Her lips flattened. She looked away from him before she replied, “Is that so? Thanks so much.”
Her doubt struck like a slap. What the hell? Marc stared at her profile, at the sudden rigidity of her posture. She truly didn’t know that? Didn’t believe it?
Did she think he harbored ill will toward her for leaving one hundred and forty years ago? What kind of men did she know that held a grudge so long? Hell, he hadn’t held a grudge at all. He’d understood that he simply hadn’t been what she’d needed—and damn him if he didn’t agree with her. He sure as hell hadn’t expected her to seek him out now.
He could only think of one reason for it: another Guardian had told Radha that there’d been a threat to his life. Whatever her feelings toward him, whatever doubts, she was a Guardian first.
“Did Khavi use her Gift and foresee something happening to me? Something that you need to stop?”
“No.”
“She had a vision of something happening to you, then.”
Radha slanted him a sideways glance. “Marc.”
He knew that look, that tone. It meant Don’t say stupid things. When they’d been friends, she’d given him that look rather often.
They weren’t friends now, yet she’d still come. With no threat behind it, that left one possibility: she was running from something. Maybe not something dangerous, not something she could fight, but something that had sent her to the least likely place anyone would come looking. Hiding, for some reason.
He’d help her hide, then. If whatever she was running from caught up to her, he’d protect her, give her anything she needed. He’d watch over her until she left again.
“All right,” he said. “You’re on vacation.”
He expected a dazzling grin in response, the one Radha always gave when she got her way. He only got a long, considering look followed by a slow nod, and that hit him harder than her doubt had.
What the hell had he done that laughing, dancing, singing Radha responded to him with such wary reserve?
A familiar pattern of footsteps from inside the school prevented him from asking. He gestured toward the door and said quietly, “Tell me what you sense from these four girls.”
Guardians couldn’t read thoughts, only detect emotions—and only if the person didn’t possess strong psychic shields. Most humans didn’t, because they weren’t aware of a need to block any mental probes.
These girls had strong enough shields that he couldn’t sense anything from them. With enough force, he could break through those shields, but that would bring the demon’s attention to the girls, too.
They came through the door, each with a cell phone in hand and a backpack slung over one shoulder. He knew their names by now: Jessica and Lynn in the front, Miklia and Ines in the back. As far as he could tell, Jessica was the leader, but maybe just because she owned the car they all rode in. Focused on their cell phone screens, only Miklia glanced up as she passed Marc. She looked quickly away—but not back at her phone. For a long second, her gaze found Radha, before the girl finally dismissed them both.
Radha’s brows lifted as she watched the girls cross the parking lot. “Walking and texting. That takes skill.”
“Easier than talking and walking? Half the time, I’m convinced all these kids are just texting the person next to them.”
She gave a short laugh, shared her amusement with a glance. Of course she laughed now. He remembered very well that Radha couldn’t resist an absurdity. It was probably what had drawn her to him in those early years. Marc could think of few things more absurd than he’d been.
“I thought you’d made yourself invisible,” he said. “But Miklia saw you.”
“She saw this.”
She changed in a smooth, quick transition. No blue skin, just Radha as she might have looked as a young human woman in Bengal—though she’d certainly never worn a conservative black trouser suit, a badge, or a long wool coat that matched his.
“Everyone who sees me will assume I’m your partner,” she said.
“Why didn’t I sense your Gift?” A Guardian’s power typically felt like a small burst of psychic energy against his mind, and the use of a Gift usually exposed a Guardian’s presence to nearby demons. Hers wouldn’t—though that hadn’t always been so.
When he’d known her, she’d only recently begun using the indigo dye. Her illusions had been strongest when a crack opened in her opponent’s psychic shields—and even a demon experienced a moment of surprise when under sudden attack from a blue woman. She’d used that surprise to force her illusions through.
Now, she apparently didn’t require a weak spot—Marc knew his shields had remained strong, even though she’d been invisible to him—and she could hide her psychic presence, too.
“It’s another illusion, but a psychic one. I just create an illusion of not feeling my Gift.”
Impressive. “When did you learn to do that?”
“About forty years ago. If I’m fighting, I can’t hide it as well, but for work like this, it’s easy.” She let the illusion fade—but only for him, he realized. Everyone else would still see the federal agent. “I’ve heard that you finally discovered your Gift when you came back to Earth.”
“There was no dirt in Caelum to move around.”
No dirt, period. Just a lot of marble, and nothing for his Gift to work with. After he’d left Caelum, though, the pure strength beneath his feet had staggered him. Fifty years on, and his Gift had barely tapped it.
“It fits you. Who has a deeper connection to the earth than a farmer?”
“The dead who are buried in it.”
She smiled a little. “Aside from them.”
Maybe no one. Even now, though he could plow a field with just a thought, there was almost nothing he liked better than working his hands through the soil—and on any other day, she might have run into him with dirt beneath his fingernails and mud on his boots.
He’d seen Radha come from Earth to Caelum with dust on her bare feet, but it had never seemed to touch her, and it was never what a man noticed. Not when he could remember her dancing, slow and deliberate, her fingers rigid yet as graceful as bird’s wings, every movement as precise as a word in a story, every step another tale. Though he couldn’t see her feet now in the snow, he knew that instead of mud squishing between her toes, more gold rings circled them.
He’d kissed them once, and all the way up to her smooth, blue thighs. And he’d wondered whether he was blessed or cursed? Looking at her legs now, the answer was obvious. He’d been blessed.
Blissfully, undeservedly blessed.
“So why these girls?”
It was a long story, but he’d try to make it short. “There’s a community of about two dozen vampires spread through the towns in this area—a few of them have lived here for almost a hundred years now. They’re quiet, take care of themselves, deal with their own problems.”
And Marc kept his nose out of their business. As long as vampires weren’t feeding from humans or exposing themselves, Guardians left them alone.
“But a couple of months ago, Abram Bronner—the community leader—contacted me for help. There’d been a couple of vampires killed, and except for one, they’d all been exposed to the sun and turned to ash before anyone found them.”
Radha nodded, catching on. “A demon?”
“That’s what I thought—and in this area, there was one demon, Basriel, who kept giving me the slip. He’d move around, killing other demons, establishing most of the Midwest as his territory.”
“And that means taking control of the vampire communities, too. Or crushing them.”
“Yes. But a little over a month ago, I caught up to Basriel in Duluth.”
“And killed him.” It wasn’t a question. Of course he had.
“Yes. And I thought that might have been the end of it . . . until I came through the town again a few days ago, and felt this.” The anger and rot, spreading from person to person. “I checked in with Bronner, but they haven’t had any more trouble, so they hadn’t called me in.”
“They didn’t sense this?”
“They did.” Marc shrugged. “From inside, though, it’s not as easy to see. There’s a plant in the next town that just shut down, people lost their jobs. A big blaze brought down an apartment building—killed half the county fire department—about a month ago. Open up the paper, and all you see is talk of budgets being cut, schools shutting down, unemployment rising, prices going up.”
“So with all of those things adding up, there’s no reason to assume there’s a demon involved. People are understandably stressed and angry.”
“Yes. And there might not be a demon,” Marc said. “I haven’t seen evidence of one yet.”
“But . . .?”
“My instincts are telling me otherwise.”
“So are mine.” Radha glanced toward the parking lot again, where the four girls had packed themselves into Jessica’s old Cherokee. “So how are they connected?”
“The little blonde, the one who looked at you—her brother, Jason, was the first vampire killed. Unlike the others, he wasn’t ashed. According to Bronner, his parents—who still don’t know he was a vampire—found him with a stake through his heart in their home, even though he wasn’t living there at the time.”
“God,” Radha said. “That sounds like something a demon would do. Did you have to come in and cover that up?”
“No. Bronner’s got the county coroner in his pocket. I didn’t hear about it until later.”
“Did the family truly not know he was a vampire?”
“I’ve spoken to the parents.” Using the same line he always did in unsolved cases like these—that the murder resembled a similar one somewhere else, and could he have a moment of their time? “The parents didn’t shield their minds and were speaking the truth. But Miklia, she won’t talk to me.”