Chapter Eleven
Echo looked past the broken doorway and cursed Beelzebub when Samael came into her sight. She sprinted to the landing at the entry. "You Judas!"
"Sticks and stones," he said, clicking his heels and doing a merry dance around a sweetpepper bush.
"Where are the others, Samael?"
"There isn't anyone else. Only me." He sucked in his cheeks and jerked his shoulders.
She heaved a sigh. The idiot must consider her a dolt if he thought she would believe he possessed the power to rock a house. Samael had once attempted to throw a fireball and caught himself on fire.
She peered into the shadows and said, "Show yourselves."
Two felons stepped from behind the branches of spruce trees edging the lake.
She recognized them as the demons from the alley – Ledius and Kelial. Not good news.
The holy water forbade them entrance. For how long, she didn't know.
"Who are these fuckers, Echo?"
She identified Duplex's distinctive voice and sensed the height of his anger. He was prepared to fight to his death. That was unacceptable.
"Everyone stay where you are," she said. "I'll look after this."
"Where we come from, men protect their women," Forty-Ouncer protested.
How delightful. She had become a little biker chick; a little woman, even. "I'm sure you're quite capable, but this is a different matter than I expect you're used to."
"Nothing different that I can see," Duplex said, sneering at the demons. "You seen one douchebag, you seen them all. Ain't that true, Forty?"
The bikers took a stand on her left side, Keegan and Smith on her right.
"Who you calling a douchebag, Skinflint?" Kelial asked. "Are you going to hide behind the woman, or are you going to come out here and settle this like men?"
"An offer I can't refuse," Duplex said. He lifted into the air, hovered, then flew to within a yard of Kelial. A second later, Forty-Ouncer stood beside Duplex, fangs bared and talons readied.
Surprised, Echo took a moment to digest the fact that the bikers who she thought were old men playing at being boys, who looked back on each day wishing for the old days, were actually vampires. She would never have guessed.
"What the hell is going on?" Keegan asked, staring wide-eyed at the bikers.
"They can fly," Smith said, clearly astounded. "And they have claws!" Without taking his eyes from the vampires, he hit Keegan in the elbow.
Despite their attempts to hide their fear, Echo recognized their fright and shock and wished she could take the time to console them. "Stay here." She leapt through the air and landed on the deck within a second.
"Wait for us," Keegan said, grabbing hold of a baseball bat from the umbrella stand and shoving the makeshift weapon at Smith.
With shaking hands, Keegan took the Taser from Echo's briefcase and charged outside. "Stay the hell away from her, you cretins," he said, coming to a stop beside Echo.
With a bad-ass attitude, Ledius strode to an inch of Keegan's face and glowered at him. "Who you calling a cretin, lawyer?"
Echo zapped herself between them, facing Ledius. She put a hand on his chest and gently nudged him backward. "There's no reason for you to be here. The essence has returned to its host."
"I'm supposed to take your word on that, am I?"
She cocked her head and asked, "Would I lie?"
He rubbed his whiskered jaw and stared into her eyes. "I hate wasted trips."
"Of course, you're not worried about what punishment The Morning Star will inflict on you when you return empty-fisted." Not wanting to turn her back on these unpredictable creatures, she walked backward to the men. Without losing sight of the fact that the vampires who could at any time turn on her stood an arm's length away, she portrayed a united front, hopefully one that the demons would not attempt to breach.
Samael snickered while the other demons looked at her like they knew something she didn't. She couldn't imagine what that could be.
"Nice shiner," she said to Samael.
"You should know. You gave it to me."
She scrunched her brows. "I seem to remember something about that. In an alley, right?"
"Duh. Dumb blonde."
"Shame is I. So, what can I do for you boys today?"
"Lies are not beneath you, are they, Echo?" a deep, crisp voice said from the darkness. "In fact, nothing is beneath you, is it? I seem to recall your penchant for being on top."
Her insides turned to ice at the sound of the baritone voice that had at another time sent shivers of pleasure through her. "Bartholomew." She’d barely said his name before he towered over her. The centuries of darkness had left no mark on him. The man was still gorgeous and, she guessed, as treacherous as he once was. Some people, some things never changed.
"You remember," he said.
His dark-lashed ebony eyes no longer had the hold on her they once had, she happily noted. "How could I forget a scoundrel like you?" she asked.
"Is this the jerk who took you for a ride?" Keegan asked.
"An unfortunate mistake," she said without removing her gaze from her former lover. Beneath her breath, she asked Keegan to let her handle Bartholomew.
"Is that how you think of me?" Bartholomew brushed his fingers against her cheek and closed his eyes, as though to imprint the feel of her skin to memory.
"I don't think of you at all."
"Really? Not at all?"
She shook her head, refusing to fear him.
"I find that difficult to believe, considering your promises that you would love me forever; that the very sound of my voice made you come. Tell me, does your skin quiver at the touch of another man like it did for me? Isn't it my name you call in the wilds of ecstasy?" He tilted her chin with his finger. "Tell me the truth, now. I know you're a stickler for honesty."
If anyone knew that, he did. But then, he deserved his punishment. She was protecting her Almighty. Unfortunately, Bartholomew had reserved that role for himself. It wasn't as though she had lashed out in the rage of a jealous hussy when she learned of his plans to overthrow the hierarchy. Any mal'ak worth her title would have done the same and probably without the diplomacy she had employed. No, Bartholomew deserved what had befallen him.
She turned first to Keegan then to Smith and asked them to remain where they were.
Behind her, Smith planted his feet on the floorboards of the deck. "Just say the word, Echo, and we'll send this devil back to Hell," he said, hitting the bat against his palm.
"Hear that, Bartholomew? That's the sound of courage. No, on second thought, you wouldn't know bravery if it slapped you in the face."
"You witch!" Bartholomew charged and raised his fisted hand high in the air above her head.
Prepared for the attack, she raised her arm to block the blow.
With a fierce growl, Forty-Ouncer jumped into Bartholomew's path, looming over him, talons sluicing the air around the demon's head. The threat that he would do more hung in the air.
"Tell ghoul boy to back off, Echo. This is between you and me."
She placed her hand on Forty-Ouncer's arm. "It's okay. He won't hurt me." She said the words but didn't believe them. Bartholomew was here for one reason and one reason only – payback. And it would be Hell again. For him.
Echo determined from the set of Bartholomew's jaw that he didn't like his position and would accept this temporary defeat. He only needed a righteous way out. Perhaps she was out of her mind, but she decided to give him one.
"You're outnumbered and overpowered," she said. To prove her position, the bikers hissed, showing sharpened incisors and glowing yellow eyes. She looked at Bartholomew and softened her voice. "End this here, now. Forget the past. Forget your vendetta against me and live to fight another day."
"But don't you see, Echo? Revenge and hate are the fires that motivate us, what makes us who we are, what we are. The bigger the motivation, the better we are at our jobs."
"How can you
take pleasure in exacting pain, in destroying lives, in taking lives?"
"They are sinners, Echo, who have to be punished."
"Sinners like you." She saw his nostrils flare, but continued anyway. "What of those innocents, Bartholomew? The ones who received punishment far beyond what they should?"
He smiled. "Ah, those ones." He licked his lips. "What a rush it is to see their eyes when they realize their ill-gotten gains came with a price, and the time has come to pay that price. Not from their," he sneered, "Lord, but from Lucifer." He looked into her eyes. "It's almost as good as sex." He tilted his chin. "Almost."
His gaze traveled every inch of her body. "Tell me, does it not comfort you to trash me, to turn your back on me? Is your heart not filled with hate right now? Do you not take pleasure in that feeling? Tell me the truth now, Little One."
"All I feel for you, Bartholomew, is pity. I scold myself every day for ever loving you." She mentally crossed herself and prayed that her face showed more composure than she felt. Bartholomew had been one of the more talented and powerful of mal'aks. She anticipated that his powers had only heightened when he joined forces with Satan.
"Would you not shed a tear at my death, Cara Mia?"
"No."
He cocked a brow. "Not one?"
"Not one." A burst of strength shot through her. She grew bolder. "Why are you doing this? It's because of your name, isn't it? You never liked it. You never did tell me why. Is it because it made you feel feminine? Why else would you wish you had been christened Butch or Brock or Brogan? Weren't those your choices, Bartholomew?" she asked, stretching out every syllable of his name. She taunted him, hoping he would see the extent of her valor and leave.
"Come with me. Together we will rule the world. There are many riches to be had as a dark force. Much more than the path of good affords you."
She understood now what this was about. Keegan's soul wasn't special and not the reason for the demons fervor. Bartholomew had set this up; set her up.
Convincing her to forsake her Savior and cross over to the dark side would be his ultimate revenge on her and on the Almighty. She glared at him, wondering how she could have loved such a vile, disgusting individual.
"Leave, and take your band of misfits with you." Knowing the men had her back, she turned and walked toward the cottage.
"I will return for you, my love."
She knew he would. If Bartholomew was anything, he was a sore loser.
"Keep those fires burning," he said.
Without a break in her step, Echo continued walking. The men, divided in pairs, flanked her. She didn't turn to make sure Bartholomew and his band had left; she knew instinctively they had. They would return, though. Of that, she could be certain.
In the middle of the living room, she looked from Keegan to the other men. "I'm sure we all have questions to ask each other, but first things first," she said, recognizing the urgency of barricading themselves for the time being within a safe fortress. "Keegan, do you have anything to board up the doorway?"
"There are a few sheets of plywood in the woodshed." He gestured to the men. "Give me a hand."
Echo suspected Keegan didn't want her alone with the bikers. His protectiveness was adorable, but also unnecessary. Duplex and Forty-Ouncer were obviously on the side of good and would not harm her.
When the men returned, she had the living room swept clean of wood splinters and glass shards, a fire burning steadily in the hearth, and jasmine-scented candles lit to relax their weary hearts. A spread of biscuits, cheese, chunked vegetables, and fruit and two bottles of merlot took the place of the Ouija board on the coffee table.
Keegan looked darling with a carpenter's pouch hanging low on his hips, spiral nails clenched between his lips, and a hammer held tightly in his hand. Later, she would compliment him.
With the bikers hammering nails into the three-quarter-inch plywood with the palms of their hands and Keegan and Smith proving their worth with twenty-six-ounce hammers, they had the six-foot-wide hole in the wall blocked in short order.
Heat from the wood fire warmed her chilled blood, and Yanni's A Night to Remember soothed her disenchanted soul.
The men entered the cottage through the mudroom off the garage entrance. Seconds later, they lumbered into the living room. She turned and smiled.
"It's as cold as a Minnesota's winter night out there," Keegan said, rubbing his hands together. He kissed her cheek.
"Cold enough to freeze the pecker on a pork belly," Smith said. Echo smiled at their attempt to make this evening seem no different than any other night at home.
Noticing the bikers hanging back, obviously unsure of their acceptance after revealing themselves, she walked over to them and embraced Duplex, then Forty-Ouncer. "Thank you, guys. I would never have pulled off the détente without your presence."
Apparently expecting a different response, it took them a moment to absorb her gratitude.
"You're welcome," Duplex said, followed by Forty-Ouncer's, "Happy to help."
She dipped her head. "I imagine we all have questions." The words barely left her lips before the men agreed with nods and exclamations of either, "You got that right", or "Whooiee, do we" or "You assume correctly". By the look on the bikers' faces, they eagerly awaited questioning her. To them, she supposed she was the phenomenon.
"Wine, anyone?" she asked, and smiled.
Everyone grabbed a flute.
From the bottles of merlot, she poured generous measures of wine in every glass and sat back on the wingback chair. It took all of her composure not to blurt the questions that tormented her.
Instead, she asked, "Who wants to go first?"
Keegan said, "Ladies first." He raised his glass to her.
Oh, God love the man. She wasted no time accepting his offer. "Duplex, Forty-Ouncer, how did you come about your…ah…inheritance?"
While Forty-Ouncer relaxed against the cushions on the sofa, Duplex answered, "Centuries ago, demons infiltrated this world and pillaged our towns and raped our women, upsetting the natural order of things. You called us vampires. We are not that. We are doyen, the products of the sins of Satan. Unfortunately, there are many of us who took the path of evil."
"How many more like you are there?"
"In Bristol Harbor, fifty-seven."
"Who are all the members of your biker gang, The Harley Riders."
Forty-Ouncer's smile turned to laughter. "That's a cover. Everyone fears us because we're bikers, including our esteemed lawyer." He raised his glass to Keegan. "And because of that, most folks stay away from us. We took up residence in the Tretemps hills to make it that much harder for those more curious than fearful."
Duplex cleared his throat. "At puberty, we changed, became something not born of this world, and for a time, we had no idea how to control our – " he made air quotes, "special skills. It was then that some of us succumbed to the devil's temptation."
"You intimated there are more of you. How many more?"
"Thousands spread over the country."
"How long do you live?"
"We don't know."
"Doesn't that raise questions?"
Forty-Ouncer sighed like someone tired of living. "Every hundred years or so, we pack up and move on and another of our clan takes our place."
"Do you have a leader?"
"Yes. Now, it's our turn. What are you?"
Echo considered the turnaround abrupt. Maybe the question she asked would lead to other questions the bikers were unwilling to answer, but she also understood their curiosity and decided to answer their questions truthfully. She explained her position and duties and everything that had taken place since her arrival except what had happened between her and Keegan. That would stay between them.
"Good enough," Duplex said. "We're on the same side."
"Was there ever any doubt?" Forty-Ouncer jabbed Duplex in the ribs.
She looked at Keegan, who shook his head at her unspoken request for his questions.
<
br /> Smith sat at the edge of the sofa, virtually bubbling with excitement. "What is it?" she asked, suspecting they should prepare themselves for a doozie of a question.
He looked at the bikers. "Where can I get me a set of fangs like yours?"
With a fierce growl, teeth bared and eyes glowing yellow, Duplex and Forty-Ouncer lifted into the air and in a flash, hovered over Smith. "We can help with that," Duplex said in a voice husky with need.