Guild Hunter: Archangel's Shadows Part 9

"It's all right, Carl." Leaving the nurse at his station, she strode down the thick gray carpet of the hallway toward the corner suite, the walls around her hung with elegant pieces of art, and the arched window at the end reaching the floor. It allowed sunlight to pour in during the day while showcasing the hedge maze that was part of the extensive gardens.

Tonight it revealed only stygian darkness.

The book was waiting for her on the little hallway table beside the closed door, the soundproofing so good that she couldn't hear anything beyond it.

Arvi sat on a chair beside the table. His head was in his hands, his shoulders slumped and the white of his business s.h.i.+rt stretched across the breadth of them. He'd always seemed so big to her, larger than life. Yet he was only a man, a man who was in pain. She went to reach out, closed her hand into a fist before she could make contact.

Turning, she picked up the book . . . and Arvi's hand closed over her wrist, the leather of her jacket insulating her from the skin-to-skin contact that might have plunged her into her brother's life and his secrets against her will. Chest thick with a thousand unsaid things, she s.h.i.+fted to look at him.

When his shoulders shook, a harsh sound escaping his throat, she turned completely and held his head against her stomach as he cried. Her own tears were locked up inside her, knotted up with fear and anger and loss. But she held Arvi as he cried, her strong, determined older brother who couldn't fix this one thing that had changed everything.

The past. The present. The future.

Janvier.

He could've been her future in another world, another time, when Arvi's rough tears didn't hold pure heartbreak and the knots inside her weren't formed of a terrible, inevitable truth. Because Ashwini would never permit herself to be the one on the other side of the locked door.

No matter what.

Raphael walked downstairs long past midnight, his city swathed in a moonless and velvet dark while his consort lay peacefully in their bed. She'd been sleeping with her hand over his heart until he left. Though Elena had gone to bed tired but happy and he didn't expect the nightmares to find her, he didn't like to leave her in the twilight hours. However, Dmitri had made direct contact, and his second didn't interrupt Raphael at such times for trivialities.

A woman is dead, Dmitri had told him, and her body bears hints of Lijuan's hand. Janvier is on his way to the Enclave to give you a report.

Icy fury filled Raphael at the thought of the archangel who'd sought to harm his people in her l.u.s.t for power. He wanted no taint of her in his territory. That thought uppermost in his mind, he turned at the bottom of the steps and made his way to the library.

The man who stood facing the sliding gla.s.s doors that looked out to the Hudson, and beyond it, the million pinp.r.i.c.ks of light that was Manhattan, held himself like a fighter, his stance light. He wore a white T-s.h.i.+rt and over it, a holster that crisscrossed his back. That holster wasn't the weathered brown one Raphael had previously noted; the supple leather of this was golden in color, the blades it held distinctive.

Those blades had been lethal in combat.

Raphael was well aware that Janvier, along with Naasir and Ashwini, had done far more behind enemy lines than was known even among their own troops. The three had a way of making it all seem a game, not to be taken seriously. A number of their actions during the battle might have appeared foolish to others, but he'd seen the strategic calculation behind it-distracting, annoying, or frustrating the enemy at a critical juncture could be as deadly a strike as a cleaving blow with a sword.

Turning the instant Raphael stepped into the room, Janvier put his hands behind his back, his stance altering to that of a soldier with his liege. "Sire."

"Janvier."

The other man didn't dally, giving him a crisp, clean report of the night's discovery. "While the final state of the victim's body hints at Lijuan," he added, "the scars and bruises point to long-term abuse.

"As it is, we all know Lijuan can't have regenerated already. Even if she had, she'd hardly be interested in prowling the streets, attacking pets and women-but I also can't see Lijuan sharing this particular power."

Raphael had witnessed Lijuan fly apart into a thousand shards and, regardless of her attempts to convince the world that she was a G.o.ddess, he was certain she needed her physical body. He'd injured that body multiple times during the battle and the only reason she'd been able to so quickly erase the wounds was because she'd fed on the life force of her soldiers.

And for that, she'd needed her mouth.

Even an archangel couldn't regenerate the mouth without first regenerating the brain and all the systems of the body that kept that brain alive. Lijuan wasn't dead, of that he was in no doubt, but neither was she a G.o.ddess. It would take her considerable time to repair her physical form, especially taking into account that he'd obliterated her using a combination of wildfire and angelfire.

The former was a new, Cascade-born gift, and it had proven to have a debilitating effect on Lijuan. Raphael hadn't mentioned it to anyone but Elena and Dmitri, but he believed the wildfire had caused damage it would take Lijuan much longer than usual to rectify.

"You're right about her not sharing this ability," he said to Janvier. "She's both too used to controlling her people through the leash of doling out power, and too greedy. You say this victim wasn't an empty husk as you witnessed in battle?"

"No, she still had a sense of humanity and of flesh about her, enough that we could immediately identify her as female."

Whereas Lijuan's victims had been so shriveled into themselves, determining gender had been impossible from a visual scan of the high-resolution photographs Janvier's hunter had taken. The shadow team had all three reported being unable to make the determination at the scene, either-except, of course, for those they'd personally witnessed being consumed.

"Fang marks?" A vampire could conceivably drain a victim of all her blood, given a long enough time frame.

"Yes, but not at the site of the fatal throat wound. There was too much damage to determine what caused that injury-similarly to the dog, she appeared gnawed on."

That didn't exclude vampires; it could be one of the Made who'd given in to bloodl.u.s.t, torn and ripped and chewed at the flesh in his feeding. "Can the situation be contained?" Raphael had to be ruthless; a mortal had lost her life and deserved justice, but that justice could not happen on a public stage. Not this time.

"I'm confident Ash and I can deal with this quietly, with help from the Guild and Tower as necessary. The two witnesses, responding officers, and crime scene techs can be trusted to keep their silence."

Before Elena, Raphael would've made a hundred percent sure of that by wiping the memories of the people involved, but now he'd seen mortals through her eyes, understood that these people were her friends and colleagues and she would protect them-because memories were what made a person.

I would rather die as Elena than live as a shadow.

The echo of what she'd said to him soon after they first met, paired with her pa.s.sionate words before the battle, made him no less ruthless when it came to his city, but he did consider other options before taking this particular measure.

"I'll have Dmitri put a watch on all their communications as a contingency." Greed could sink its hooks into the most unexpected of people, and this information had value to the media. "Do you expect to uncover any further information tonight?"

"Non. The late hour means we'll have to explore other avenues come morning." The languid rhythm of Janvier's voice belied the hard edge in his eyes. "Even the victim's fingerprints can't be used to search for her ident.i.ty until the pathologist rehydrates her fingertips."

"Take care of her, Janvier," Raphael said. "I will not have the mortals in my territory become hunted." Human lives might be a fleeting firefly flicker in comparison to the endless span of an angel's, but Raphael now knew their light could burn so bright, it had the strength to vanquish the ice of eternity itself.

"Sire."

Walking to a small cherrywood table on which sat a faceted crystal decanter and six tumblers, Raphael poured out two measures of the carefully aged amber liquid in the decanter. He handed one of the tumblers to Janvier and said, "Your blades are from Neha's land." The Cajun, as all called Janvier, was now one of his trusted people, but they didn't have between them the relations.h.i.+p Raphael had with his Seven.

That was to be expected. Janvier wasn't yet past his third century-even Venom, the youngest of the Seven, had over a hundred years on the vampire with the bayou in his voice. However, Raphael saw in Janvier the same thing he'd seen in Venom, in Aodhan, in Illium, and in the others of his Seven: the Cajun had honor so deeply woven into his bones that it would take a cataclysm to shatter it.

Dmitri hadn't lost it even during the worst years of his existence.

"Yes." Janvier took the drink, his posture easing now that the report was done. "Neha gifted them to me when I left her court, said she had a feeling I'd be getting into trouble and she enjoyed my wit too much to hear I'd lost my head because I didn't have adequate weapons." Reaching back, the vampire withdrew one distinctively curved blade in a smooth motion, held it out handle first toward Raphael.

He took it, tested the weight and heft. It was heavier than it appeared when Janvier used it. That weight, along with the razored edge, explained how the Cajun was able to slice off heads with a single swipe. Interestingly, however, the weapon appeared decorative at first glance, the carved bone handle inset with small gemstones that sparkled prettily, drawing the eye away from the honed death of the blade itself.

"Neha favored you." More than Raphael had realized-because he recognized the workmans.h.i.+p behind Janvier's blades now that he'd handled one. "These were created by Rhys himself, if I'm not mistaken." Neha's trusted general, a man who'd been a weapons maker in his youth, and to this day made blades renowned for their strength and handling.

It was said he only created a new set once every decade.

Janvier took the blade back, slid it into the specially designed scabbard. "Rhys is responsible for much of my skill at the kukri."

"And, like Venom, you keep those ties." The youngest member of his Seven had been Made by the Queen of Poisons herself. "He manages to make himself welcome in her lands even when Neha carries a grudge against me."

"Perhaps that's why she's been known to refer to the two of us as Charm and Guile." A faint smile. "I've never worked out which one of us is which."

They spoke for several more minutes before Raphael walked with the vampire to the front door.

"Sire." Janvier paused on the doorstep after shrugging on the leather jacket he'd left with Montgomery, the gleaming red of his motorcycle visible behind him. "Ash-her Making-is it still-"

"She is cleared." Had been for a number of years, ever since her abilities first came to the attention of the Tower, her blood covertly obtained and tested for compatibility with the process that led to vampirism. "But, Janvier"-he held the other man's eyes-"she has shown no inclination toward accepting the offer quietly made her."

Janvier clenched his jaw, looked away before facing Raphael once more, a bleak hollowness to his gaze. "That is the thing . . . I don't think anything could convince her to choose a life among immortals."

14.

Janvier picked Ashwini up at eight that morning. "You didn't sleep well," he said, eyes on the dark smudges beneath her eyes.

"It's not the first sleepless night I've ever had-I'm fine." Unable to resist the craving to touch him, she put her hand on his shoulder and swung up onto the bike. Warm and strong, his scent earthy and familiar, he made the bruises inside her hurt less, her muscles no longer as taut.

"I checked on the snowfall records," he said. "Last fall in Manhattan before the body was found was around ten p.m., but there were earlier flurries."

"That still leaves us with a wide window for the body dump." She chewed on the information as she put on the helmet he pa.s.sed over. "I don't think this was done in the light."

"No-there would've been too high a risk of being seen."

"It's dark by roughly six, but the shops in that area are open and busy till eight, the restaurants for longer. Even with the place next door to Rocco's being closed at the time, I'd bet on the body being dumped very close to ten."

"I agree." He stroked his hand over her thigh.

She didn't protest; there was something more tender than s.e.xy in that touch and it closed up her throat. "The autopsy's starting soon," she managed to say, before putting her hand on his shoulder again. "Let's go."

"There isn't a drop of blood left in her," the pathologist confirmed thirty minutes into his examination of the body, "but if this was a vampire, he's the messiest eater I've ever seen. I'll do cross sections of her throat, but I don't have much hope of finding deep tissue wounds that confirm fangs."

"Her other injuries?" Janvier asked, echoing Ashwini's thoughts.

"Long-term abuse." The pathologist pointed to a set of scars on the victim's b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "At least three months old, though I'd hazard they were made even earlier. And I'm sure you noticed the fang marks elsewhere on her body. Whoever fed from her didn't bother to seal up the wounds except over major veins and arteries, and even there, he or she only did the bare minimum to stop the bleeding."

Ashwini's best friend had been kidnapped and kept by a predatory group of vampires for two long months. Honor had survived, but she'd been brutalized. Ashwini would never forget the wounds on her friend's body when they'd found her, the despair in the midnight green of Honor's eyes. A little longer and she might have lost her friend forever.

The woman on the steel table in front of her hadn't been found in time, the monsters hurting her terribly before they killed her.

I'll get justice for you, she promised silently, before looking at the pathologist again. "Were you able to confirm when she died?"

"It's best-guess at this stage, but from the signs of decomposition in the tissue she does have left, I'd say it was within the past week."

"Any distinguis.h.i.+ng marks on her body?"

"Tattoo on her outer left ankle of what looks like a rainbow-colored dolphin. That has to be unusual."

Using her phone, Ashwini took a close-up of the image with the pathologist holding the skin taut. It wrinkled in on itself as soon as he let go, and the sight was at once sad and enraging. No one had the right to treat another being as if they had no value.

"This is for your own benefit."

"But, Arvi-"

"No arguments. This . . . thing inside you is never going to permit you to be normal. The doctors will change that."

Shaking off the memory of the greatest betrayal of her life, she watched with care as the pathologist turned the pitiable sh.e.l.l of the body to check the victim's back. "No other tattoos or distinctive scars," the doctor said after laying her down in the supine position again. "But there's something else you should know."

Ashwini frowned as the man picked up a limp hand. "That wrist wasn't broken when she was loaded for transport."

"Exactly." The pathologist picked up the victim's other arm. "I'm sorry to have to do this, but you need to see how bad it is." With a quiet murmur that Ashwini couldn't make out, but which appeared to be directed at the woman on the autopsy table, the pathologist snapped the ulna like it was driftwood.

Janvier hissed out a breath. "All her bones are so weak?"

"I'll do scans to confirm, but yes. They're porous to the point that I broke her wrist while doing an initial examination." Placing the victim's arm back down gently, he said, "Her teeth are cracked, and her skin's so delicate it's like paper. See how the bone shard's gone straight through."

Pity and anger entwined inside Ashwini. "Anything else?" she said, fighting to keep her voice level.

"Not yet. I'll forward you the blood test results and any other forensic evidence."

"Her fingerprints could significantly speed up identification," Janvier said, white grooves at the corners of his mouth.

"I'll get started on them right away."

Thanking the pathologist, Ashwini stepped out of the morgue and into the cool white corridor empty of all other life. It was odd; every time she came to the morgue, it was to exit into this cool quiet and yet it never failed to unsettle her, despite the fact that, to her ability, this place was almost peaceful. The dead kept their secrets.

Striding through the silence, she didn't refer to what the pathologist had shown them; there was nothing to say, Janvier's anger as white-hot as her own. "I've sent the image of the tattoo to the Guild computer team, asked them to run a search against all possible databases. They'll do the same as soon as the fingerprints come through, liaise with the Tower team throughout."

"What about the face?" Janvier zipped up his jacket as they stepped outside into the light snow that had begun to fall. "The Tower has access to an artist who can rebuild it."

Zipping up her own jacket and flipping up the collar, she said, "Can he-she-do it without the skull? I don't want to strip away the skin the victim has left." She should be allowed that dignity at least.

"I'll ask," Janvier said, not questioning her irrational choice. "It may be possible with high-resolution scans and X-rays."

When he went to hand her a helmet, she shook her head. "I'm going to walk to Guild Academy, see if I can pick up useful scuttleb.u.t.t from the other hunters." Her brethren might have seen or heard something useful without realizing its significance. "I'll also drop by the other businesses in the area near the restaurant, see if anyone has security footage or was around late last night."

"I can join you."

"No, I think it's better I do this myself. Even a hint of Tower interest and people start getting nervous-not to mention, your presence will raise questions." Ashwini, on the other hand, could explain hers away by saying she was doing a favor for a cop friend in order to a.s.suage the boredom of being on mandatory sick leave.

Stowing the helmet, Janvier straddled his bike. "When will you tell me about your brother, cher?" he asked in a voice as dark and as mysterious as the slow-moving waters in the land he called home.

Ashwini's thoughts filled with the terrible secret she'd carried within for so long. He had to know, that much had become clear to her during their ride . . . but she didn't have the courage to face the pain on this cold morning while the afterimage of death lingered on her retinas.

"Not today," she whispered.