Eve of Destruction

“I hate this,” Richens muttered. “Why did I have to get a field assignment? Why didn’t they put me to work doing something I’m good at?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.” Eve studied what was left to choose from—a couple of knives, a revolver, a 9mm, a telescoping baton, mace, and a taser.

“Take a gun,” she suggested. “A knife requires proximity.”

“Right, then. You take a knife. If the Infernal gets through you, I’ll shoot it.”

Eve glanced aside at him. “Are you kidding?”

“Hey.” His boyish features took on a sullen cast. “I’ll be analyzing the scene for clues. If you watch my back, we’ll get done a lot faster. Brain and brawn, remember?”

“That might work if you knew anything about faeries. Since you don’t, you’re no better off than me. Is Edwards watching your back, too?”

“Edwards is a pain in the arse.”

“Not interested in being a bodyguard, eh?”

“He’s still griping about you. He thinks Cain is going to blow his top and kill us if something happens to you.”

Her brows rose. “What would you guys have to do with anything bad happening to me?”

“My point exactly! If anything, Cain should appreciate that you had colleagues.”

“I’m sure Edwards would have preferred it if Izzie had said yes,” she trawled, “instead of me.”

“Screw Edwards.” He scowled. “I’d never work with Seiler.”

“She says differently.”

“She’s loony.” Meeting her gaze directly, Richens reiterated. “I didn’t ask her for a damn thing. I didn’t like her before and I like her even less now, the bloody liar.”

“How would she know what you were up to?”

Although she asked the question, Eve found herself believing him. He seemed sincere. Izzie . . . well, she had seemed sincerely insincere, which was honest in its own way.

“Maybe she was in the kitchen when you and I were talking. I don’t fucking know.” He ran a rough hand through his short hair. His hooded sweatshirt was black and had “Killer Rabbit!” screened across the front along with an image of a predatory hare attacking a medieval knight.

Eve’s mouth curved.

“What the hell is so funny?” Richens snapped, his compact frame vibrating with anger.

Her smile faded. She’d forgotten about his quick temper. “Your shirt.”

Dropping to a crouch, Eve selected the 9mm. She checked the magazine, then straightened and walked away.

“Hollis! Wait.”

But she didn’t. She joined the others just as Romeo volunteered to outfit the class with the armbands. They had come to McCroskey with a skeleton crew and every Mark was expected to pitch in when he or she could.

Romeo’s gaze met hers, so dark she could see why Laurel would want to drown in him. “Come here.”

Eve shoved her gun into her waistband at the small of her back, then shrugged out of her sweater and presented her arm. He attached the band directly over the Mark of Cain and double-checked it for a tight fit. It was slender, maybe a quarter of an inch wide, just enough to cover the eye in the center. The intricate triquetra and circled serpents remained visible.

“How does that feel?” he asked, his voice velvet smooth and seductive.

“Fine.” She looked at him, noting his heavy-lidded stare. Izzie had called him a gigolo and Eve could see how she had come to that pronouncement. With his slumberous eyes, fit physique, and accented voice, he fit the “Italian Stallion” image to perfection. Eve could believe a woman would pay for his sexual favors.

“Flex,” he ordered.

Complying, she fisted her hand and tautened her biceps. The band tightened, but didn’t become prohibitively uncomfortable. “Still fine.”

“Buono, go wait with the others.”

Eve grabbed her sweater off the picnic table bench. “Need any help with yours?”

He tugged up his T-shirt sleeve, displaying his band. “No, bella.” A faint smile curved his mouth. “Thank you for asking.”

“No problem.”

Laurel walked up and set her hand possessively on Romeo’s waist. “Hi, babe.”

“Cara mia,” he greeted.

If looks could kill, Eve thought as she walked away. Laurel was the jealous type, apparently. Having experienced the green-eyed monster herself the night before, Eve understood. But Laurel and Romeo were such an odd couple. There appeared to be little true affection between them. Theirs was a liaison created by circumstances, which was fine if that worked for them. Eve wasn’t going to dwell on it. She had her own difficulties to deal with.

She rejoined the group. They waited at the start of the street that led into the training area. Once again, she looked over the visible area. A female mannequin wearing a sun-bleached and tattered coat stood on a nearby corner, her wig askew and flapping in the salt-tinged breeze. She was pushing a carriage that was missing a wheel. The smell of mold and decay permeated the air and emphasized the sense that time forgot this place. The tableau made Eve’s stomach churn.

“Can you think of how the insides must be?” Izzie asked, drawing abreast of her.

“We’ll find out in a minute.”

“I can’t wait.” The blonde palmed her blade with obvious familiarity. Her pretty face was fully made up with darkly rimmed eyes, pale powder, and purple lips. The palette was oddly beautiful on a woman so fair. She still managed to look dainty, despite the spiked collar around her neck. “I visited California once before, for Knott’s Berry Farm’s Halloween Haunt. I went three nights. It was great.”

“Good for you.”

“You do not look excited.”

“Not my cup of tea.” Which was a total understatement. She kept picturing The Texas Chainsaw Massacre in her head. It didn’t give her the warm fuzzies.

Izzie’s voice lowered. “You have killed an Infernal before. What was it like?”

“You just . . . do it.”

Eve thought about the water demon she vanquished. He had been trying to kill her. His umpteenth attempt, which made him officially a nuisance. She had been terrified, but something inside her reared up and fought back. She was still astonished that she succeeded. She was also surprised that she wasn’t haunted by her actions. Fact was, she would do it again.

Izzie snorted. “That is all you can say? Only ‘do it’?”

“Yep.”

The sudden apprehension Eve felt wasn’t due entirely to the creepiness of the fake town. A lot of it had to do with the eagerness of the others in her class and her lack of the same. Ken was pacing in his impatience to start. Claire had a camera with her, as if this was a sightseeing event and not training for murder.

“Those things take dodgy photos,” Laurel said, walking up with Romeo and Richens.

Claire shrugged. “I won’t jeopardize my good camera.”

“What do you need one for?” Eve asked. When Marks and Infernals were in their element, they didn’t show up on film. They functioned on a different plane altogether. Eve assumed that was why her mother couldn’t see the Mark of Cain on her arm.

“Posterity.”

“You should take one now,” Eve suggested, trying to find the same enthusiasm the others exhibited. Maybe posing for a group picture would foster solidarity among them. It certainly couldn’t hurt. “Of all of us.”

Claire gestured to Sydney, who stood nearby in full black urban commando garb. “Will you take the picture for us?”

Everyone lined up into two rows—men kneeling in the front, women standing in the back. Claire asked Gadara to stand to one side. The result was an assemblage reminiscent of an elementary school class photo.

Yanking up her poplin sleeve, Claire said, “Show your armbands, s’il vous plaît.”

The group posed with funny faces and proudly presented biceps wrapped with the armbands. The mood was festive.

Which made Eve wonder why she felt as if something was about to go horribly wrong.

“You’ve reached Evangeline Hollis. Leave a message, and I’ll return your call as soon as I can.”

Alec terminated the connection with a quick tap to his headset, then he applied more pressure to the accelerator. The black convertible Mustang’s 300-horsepower engine rumbled with pleasure, hurtling the sleek sports car along Highway 17.

“You’re going the wrong way,” Giselle said.

He tossed her a dry glance.

As they passed a freeway sign, she pointed at it. “You’re going north.”

“I know where I’m going.”

“Gadara headquarters is in Anaheim. To the south.”

“Do you have a point?”

Giselle frowned behind her new five-dollar sunglasses. They’d purchased more appropriate clothes for her at a truck stop—shorts, a tank top emblazoned with California, flip-flops, and a kerchief to wrap around her head.

They were cruising with the top down. Hot wheels, beautiful day, wrong girl. Alec would say two out of three wasn’t bad, but he missed Eve too much.

And his girl wasn’t answering her cell phone.

He knew she was in training, but after their conversation the night before, he needed to talk to her and make sure she was feeling better. He also needed to ease the sense that something was off, and only the sound of her voice could do that.

“You promised to take me to safety,” Giselle argued.

“No. You asked me to take you with me. I’ve done that.”

She pivoted in the seat. “We can’t go north!”

“Why not?” Alec kept his hands relaxed on the steering wheel, but inside he was still and watchful.

“Because it’s too dangerous.”

“You’ll have to give me more than that.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m hunting.” He glanced aside at her. “Don’t be coy.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">