Death’s Sweet Embrace Page 7

  The old man dragged his hand across the smart screen until the first two images showed again.

  “Sorry, can you make these areas larger?” Rudolf asked Tones as he indicated the marks carved into the boys’ chests with his finger.

  Tones tapped the keyboard to zoom in. The image resolution wasn’t the best but clear enough for the group to see.

  Rudolf reached into his pocket. Oberon knew what he was after and held his breath as the old man unfolded a piece of paper and held it up.

  “It’s the same symbol,” Bianca said.

  “What is it?” Kitt asked, sitting forward in her seat.

  Rudolf stopped, leaning on his cane and stood straighter. “This is the mark of the Dark Brethren—an ancient and powerful enemy of your parahuman ancestors.”

  ***

  Kitt’s head hurt.

  “What the hell is the Dark Brethren?” Antoinette asked.

  The old man frowned, this time with sorrow. “That is what the name in the old language roughly translates to, and they were the masters of the ancient tribes that spawned the parahuman races of today. The Brethren came to earth ten millennia ago to the ravaged immature population who were starting to form intelligent civilizations. They had done the same on many worlds before. But this time their servants rose up with the help of some earthly beings and overthrew the Dark Brethren. Beyond that, we know very little else at this point.”

  “So again—what does it have to do with our serial killer?” Bianca asked.

  Ancient kings, mysterious books, and unspeakable demons—it all seemed too much. Kitt really didn’t have time for this. Her first class started soon and she started to wonder if this wasn’t some cruel initiation joke Oberon played on her. She looked at his dark face. He definitely didn’t seem to be a man having fun, but that could just be for show, to string her along. He’d done it before.

  Enough was enough.

  She had a class to get to and rose to her feet. “I really have to go.”

  Oberon looked at his watch, then at her. “Five more minutes? Please!”

  Kitt reluctantly sat back down, gritting her teeth.

  “To answer your question, young witch,” Rudolf said, “this symbol has been turning up at other murder scenes. Do you have those images I asked you to load, Tones?”

  “Yes, sir,” Tones said.

  A picture filled the screen of a large room with exquisite furniture. It looked like the kind of room that belonged in a European castle or manor house. A bloody, headless body of a woman along with the blood that had splashed across the antique furniture and rug marred the setting. The Dark Brethren mark, as the old man called it, was painted on the wall—in blood. The next image came up, similarly European, similarly bloody, and similarly marked. Then another image, and another and another and another—all the same. Kitt felt a little queasy at the sight of so much violence and death.

  “These are the crime scene photos taken at the height of The Troubles in France, Germany, and Italy. As you see, the symbol is prevalent at each and every one.” Rudolf looked at Antoinette, who appeared quite pale, even for an Aeternus.

  The next picture caused a collective intake of breath. Even she recognized the converted concrete sewer junction as the torture chamber of Dante Rubins—Dylan’s killer and Antoinette’s torturer.

  She glanced over at Antoinette. A muscle ticked along the female’s tensed jaw; a sickly expression hung on her face. Kitt was willing to bet she hadn’t seen the place, not even a photo, since it had all happened—the place where she had suffered unspeakable torture and pain.

  “I’m sure you all know this scene from a few months ago.” The old man tapped the cane on the floor for emphasis.

  Amid the photographs and other crazed scribblings of a lunatic, written in chalk, pen, and what could possibly be dried blood, were several examples of the same mark—drawn by a lunatic who both killed Kitt’s brother and tortured Antoinette.

  This is insane.

  “I’ve been scanning the news channels and there are plenty of reports coming in,” Tones said as he hit a few more keys and the screen filled with a broadcast. “This one in particular; I recorded it earlier.”

  “The vicious attack on the monkey house late last Friday evening looks to be the work of Satanists. Several of the animals were skinned and ritualistically laid out in a large satanic symbol, painted with the animals’ blood,” a WTFN news anchor reported as he sat behind a news desk.

  His schooled expression showed just the right amount of concern and seriousness as he read on. “Experts are unable to say if that attack has any relevance to the latest ritualistic murder, discovered earlier today on the NYAPS campus, but we have our reporter, Trudi Crompton, on the scene. Come in, Trudi.”

  “Thanks Larry.” The young female reporter, dressed in heavy cold-weather gear, hooked the windblown hair out of her eyes with one gloved hand and held the WTFN microphone with the other. “Behind me is the New York campus for the Academy of Parahuman Studies. The scene of not one, but two, grisly murders, thanks to the body found in the library earlier this morning—in a scene that could only be described as a slaughterhouse. Now the question on everybody’s lips is, are our children safe?”

  The melodramatic fresh-faced newswoman didn’t look much older than most of the students attending the Academy. She turned slightly to her left. “To help me with that answer is the head of New York’s Violent Crimes Unit.”

  The camera panned back to reveal a smug, smiling man standing next to her, and Kitt recognized him instantly.

  “Fucking little ass-wipe,” Oberon spat at the screen.

  Kitt glanced at the ursian with sympathy. Roberts had manipulated and connived behind the scenes to get Oberon kicked out of VCU.

  “Agent Roberts, are there any similarities between this body and the murder victim found in the campus hunting run just over a month ago?” The woman shoved the mike toward him.

  Agent Roberts smiled widely and leaned in. “There seems to be several similarities, Trudi, and we’re just waiting on confirmation from the autopsy report.” He looked directly into the camera as he spoke, and not at the attractive young reporter.

  “The bastard wouldn’t know if his ass was on fire,” Oberon rumbled.

  From the few times Kitt had met Roberts, he’d come across as smooth, almost smarmy. But his cunning political savviness didn’t make him any more competent as the head of VCU—a job that should have gone to Oberon.

  The reporter asked a few more questions and Agent Roberts artfully answered without giving any real information or committing to anything concrete. Kitt watched the thunderstorm roll across Oberon’s face as he sat glued to the news report on the large monitor.

  Trudi nodded a small frown meant to give the air of attention, but the tilt of her shoulders gave away her frustration at not getting the answers she was after. “One last question—how do you intend to protect the students of NYAPS from further attacks?”

  “Well, Trudi,” Roberts said and smiled into the camera, “if campus security”—the agent’s nose screwed up with distaste—“keeps out of our way and lets us do our job—”

  Anything else he’d said was drowned out in the tirade of profanity streaming from Oberon’s mouth.

  Then ursian threw a coffee mug. With a bang, the glass wall shattered into a million tinkling pieces onto the floor. Maybe glass walls were not the best idea with Oberon around.

  Agent Roberts knew which buttons to push with Oberon. The ursian leaned back in his chair and fell into a sullen silence. And she knew he was sulking more because he’d let that weasel get under his skin. Again.

  Kitt turned her attention back to the screen as the camera zoomed in on the reporter’s perfect features. “Thank you, Agent Roberts. This is Trudi Crompton coming to you from NYAPS campus for WTFN News.”

  Oberon picked up the remote and turned the screen off. “So people—it looks like we have a serial killer stalking our campus. What do you think, Rudolf?
”

  Rudolf looked at each of them. “I think the Dark Brethren are stirring.”

  Chapter 8 - An Apple for Teacher

  As Kitt’s hand rested on the door handle, she took in a deep cleansing breath. Her first night at school had not been as she’d imagined it—and now it was time to give her lecture, which she felt less than prepared for. But there was no putting it off. She just had to suck it up and get it over with.

  She inhaled back another deep breath and held it before opening the lecture hall door. The buzzing chatter dropped off as she made her way to the slightly raised platform, front and center.

  “My name is Dr. Kathryn Jordan and I will be lecturer for this class in Parahuman Anatomy.” She placed her notes in the middle of the desk and looked up.

  Dozens of students sat in the stadium seating, apparently with varying degrees of interest. As she glanced around, she swallowed the uncomfortable lump forming in her throat. In a morgue she didn’t have an audience—and this one was a little more daunting than she’d expected.

  She swept her gaze over her students. “We will have one practical—”

  Perfect. Just perfect. This really was her night of all nights.

  Two pairs of intense blue eyes bored into her. One girl sitting forward in her chair, smiling and ready. The other slumped with a scowl, tapping the tip of her pencil against the cover of a notebook. They had their father’s eyes, but apart from that it was almost like looking in a double mirror.

  My daughters. My flesh.

  She glanced down at her notes to compose herself again and continued. “ . . . session per week. Over the next semester we will be covering the anatomical composition of all human and parahuman beings. Today I’m going to start with the skeletal composition Homo sapiens.” She turned and pulled down an anatomical chart of the human body.

  Kitt closed the door to the small office and leaned back against it, closing her eyes for a moment. All things considered, it hadn’t gone too badly, though her hands shook and her heart thumped heavily at the base of her throat.

  A titanium flask sat in the middle of her desk with a note. Good for settling nerves. A.

  Bless Antoinette. Kitt smiled as she opened it and sniffed. The sweetly pungent fumes brought tears to her eyes even before she took a large, burning swig. Brandy. More tears and burning.

  She shook her head and blew out a liquor-fumed sigh. Although the medicinal value was highly dubious, it did make her feel warmer and slowed the beat of her heart. Though the effects of the alcohol wouldn’t last long, at least it was enough to calm her shakes.

  She landed heavily in the chair behind the desk and took another mouthful. A knock rattled her office door; she quickly replaced the top and slipped the flask into the draw. The last thing she needed was to be found drinking on the job after her first class.

  “Come in,” she croaked and cleared her throat.

  Two blurred figures filed in from behind the frosted glass panel in the door and her heart leapt into her throat, again.

  She came to her feet as they stopped on the other side of the desk. “Ah, hi. I’m Kitt,” she said, stumbling over her words. “But of course you know that.”

  Her nervous laugh had a slightly hysterical edge to it.

  “Um,” she cleared her throat and rubbed shaking hands together. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “Hello, Mother.” This one of the twins practically sneered, earning an elbow in the ribs from her sister.

  “Uh . . .” Kitt said, the shakes doubling. She indicated two chairs on the other side of the desk. “Please, take a seat, and call me Kitt, if you prefer.”

  Their silver blond-and-black hair was cropped short, displaying the snow leopard pattern. They moved in unison as they sat, like choreographed dancers.

  “I’ve been so looking forward to this moment.” And dreading it. Kitt sat back down. What would she say to them?

  The happier twin leaned forward. “We’re glad to finally meet you too–aren’t we, Seph?” Her face lit up with a stunning smile. Another legacy of their father.

  Seph . . . Persephone. And Calliope. Their accents were very similar to the Incubus, Cody; and considering they’d spent the last eighteen years in the Australian tropics of Far North Queensland, it wasn’t surprising.

  “You don’t know what it means to meet you girls,” Kitt said, determined not to let the emotion overwhelm her at the risk of isolating them further. She shuffled around papers to cover her trembling hands. “So, you were with the Pride? Did you see your grandmother?”

  Calliope’s face fell and nodded. “She misses you and is still grieving for her son. She didn’t want to let us come back here. But you know what it’s like, women of the Pride don’t get much of a say in anything.”

  “Yeah, right,” Persephone said, her face screwing up in disgust.

  “Don’t worry about Seph,” Calliope said and gave her sister another scathing scowl. “She’s in a foul mood because Tyrone won’t let her become a tracker.”

  “I don’t see why both of us have to be healers; surely they only need one of us.” Persephone folded her arms and scowled.

  Kitt remembered what it was like not being able to do what she wanted when she was their age. “I’m sure he thinks he’s doing what’s best for you.”

  “Like he did for Nathan? . . . No, thanks,” Persephone said.

  “Seph,” Calliope hissed.

  “She’s right, Calliope. My brother’s attitude is the result of my father’s protection,” Kitt said.

  The twin screwed up her nose. “Please call me Cal. Calliope makes me feel like I’m in trouble.”

  She felt the same way about being called Kathryn. “Okay, Cal.” Kitt smiled. “Nathan has been seen as unlucky since his littermate died at birth. The Elders wanted him abandoned in the forest, lest his bad luck infect the Pride. Only Tyrone fought their edict; and it was only his position as the Pride Alpha that saved Nathan. I guess, in a way, Tyrone both loves and hates Nathan, which can put a burden on a person.”

  “Yeah, well, I think their superstitious beliefs are ridiculous.” Seph’s lips curled into a sneer. “Anyway, Nathan doesn’t need much protection anymore. He’s just an uptight asshole whose life is ruled by Pride law.”

  Hmmm. Nathan had always been an officious little shit, even when they were kids.

  “You don’t believe in their ways either, do you?” Cal tilted her head.

  Kitt noticed again how much their eyes resembled Raven’s. While hers were amber, the twins’ were blue. Thankfully, Emmett’s white tiger heritage wouldn’t raise any questions in the Pride, even if they had the same dark ring around the irises as Raven’s. The girls waited for her answer, looking at her expectantly—Cal with interest and Seph with a frown.

  “No. But I wouldn’t admit that to the Pride council, if I were in your shoes.” Kitt folded her shaking hands together. “Speaking of the council, how have they handled your return?”

  “Okay, I guess,” Cal answered—she seemed to be the talker of the two. “Some are a little more suspicious than others.”

  “That Leon guy is one seriously creepy dude.” Seph’s shoulders shook in an exaggerated shiver.

  Kitt leaned forward and dropped her voice. “Watch him—he’s a very dangerous male. Don’t ever get caught alone with him.”

  Seph shrugged and fiddled with a penholder at the edge of Kitt’s desk. “We can take care of ourselves.”

  “And at least the council stopped grilling us about Mum and Dad . . . ah . . . I mean . . . our foster parents,” Cal said.

  Kitt could see the raw grief in her daughters’ eyes. The only parents they’d known were recently killed in a horrific car accident. The Hennesseys, the people she’d arranged to care for her babies all those years ago.

  “What about Raven?” Kitt asked. “Do they know he helped raise you?”

  “No, but they know he’s returned,” Cal said. “Tyrone raised the price on his head when he received reports
of Raven being spotted in a bar in Lake Placid.”

  The bar we used to meet in. “So I’d heard. He should’ve stayed away,” Kitt said.

  Cal looked down at her hands while Seph’s expression darkened. They obviously didn’t like hearing their father criticized.

  “I meant for his own safety,” Kitt added.

  “Raven can take care of himself,” Seph grumbled.

  “He’s always been there for us, teaching us about being Bestiabeo,” Cal said. “We knew he was our real father, but he never tried to take that way from our dad. I loved him for that. After we went through our Awakening and came out as felians, Raven stepped up our training. Just in case anything like this happened.”

  Seph looked away, hiding her feelings with a frown. She missed him—that much was obvious. Her heart went out to the girl.

  Her daughter.

  It was still so strange to think these two grown young women were the babies she gave birth to several years and a lifetime ago. Kitt knew what it was like to be pushed into something you didn’t want to do. It was only after she was exiled from the Pride that she’d been able to follow her dreams to study medicine.

  “So, Seph,” Kitt said, stacking and restacking her notes. “What would you rather be doing other than sitting in my anatomy class?”

  The sullen twin met her eyes for the first time and smiled. “Shadow-combat.”

  “She was the captain of the Cairn’s Marauders, and she made the team here yesterday,” Cal explained. “Her first match is in a couple of days.”

  “Really?” Kitt was impressed. “I’m surprised Nathan would let you compete.”

  “It was a compromise; my price for training as a healer.” The girl straightened and sat forward. “You should come to the match.” Then she caught herself and slouched back in her chair, growing sullen again. “If you want to, that is.”

  Cal nodded enthusiastically. “That’d be great.”

  Kitt had never seen a Shadow-combat match before; the craze had taken off in the last few years, but she’d been too busy with her work. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Well, we’d better get going or Nathan will wonder what’s happened to us,” Cal said and stood, stretching to offer her hand over the desk. “I think they’re still a little suspicious of us.”