Chapter Two
Tyson drove to work still amazed at the display of fire talent he had just witnessed. It was true that Raphael was the most powerful Fire Elemental ever created, but he never thought the girl could harness that energy to the degree that she did. He was half sure that she was completely benign when he suggested that she think of someone she wanted to kill. However, he now regretted the decision to coach her in that manner.
The first few times she tried, he'd figured that he was correct and Breanne was a one hundred percent harmless human woman with a big attitude. But, that last time, God, he wasn't even sure he wanted to know who she was thinking about. Her face had gone from defeated to determined to deadly within seconds. If he was going to continue to help her train, he would need to steal another dummy from the CPD training gym.
He got out of his black sedan and cursed profusely. Outside the driver's side door was a murky, half-melted pile of slush, and Tyson just stepped his left Kenneth Cole right into it. He hated Chicago! The summers were fine, pleasant even, when the hellish months of July and August came around, bringing the heat index up into the hundreds. The winter, however, was like a punishment for a Fire Elemental. Though it could be said that he deserved the punishment.
There were times that he regretted joining the Luminosi for no other reason than that they liked to be centered together. A unified front pooling all of their financial, intellectual, and supernatural resources together. Some of them, like Tyson, lived off-site and worked in influential careers, only reporting to Cayden at the community.
The Scuri operated differently. Lycos traveled between his castles and mansions in Europe, but he preferred Greece. He positioned his soldiers worldwide. Usually, as long as you stayed in his good graces, he would send you wherever you liked, as long as it still suited him. Trudging through the unshoveled snow up the steps to the station's door, Tyson thought about how he should be in Cairo or Vegas. Hell, he would even take Cambodia. Anywhere that was hot and he could be comfortable. Well, except for the Caribbean. He would never go back there.
He stepped into the station and breathed a sigh of relief. The heat was on full blast, easily a wondrous seventy-eight degrees. On his way to the top floor Homicide Division, where his desk was located, Tyson stopped in the bathroom to take a leak. The minute he opened the door, he doubled over with raucous laughter. Three rookies were in their tees and long, yellow, rubber gloves hard at work. One was on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor. One was hard at work cleaning the urinals with a toothbrush. And the last was in a stall doing God knows what.
Tyson could barely catch his breath to bark out, "What did you losers do?"
Rookie #1: "Improper uniform, Sir."
Rookie #2: "Late for morning briefing, Lieutenant."
Rookie #3: "Forgot about firearm training, Sir."
Tyson shook his head in amusement. "Figgy?" The rookies all nodded their heads, though none of them would call Captain Refugio Figueroa by that particular nickname. Of course, none of them knew Figgy like Tyson did. Their acquaintance went back four hundred years, well before the change in Heavenly infrastructure.
Refugio's name was a joke. It meant "refuge", but he was anything but that. The punishment Tyson was witnessing then was tame compared to what Figgy was capable of. Before coming to the CPD he worked in "corrections". Only the Daimones knew that was code for Purgatory. Tyson took care of his business, choosing to use the urinal that Rookie #2 was cleaning, as opposed to one of the other two which were still dirty. Then he zipped up and walked out chuckling and putting his hand up in a half wave as he left.
He made it a point to stop by Figgy's office. "Good one my friend," he said to the Daimon who had the appearance of a middle-aged 5'4" Latino man.
"Ha! Those idiots should be glad they didn't come across me forty years ago." True. Back then he was a seven foot tall, red-skinned, horned monster with a fondness for barbed cat-o-nine tails. His original visage was meant to scare the shit out of the billions of naughty humans that were sent to him for atonement.
Tyson laughed good-naturedly and waved goodbye, but was stopped short by Figgy. "Hey, Tyson! A case came across my desk a few minutes ago. You may want to come here for this."
Tyson was wary. It was unusual for Figgy to ask him to look at non-Luminosi related cases. He dropped down into the chair in front of the Captain's desk. "What's the deal?"
"A couple of hours ago, some tourists found a woman in the snow lying under the Bean in Millennium Park. She can't remember how she got there or who she is. And she was stark naked."
Tyson shook his head in disgust. "Sounds like a rape, Figgy. The guy probably used a drug cocktail to keep her pliable and quiet. She at the hospital?"
"Yeah, but..."
"No big deal. Humans are notorious for this crap, especially in a city like this. You don't need me. Rape-kit her, then get her some therapy. It'll take time, but she'll recover and be okay."
Figgy took a deep breath, "You're missing my point. I do need you on this."
"Why?"
Figgy opened a file and pulled out a picture, sliding it across the desk to Tyson. "It was taken at the hospital. I need to know what you think."
Tyson grabbed the picture. His hands began to tremble as he looked at the face of the Vic. Though dirty and paled from hypothermia, she had skin the color of mocha. Behind her terrified expression, her wide gray eyes showed depth and wisdom beyond the age that he would put in the mid-twenties. Her beautiful, full luscious lips he knew were equally capable of cursing the strongest, most frightening men or kissing them into submission. And he'd completely stopped trying to deny her identity as he took in the mess of dark spirals that fell around her heart-shaped face.
Tyson couldn't form any of the words that needed to come out of his mouth just then, so Figgy prompted him. "Is that who I think it is?"
Snapping his head up to look at his superior only in their human façades, Tyson spat out, "What do you know of her?"
"You can't possibly be surprised to know that she was sent to me. I'm sorry for what Lycos did to her, but she was no saint. I had her for 15 years before she moved on."
Tyson grimaced, but turned his attention back to the picture. "I think... My God, it can't be." His voice vibrated with fear, sorrow, and shame as he said her name: "Sabine."
He threw the picture back at Figgy. "Which hospital?"
When he got his answer, "Northwestern Memorial," he got up and stalked out without a word. Ignoring the research he had to do at the station all together, Tyson made a beeline back out into the frigid temperatures to his car. He turned on his lights and siren so he could drive at unsafe speeds straight to her.
It couldn't be her, it just couldn't. He felt her take her last breath in his arms. Figgy himself admitted to having her for years in Purgatory. As impossible as it was, Tyson couldn't stop himself from racing to get to the woman he'd loved and lost.