Eve of Destruction (Page 55)

Eve smelled it then. Her head lifted to watch and found Alec fast on their heels. They were barely across the street before the Porsche went the way of the house, erupting into a billowing inferno.

Reed put her down and stared at the destruction with an arm around her shoulders. Alec drew abreast of them and took a position on the other side of her. The light of the twin blazes set him aglow, burnishing him in a way that make her look twice.

“You okay?” he asked.

She patted herself down, searching for any spots of soreness or grotesquely protruding bones. “I think so.”

An unknown blonde in shorts and a tank top came running toward them. “Un-fucking-believable!” she shouted.

“Do we know that person?” Reed asked.

“You do now,” Alec replied, sounding resigned. “Meet Giselle, the Mare.”

“She just ran over Sammael’s dog!” Giselle yelled, clutching her head.

A blazing chrome wheel rim rolled toward them and came to a shuddering stop at the curb.

“And destroyed another expensive car,” Alec said.

“And blew up another building,” Reed added.

“What does that matter at a time like this?” Eve snapped, fighting to stay upright. Everything around her was spinning like a top, and blood and tissue were dripping from her hair and clothes.

“If I think about how this place got this way,” Reed muttered, “I might go stark raving mad.”

The Porsche collapsed to the ground with a loud groan. The passenger door popped open and Montevista’s charred body tumbled free.

Eve thought she might pass out. Then the body got up and walked toward her, and she really did.

CHAPTER 20

"I am impressed with your performance, Evangeline.”

Eve stared at the stunning blonde at the end of the conference table and felt uneasy. The way Sarakiel said her name was . . . creepy, as was the intensity with which the archangel watched her.

They sat in one of the conference rooms in Gadara Tower. In addition to her and Sara, both Reed and Alec were present, plus Montevista and Hank. On one of the walls, a bank of video screens aired feeds from the offices of the other archangels. Five impossibly beautiful faces stared at her, watching her with the same intensity as Sara. It took every bit of self-control Eve had to sit still and not wiggle nervously.

Two days ago it had seemed as if Armageddon was here. Today they were drinking tea from a Victorian-style tea service and recapping the events that constituted the worst training disaster in Mark history.

“What made you think of the photographs?” Sara asked her.

“I needed proof,” she explained. “I suspected there was a traitor in the group after Reed and I established a timeline for Molenaar’s murder. Since Claire is the one who provided the benchmark and she didn’t have an alibi, I thought of her first. It wasn’t until I saw the picture and realized Rome—Garza had a visible mark, too, that it hit me: he was the one who volunteered to put the armbands on everyone. Probably because he didn’t want to risk either his grandmother or himself getting caught.”

“You did not see this when you read her, Hank?” Michael asked, his voice as resonant as a harp. Eve kept her eyes downcast, unable to look at him without quaking. As gorgeous as he was with his dark hair and brilliant blue eyes, he was also terrifying. There was something . . . lethal about him. A darkness in his eyes that hinted at volatile, frightening depths. If someone told her that he was Satan, she’d believe it. As formidable as Raguel and Sara were, they seemed almost friendly in comparison.

“The last time I read her was before she saw the photos,” Hank said. Presently in the guise of a man, he lounged with studied insouciance and offered the occasional supportive smile to Eve. “I knew she suspected someone and I followed her plan to assume the guise of the ghost hunters, but I was clueless as to the identity of the Infernals until after they attacked.”

Eve waited for someone to ask why Alec and Reed didn’t know, considering their insight into her mind, but no one did.

They don’t know we’re tied together, Alec said.

She looked at him. He sat at the opposite head of the table from Sara. While Sara was dressed faultlessly in a blood-red pantsuit, Alec was wearing his own classic attire of worn jeans and a fitted T-shirt. His hair needed a cut and deep grooves rimmed either side of his mouth, but neither detracted from his appearance. He was still hot as hell.

His dark eyes narrowed slightly. We’re keeping that information hidden from them—for now—but we’re going to have to figure out how you hid information from us.

She’d hidden her thoughts on purpose. They so firmly believed that the mark system was impenetrable by Infernals that they’d refused to listen to her. But . . . maybe she wasn’t supposed to be able to hide her thoughts from them?

“It was Hank’s penchant for red hair in all his guises that gave me the idea,” Eve offered, earning a wink from Hank.

“How did the Infernals get into the class to begin with?” Uriel asked. He seemed to be the most laid back of the archangels, but that didn’t make him less forbidding.

“As near as we can tell,” Alec said, “they were watching Sara’s firm. When the real Antonio Garza and Claire Dubois became marked, Timothy and Kenise took over their identities. Once they were in training, Timothy’s sexual activities with Hogan kept him smelling like a Mark. Kenise wore glasses that had porous arm sleeves soaked in a concentrate of Mark blood proteins. Her beauty supplies were also laced with it. The masking agent was continuously administered through their watches, which had reservoirs on the underside.”

“There is more to identity than mere appearance and smell,” Sara said defensively.

“If we assume that Les Goodman’s theory is true, they probably used the hellhounds. The hounds absorbed Garza and Dubois’s memories, which they passed on to Timothy and Kenise. Because the two Marks had yet to be assigned to a handler, they didn’t have the ability to send out a herald. There was no way for anyone to know they were dead.”

“Refresh my memory,” Raphael said. “Why do we wait until after training to assign Marks to handlers?”

“Because it’s a pain in the ass otherwise,” Reed said. Dressed in a three-piece Versace suit, he put everyone in the room in the pale—except for Sara, who eyed him with obvious hunger. Eve tried not to think about how that bothered her. “The trainees were sending out heralds during exercises, distracting the handlers unnecessarily and putting other Marks in danger.”

“There could be more imposters,” Eve mused.

Everyone looked at her.

Sara shook her head. “Once they graduate and establish a connection to a handler, they would be discovered.”

“But how much damage can be done in the interim?” Gabriel asked. His unshakable demeanor reminded Eve of Raguel. Both archangels projected the appearance of having an inner core so solid it made them unflappable. The others seemed more capricious. “We should test every untrained Mark to be certain.”

“Montevista.” Remiel’s voice flowed through the room. “How are you feeling?”

The guard straightened. “Better than ever, actually.”

The archangel turned his gaze to Hank. “Can you explain what happened? Why is Montevista with us today?”

“The same thing that happened to Grimshaw’s son,” Hank replied. “In a nutshell: high heat combined with the masking agent. There are other factors involved—animal DNA, a spell or two—but that’s the gist. The hellhounds were made viable by using a similar Mark blood/bone mixture as the Infernal mask, so when the hound’s blood splattered over Montevista and the car exploded, it created a situation not unlike the kiln incident.”

“Only Jehovah should have the power to preserve life,” Michael said in a tone that made Eve want to hide under the table.

“Do we have any idea how many of the hellhounds are in existence?” Sara asked.

“One. A male. Eve killed the bitch. I took care of the pups. That leaves only the sire.”

“Have we heard anything about Raguel?” Uriel asked.

“No,” Reed answered. “Nothing.”

“Perhaps he is dead.”

“Jehovah would have told us if that was true,” Alec countered.

Frankly, Eve thought it was pretty fucked that God didn’t tell them how to get Raguel out, but that wasn’t a discussion she was going to have in present company.

“I’ve got something.” Eve reached for the cell phone Montevista obligingly pushed her way. She flipped through the menu until she came to the ring-tones, then she played the default one. When it finished, she said, “When I first heard the tune, I recognized it as a Paul Simon song—my mom’s a big fan—but I couldn’t place the name. Now, I know it’s ‘Jonah.’”

The group stared at her.

“ ‘They say Jonah was swallowed by a whale,’ ” she sang softly, “ ‘but I say there’s no truth to that tale . . . ’”

More silence.

“Didn’t Jonah survive in the belly of the whale and come out unscathed?” she prodded. “Can’t be a coincidence, right? I’m always told there’s no such thing.”

Montevista nodded. “Blows me away that you caught that.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hollis,” Gabriel said. “We will take it from here.”

Take it where? Would they go as far as Hell?

Raphael moved on. “How many of Raguel’s trainees are left?”

“Three.” Alec’s fingertips drummed into the table-top. “Hollis, Callaghan, and Seiler.”

“They will have to join the next class.” Raphael bent his dark head—only Sara and Uriel were fair-haired—to read something on his desk. “Which will be Michael’s.”

Eve swallowed hard.

“I can pick up where Raguel left off,” Sara offered. “Since I am already here.”