”
Another man stepped out, his mouth open as if he’d prepared to shout out a warning. I sprang up and jammed my elbow under his chin, snapping his jaw shut and his head back. Zayne caught him as he went down, placing a hand over the man’s mouth as he jerked his chin to my right.
I looked up, finding that we were outside door 3010. I turned, waving my hand at Cayman.
The demon hurried over, replacing Zayne’s hand with his as he peered into the man’s wide eyes. “Hi. Have you found Jesus, our Lord and Savior and all-around psychedelic bro?”
Slowly, I looked at the demon. He grinned widely, and I lifted my gaze, mouthing, What the Hell? Zayne just raised a brow and motioned me to remain quiet as he gathered up one of the unconscious men, hoisting him over a shoulder.
Damn.
Zayne was strong.
The features of the man on the floor had gone lax, as if he were on some kind of trip. He didn’t make a sound as Cayman dragged him out of view of the door, into what appeared to be a laundry or storage room. Within moments, they had the hall cleared, and Zayne returned to stand on the side of the door that opened while Cayman lingered back. Zayne’s gaze met mine, and I nodded.
He knocked on the door, and a second later, it opened a crack. “Wilson?” a male voice asked.
Zayne shouldered the door open, knocking the man back. “Senator’s on the couch,” he said, folding an arm around the man’s neck and exerting just the right amount of pressure to make him go sleepy bye-bye.
I stalked into the room, taking everything in as Cayman slipped in behind me and quietly closed the door. The room was large, nearly the size of Zayne’s entire apartment, and there was a whole lot of blue and gold on the walls and the carpet, causing me to blink. My gaze swept over framed pictures and past a door, over a dining set and to a royal blue couch and the older man who was rising from it.
Senator Fisher looked like the cliché of an ordinary old congressman who was way past the expiration date on being useful to the people he represented. Hair snow-white and trimmed, pale skin crinkled at the corners of his mouth and eyes and creased along the forehead. His clothing sported the colors of America, the suit navy blue, tie a bright red and dress shirt white. He was a walking advertisement for patriotism and privilege, rolled into one messed-up little ball of well-hidden evil.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, reaching for his pocket and pulling out a phone. “I don’t know who you are, but you’re making a very terrible—”
“Mistake? Not as big as the one you’ve made.” I snatched the phone out of his hand. “Sit.”
His rheumy blue eyes narrowed on me before his gaze bounced nervously to where Cayman was whispering to the man Zayne had taken down. “Now, you listen to me, young lady. I don’t know what you all think you’re doing, but I’m a senator of the United States and—”
“And I’m Frosty the Snowman. Sit. Down.”
The senator stared back at me, his cheeks mottling and then paling as I felt Zayne come closer.
“Check the penthouse,” Zayne said to Cayman. The demon bowed and all but scampered off.
Impatient, I smacked my hands down on the senator’s shoulders and forced him onto the couch. The surprise that widened his eyes gave me a measure of satisfaction. “Thank you for sitting.” I smiled brightly. “We have questions, and you have important answers. So, we’re going to have a little chitchat, and if you’re smart, you’re not going to make this hard for us. See the big blond guy behind me?”
Senator Fisher’s lips thinned as he nodded.
“He’s as strong as he is hot, and his hotness is off the charts.” I sat on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of the senator. “And I just learned today that he is extremely skilled when it comes to breaking bones.”
“Expert level,” Zayne murmured.
“But we don’t want it to come to that. Keep in mind, not wanting it to come to that does not mean it will not come to that. Understand?”
He looked between us. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Famous last words.” Cayman strolled back into the living room and threw himself into the chair beside the couch. “The penthouse is boringly clear. No more security teams or hookers, dead or alive.”
I frowned at him.
Cayman shrugged. “You should see the things I’ve found in some politicians’ hotel rooms. Could write a bestselling memoir.”
All righty then.
“Who are you people?” Fisher demanded, straightening the lapels of his jacket.
“Just your friendly neighborhood Warden,” Zayne answered. “Oh, and demon and Trueborn.”
How rapidly the man’s face drained of blood was proof enough that he knew exactly who he was facing. His gaze focused on me.
I smiled again, lifting my sunglasses so that they were perched on my head as I tapped into my grace, just a little, letting it shine through. Fisher sucked in air as his chest rose and fell rapidly.
From the chair, Cayman said, “The whole glowing thing is super creepy.”
Only a demon would think it was creepy.
I reined my grace back in.
“Do you know who we are?” Zayne asked. “Now?”
“I’m not really Frosty the Snowman,” I hinted.
Fisher looked like he might bust an artery. “I know.” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Then you also know who I know.”
“If you think we’re even remotely afraid of the Harbinger, you’re very misguided,” I advised, leaning back. “You’re going to help us.”
“I can’t,” he said, hands landing on his knees. “You might as well go ahead and kill me, because I cannot help you.”
I sighed, rising from the coffee table. “I guess it’s going to be the hard way.”
Zayne didn’t take my place. Instead, he grabbed a chair from the dining table set and then kicked the coffee table back, the stubby legs scratching deep grooves into the wood floors.
“That was hot,” Cayman said.
It really was.
Zayne placed the chair in front of the senator and sat. “Where is the Harbinger?”
Fisher shook his head as I moved to stand where Zayne had been.
“Where is the Harbinger staying?” Zayne tipped forward, eye level with the senator.
Silence.
Zayne picked up the senator’s hand. The man tried to fight him, but it was like a rabbit fighting a wolf. “Do you know how many bones are in your hand? Twenty-seven. In your wrist? Eight. Three in each of your fingers. Two in your thumb. Each hand has three nerves in it, and, as I’m sure you know, a human’s hand is incredibly sensitive. Now, I can break each one of those bones individually,” he continued, voice soft as he turned the man’s hand over. “Or I can do it all at once. I think I know what needs to be done, and I’m sorry you don’t seem to know any better.”
There was a crack that caused me to cringe inwardly as the senator shouted, his body curling inward.
“I wish I had popcorn,” Cayman commented.
Zayne tilted his head. “That was just one finger. Three bones. A lot more to go. Where is the Harbinger?”
Dear God, Zayne was like the Chuck Norris of Wardens.
Chest heaving, Fisher groaned as he squeezed his eyes. “Jesus.”
“I really do not think he’s going to be any help,” I said dryly.
Another crack caused my head to jerk to Zayne. “That was your thumb,” he said. “So that was two more.”
“I don’t know where the Harbinger is staying. God,” he gasped. “Do you really think he’d tell me? Him? He’s no fool.”
“Then how do you get in touch with him?” I asked.
“I don’t.” The man trembled, rocking slightly as Zayne slowly, methodically turned his hand over. He took his middle finger in hand. “I swear. I don’t. He came to me only once before.”
“Really? You’ve seen the Harbinger only once?” Zayne shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve been serious enough—”
“It’s Bael,” Fisher groaned. “It’s usually Bael I speak to.”
“Hmm...” I crossed my arms. “You were right earlier.”
“Told you,” Zayne murmured, smiling with near friendliness at the senator.
“What’s good old bally-ball Bael been up to?” Cayman shifted, dropping his legs over the arm of one of the chairs. “Haven’t seen that punk in centuries. Has he been rocking his Harry Potter–esque cloak of invisibility? Spreading his web of lies? I imagine he has, considering he is the King of Deceit. You work for one of the oldest demons known to this Earth, birthed from the pits of Hell. Interesting company you keep. One would think that would make you stop and wonder if you’re on the right side of whatever it is that they’re planning.”
“You’re a demon,” gasped the senator. “You’re going to preach to me about being on the right side?”
Cayman gave him a half grin. “Sometimes the right side of history is made up of those you’d least expect.”
“Where is Bael?” I asked.
“Nowhere near here,” the senator responded. “He’s far away, hidden. I can give you a number I’ve called in the past, but that will do you no good. Not now.”
Just as Sulien had said. Frustrated, I stepped forward. “Why is he staying away?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fisher,” Zayne sighed. “You seem to know very little. That’s disappointing.”
“Wait—” A shout interrupted his words when Zayne shattered another finger.
And then Senator Josh Fisher shattered.
Only eight bones. Tiny ones. Painful ones, but tiny compared to equally breakable larger ones.
“I love my wife,” he moaned, face crumpling and body curling onto his side, stretched as far as he could get with Zayne still holding his hand. “I love my wife. That’s all. I love her. I can’t do this without her. She’s all I ever wanted.” Body-racking sobs erupted from the man. “Loved her since the day she walked into my econ class in Knoxville. She’s my everything, and I would do anything to see her again. Hold her. Have her back. That’s all I ever wanted.”
I unfolded my arms, exchanging a glance with Zayne. He let go of the hand, and all the Senator did was curl farther into himself. I shifted, uncomfortable with the visible raw pain. This man had conspired with a demon and witches, getting innocent humans and Wardens killed. He was connected to the Harbinger, who wanted to bring on the end times, so he sucked—big time—but unless he was an accomplished actor, he was collapsing under a kind of pain far greater than broken fingers.
“What does she have to do with Bael, Josh?” Zayne asked, using his first name and in a voice so gentle it was easy to forget that he’d just broken the man’s fingers.
Fisher didn’t answer for several minutes, only sobbed, until, finally, he rasped, “The Harbinger heard my prayers and came to me.”
I jolted as Cayman swung his legs off the chair and tipped forward.
“He looked like an angel.” The man’s eyes opened then, wide and unseeing. “He sounded like an angel.”
I totally understood how he could mistake Sulien for an angel, but to think he and his twang sounded like one? Then again, Fisher was from Tennessee. Maybe he thought all of Heaven sounded like Matthew McConaughey in a car commercial.
“What did he say?” Zayne’s voice was so soft.
The man trembled. “That he... That I could earn the one thing I wanted most. Natashya.”
Oh God.
I had a sinking suspicion where this was heading.
“He told me a man would come to me and I was to help him with what he needed, and this man was a sheep in wolf’s clothing,” he whispered now. “I thought it was a dream, but then that man showed up. The sheep in wolf’s clothing.”
Did he mean a demon pretending to be bad?
“Bael?” Zayne prodded. “A man who wasn’t a man at all?” When Fisher nodded, Zayne folded his hands under his chin. “Did you know what he is?”
“Not at first, but eventually...yes.”
I wanted to ask if he’d thought that was, I don’t know, a bright freaking red flag, but I remained silent.
“What did he want of you?” Zayne asked.
“Access to the school. I don’t know why. He never told me, and I didn’t ask. I... I didn’t want to know.” The man still trembled. “I just wanted my Natashya.”
Anger crowded out whatever sympathy I’d felt. “And it didn’t occur to you that it could be bad that a demon wanted access to a school?”
Zayne shot me a look of warning before refocusing on the senator, who didn’t answer, only cried harder. “Did you ever go into the school?”
“No. Never. I just set up the company, made a few calls and was able to purchase it. A new school was already being built to replace it. That’s all.”
Plans for a school catering to children with disabilities, I wanted to shout, but clamped my mouth shut.
“And when he told me I needed to meet with them—the witches—he told me what to say, and I... I did it.”
I had to put my hand over my own mouth to keep from speaking.
“Bael promised me he would bring Natashya back. That as soon as they had what they wanted, I would have her,” he rambled, body heaving. “And I did it. I went against everything I believed, and I did it. I knew it was wrong, that the enchantment would kill, but you have to understand—she is my everything.”
“Wait,” Cayman spoke up. “Bael said he could bring your wife back to life?”
“The Harbinger and Bael promised me.”
“No one has that power,” I said, shaking my head. The senator’s wild gaze swung toward me. He stopped shaking. “Your wife is dead. She’s probably crossed over. She can’t be brought back.”
“That’s not true.” Fisher’s lips pulled back, baring his teeth. “It’s not true.”
“Bael cannot grant you that favor. I don’t care who the Harbinger is, but neither can he,” Cayman said, rising. “Other than the one in charge up there, there is only one other being in this world who can do such a thing and he’s only ever done it once. It ended badly, so I doubt he’ll do it again. Especially for a human. No offense.”
Understanding clicked into play. “You’re talking about Grim? But he can’t bring someone back from the dead, especially not...” I looked down at the senator. “When did your wife die?”
The man’s gaze shifted to his swelling fingers. “Three years, ten months and nineteen days ago.”
That was...exact.
“She’s super dead,” I pointed out. “Like super decayed and dead.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Cayman replied, stunning me. And apparently even Zayne, because he turned toward the demon. “Grim can do anything with a soul and that’s all you need to reanimate a body.”
My eyes widened. “Do you have...her body?”
The senator didn’t answer, and my stomach churned. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know where her not-so-fresh body was being kept if it wasn’t in her grave.
“You don’t need the body,” Cayman explained. “You just need the soul.”
I gaped at him. “That’s...that’s not possible.” I couldn’t believe it. After all the dead people I’d seen, it just couldn’t be possible.
Cayman smiled. “Anything is possible, especially when you’re Azreal, the Angel of Death.
“But like I said, he’s only done that once before, and if you ask him if it can be done, he’ll lie at first, but he can release a soul, he can destroy it and...” He paused for pure dramatics. “He can bring back the dead.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Cayman stepped toward the couch and then knelt so the senator was eye level with him. “I can also tell you that Azreal would never make such an agreement. There is literally nothing anyone can offer him. You were lied to.”
The man did not move.
Zayne lowered his hands. “She was your weakness. They found it,” he said, repeating what he’d said to me earlier. “They exploited it.”
My gaze flickered over the man. “The sad thing is, you would’ve seen her again. If she had been good and you were good, you would’ve seen her when you died. You would’ve joined her, stayed with her for all of eternity. But now?” I shook my head. “You will not.”
His eyes squeezed shut. “They promised me,” he whispered. “They promised me.”
I sighed, chest heavy, torn between hating this guy and feeling sorry for him. How could I feel both? He wasn’t a good person. Maybe at some point he had been, but he’d turned a blind eye to everything wrong to get what he wanted, and I...
A coldness filled the pit of my stomach as I glanced at Zayne, thinking that I never wanted to know what it felt like to get to the point the senator had, where I’d do anything to bring back the love of my life.
I, who rarely prayed, prayed then to never know what that felt like.
Ever.