know whom to trust. Houdini or the woman sitting beside her. Was Lilly a killer as he’d said?
“Thanks.” Lilly straightened the lapels of her cashmere jacket in a fussy manner. “Such a mess, isn’t it?”
Takala smelled the acrid scent of sulfur and magic on Lilly Smith as she said, “That’s an understatement.”
Striker felt the power forging a path through his body. He writhed and shook, knowing how it felt to be burned at the stake. He rarely if ever found himself vulnerable, but this was one of those moments. If it had been night, he would have been too strong for Culler to absorb his power. But it was morning, and the sun had drained some of his strength. Not even the tech-support guys at B.O.S.P. could come up with a solution to block that phenomenon. But he still had half of his powers. Culler and her friend would not get away. Not if he could help it.
When he could speak and move again, he rose and sniffed the air. He scented blood, human blood. The predatory side of him could detect the scent of blood from miles away. Not your typical brand, either. This was an enticing smell, different. Too aromatic and potent. The newcomer’s blood. He felt his bloodlust stirring—a craving he was certain he had mastered, until a second ago. He felt his world shifting a little out of kilter, and he clenched his jaw in irritation.
He barked at the two B.O.S.P. agents, “Bring in the cleaners, then dispose of this mess.” He motioned to the broken fence pickets and tire tracks running through the yards and the next-door neighbors peeking out the window. Cleaners erased the memories of humans and put the world back together in their ordered little universe. There were many types of cleaners in the supernatural world. Those who utilized dark magic caused adverse effects like strokes and Alzheimer’s. B.O.S.P. employed cleaners who were trained to use crystal erasers, the only safe type, that actually altered the atomic particles that made up human memory. “And find out who that woman helping her is,” he added, narrowing his eyes at the street they had disappeared down.
Tongue looked over at Vaughn, a new recruit. He was so new, no one but Striker knew his code name. “You get the license?” she asked.
Vaughn looked lost and shrugged.
Tongue rolled her lizard eyes. “That’s a fallen angel for you.”
“D-e-t-e-c-t 1,” Striker said, his tone turning soft and menacing, a sure sign he was losing patience with incompetence. His gaze raked both the agents, and that was enough of a reprimand.
They instantly snapped to attention.
Striker looked at them, but his mind was on the license plate, clear in his memory as the image of the driver. Long wavy ginger hair with streaks of golden blond running through it. One green eye and one blue. Dangly hoop earrings. Too much eye makeup and lipstick. Arrogant saucy expression. Didn’t seem to show an ounce of fear. Something about her seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t place her. One thing was certain: if she got in his way again, she’d become a casualty. Striker smelled the enticing aroma of her blood emanating from Tongue’s fingernails, and he clenched his fists.
“She ain’t all human, boss,” Tongue said, licking the green sheen off her plump lips as if tasting the woman.
“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.” Striker found himself unpleasantly annoyed that Tongue could taste the woman. “Find out who she is and if she’s working for Raithe, while I track them.” He turned, and his body morphed into a sheet of black mist. When his essence disappeared, a loud clap of thunder followed.
Tongue and her partner looked at each other. Vaughn spoke first. “Man, he’s provoked. Never seen him upset.”
“Just be glad he’s not mad at you.” Tongue glowered at him, then pulled out a cell phone.
Chapter 3
Takala checked her mirrors for a tail. Clear so far. She had been forced to stop at a service station and find a quick fix for the driver’s side window. They had used Mylar plastic and duct tape. At least it kept out some of the cold air, but the flapping of the plastic was driving her crazy. Takala had the heater going full blast, though Lilly Smith was hunched in a ball as if she was cold.
Takala had found a scarf in her glove compartment and covered the bleeding scratches on her neck. She adjusted it now, still feeling the gecko cretin’s nails gouging her skin. If only she had some peroxide and antibiotic ointment. That would have to wait. She grimaced at the neon-pink scarf, but it went okay with her black jeans and black coat. And the blood spots on the scarf actually looked as if they had been added by the designer. For having been attacked, she didn’t look half-bad. Wounded or not, she cared about her appearance.
Takala settled back in the driver’s seat, aware of the uncomfortable silence between her and Lilly Smith. She felt Lilly’s keen eyes studying her. Finally Takala said, “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“So, where we going?”
“The Richmond airport,” Lilly said, uncertainty in the reply.
“Sure.” Takala nodded to assure Lilly Smith that she was okay with the drive.
“And thank you. I appreciate your help. They would have killed me back there.”
“No problem.”
Lilly took Takala’s measure for a long, uncomfortable moment, something in her shrewd blue eyes that hid more than just mere intelligence. “You’re a brave girl. You don’t seem afraid, even after all you’ve seen.”
“I’m not. Supernatural stuff doesn’t bother me.”
“If you stay with me, you might be more than bothered.”
“I’m used to living on the edge.”
“Really.” Lilly glanced at Takala as if she had no idea what danger was. She lifted her chin a few inches in a challenging, almost condescending way, the smug smile never leaving her lips.
“I’m a detective.” Takala swallowed her indignation, and it tasted bitter in her throat.
“A good one, I hope.”
“I’ve stayed alive this long.”
“You look young to me.”
“I’ve been in the business for six years.”
“Run a lot of background checks, do you?”
“No, I don’t like the research end. I’m more hands-on.”
Lilly shot her an I-guess-you’ll-do-in-a-pinch look.
No matter how hard she tried, her dislike for this woman was growing like a cancer in her gut. She felt as if she were being interviewed for a job and found lacking. Do a stranger a favor, and that’s how they repay you.
Stranger or not, was she really related to this woman? The verdict was still out, and she wanted to keep it that way. Two things Takala knew: Lilly Smith had trust issues, and she had a hard time feeling obligated to anyone. Not to mention she wasn’t very likable. Takala quickly changed the subject. “Who were those goons?”
“Unfortunately,
