“What?” Jason demanded. His head turned toward Rachel, and then followed her gaze out of the room and to the office across the hall. He saw the flickering white light outside but had no clue what it meant. “Rachel, what?”
The angel leapt to her feet and hurried out. Jason blinked at the sight of Rachel vanishing through a solid wall and noticed that the light outside had gone out again.
“Did that just happen?” Drew asked. “Did Rachel just kiss me?”
“I think she did!”
“What the hell with those women tonight, man?”
“I dunno, dude,” Jason shook his head. He grabbed Drew’s wrist to help him to his feet. “Maybe Alex is losin’ his game?”
“Naw, don’t say that.”
“Bro, you just kicked a werewolf in the face! Maybe Ray’s turned on by that shit?” He looked Drew over from head to toe. “You feel okay?”
“I feel great!” Drew shrugged. Then he made a face. “ ‘cept for that smell, anyway.” He and Jason both glanced around, now aware of the smoke and flames of two burning corpses in the room, one of them quite close by. “Ugh,” they shuddered. Together, the pair turned to go, but came to a halt as they looked out the broken double doors.
The werewolf on the floor shrank before their eyes, steadily shifting into a naked, hairy, overweight white man with three days of stubble and a tattoo of a Mac truck flying a Swastika flag on his shoulder. He groaned loudly, muttering something about a fucking bitch, murder and his cock.
Drew and Jason shared a single, decisive look.
Billy’s eyes snapped wide when the hands clamped down on his wrists and ankles. “Woah, hey, waitaminute!” he blurted. Injured and exhausted, he could put up only weak resistance to the two guys who heaved him off the floor and carried him back into the smoky office. “Lemme explain, you guys,” he tried, “I’m just a truck driver, I never wanted any of this! No! No!”
They flung him onto Red’s fiery remains. He slipped and struggled to get up while boiling juices and burning flesh clung to his body. Billy screamed in pain and terror. He couldn’t get it off. He couldn’t shift. He couldn’t heal.
He managed to get to his feet, but by then the purging flames set by Rachel’s blade spread to his own flesh. Billy rose, staggered back and beat at the flames in panic.
Drew waited until he was lined up with the broken window to deliver his best roundhouse kick. He sent Billy out the open window to fall three stories to the ground outside, where he landed on a concrete sidewalk and continued to burn.
Neither Drew nor Jason needed to look at one another for the fist-bump on the way out of the room.
* * *
As soon as he could move, Lord Wentworth ran for his life.
He refused to give up the battle until the white light washed over everything. Though he saw allies and acquaintances he’d known for centuries die in seconds, the consequences of failure still loomed too large to ignore. Neither the lightning nor the demon and her mortal lover could kill everyone instantly. They could be overcome. If he could just rally his forces, if Diana and her people would get their act together, if they could find whoever or whatever directed that lightning… if.
But then the divine white light appeared, frightening him to his core. It lasted only a few seconds, and yet the vampires closer to its source than Wentworth fell and crumbled to ash where they stood. Wentworth’s own skin felt ready to burst into flames.
He admitted defeat. He’d been outmatched. As soon as the light vanished, he rose and ran. He didn’t get far.
The girl in black appeared out of nowhere. She tripped him with a simple and almost childish sweep of her tall boot, sending him sprawling under the trees. He hit the firm root of a tree with his nose. Hurriedly rising once more, Wentworth’s eyes turned to the girl just in time for her to smash a hand mirror into his forehead, shattering it into a hundred little pieces.
It startled him much more than it hurt. Wentworth looked upon her with some surprise. She stood tall and proud, with long and curly black hair framing a lovely face that showed an almost insulting lack of fear.
“You’re the one in charge,” she said.
Wentworth held his tongue. Whoever she was, he owed her no explanations. He got to his feet, brushed the glass from his forehead-some of it would require a bit of plucking-and collected his nerve. “What do you want?”
“I want you to get the fuck out of this city. Forever. Don’t come back. Don’t send anyone else here. Just go now and forget all about this.”
Wentworth bristled at her tone. He brushed off his jacket. “Indeed.”
“This,” she said, holding up the remains of her hand mirror, “is far worse than a threefold curse. It’s all dependent on your actions and your intentions. If you want to survive it, I suggest you leave now, go home, and don’t even so much as think about hurting anyone.”
“Little strumpet,” Wentworth snarled, “if you think-“
Her black wand came up at his face, causing him to jerk back. “Or we can skip right through the conditional stuff and go to me melting your brain. Or we can see if my partner can put her lightning between the trees yet.”
Though appalled by her arrogance, Wentworth knew better than to push his luck. He’d already decided to flee. With a last rally of his pride, the vampire spit at her feet, turned to walk away and promptly tripped over another tree root to fall on his face.
“Like I said,” Onyx smiled, “you might want to keep those nasty thoughts in check.” She spared a last glance to watch him rise and scamper off before returning to Molly’s side. The other witch remained under their tree, her full attention still on the scene in front of the old building.
“We good?” asked Onyx, touching her partner’s shoulder.
“I can’t see any bad guys still up,” murmured Molly. Her tone and stance made plain the effort spent on maintaining her hold on the weather. “Lorelei’s still alive, but I think that messed her up. I can’t tell what’s going on with Alex and that angel.”
Onyx hardly needed the narration. She saw it all for herself. “Is it just me,” she asked, “or is Alex about to punch him?”
* * *
“What do you mean, ‘no?’”
The angel bore blood and bruises from his fight. His wings were in tatters. He looked at Alex without answering his question, then stepped straight through the young man as he moved to Hauser’s side. “Joseph,” he said, crouching beside the fallen agent, “you must rise. This is not over. The monsters still live.”
Alex glanced over the battlefield. Lorelei remained crumpled in a ball, alive but not moving. He saw Molly and Onyx emerge from the tree line, watching him and the angel. Not a single vampire remained in sight. They could be hidden, Alex thought, but by now they would likely have taken some shots. The werewolves all lay still where they fell-Jared torn up and bloody at the base of the steps, Diana just beside him with the sword through her torso.
“I don’t see any monsters moving around here,” Alex said. He watched the angel warily. “Why do you seem familiar?”
Hauser heaved himself to his hands and knees, shaking his head to clear the cobwebs. His eyes swept the concrete until he found what he needed.
Alex saw it, too. He stomped down on the rosary before Hauser got to it. The cross snapped under his foot. “How do I know you?” Alex pressed, still focused on the angel.
Memories raced by. He’d seen this face before, while lying in a field in springtime, and in the dirt outside a saloon, and in a dirty, blood-strewn room in Antioch. Every time, Alex remembered looking up to see this man standing over him.
He couldn’t remember the angel’s words, but he remembered praise… and apologies. Or excuses.
He remembered the angel’s voice. “That was you in my head tonight, wasn’t it?” Alex asked, and had his answer in the surprised, guilty expression that washed over the angel’s face.