The Awakening

Chapter Six

As Gaby eyed her knife in Cross's hand, her breath left her in a whoosh. No way. Disbelieving, she searched the small of her back and found the sheath… empty.

Rage brought out the worst in her.

Her teeth gnashed together.

Her muscles tightened.

Splashing muddy rainwater in a high arc, she again stormed across the space between them. "How the hell did you get that?"

Unfazed by her temper, Luther lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. "When you were out of it, I picked you up and felt it there. To keep from stabbing either of us, I took it."

She thrust out her hand. "Give. It. Back."

Ignoring her outstretched arm, he examined the blade with the edge of his thumb—and watched as a bead of blood welled up. "This thing could be dangerous."

"Well duh, Sherlock. What would be the point of carrying it otherwise?"

His gaze locked with hers. "Why are you carrying it?"

The He tripped easily off her tongue. "Look around you. Would you wander this neighborhood unarmed?"

He went back to examining her blade. "This is a mighty big knife for such a little girl."

Asshole. Gaby's chin shot up. "You took advantage of me."

His slow smile made her uneasy. "No, but I could have."

She should take the knife from him and be gone from the area before Cross knew what to think. It'd mean hurting him, though. A lot.

And she hesitated to do that.

He turned speculative. "I should confiscate this—"

"I wouldn't try it, if I were you." Proficient in the use of most weapons, she didn't need her knife, but she wanted it. Silent and deadly, clean and neat when she wanted it to be, it was a part of her.

Breaking necks and gouging out eyes, among other deadly means, was much messier.

As if she hadn't spoken, Luther said, "But I'm not going to."

And reminiscent of her earlier gesture with the man in the alley, he flipped the knife around and offered it to her, handle first.

Choosing silence, rather than some lame reply, Gaby took it, slid it into the sheath, and walked away.

He followed.

She kept going, across the street, the sidewalk, up a step, then another to the apartment door. "Good-bye Detective."

"Call me Luther."

Without making a sound, he'd moved so close she felt his breath on her shoulder. "Drop dead, Luther."

His warm fingers curled over her upper arm, guiding her around so that she faced him. "You're not wearing a bra."

And just what the hell did that have to do with anything? "So? I never do. Why should I?"

Holding her gaze locked in his, he slid his hand down her arm, to her elbow. "Because of this?" And he pressed a hand over her chest.

Brown eyes darkening, he caressed her, made a small sound of pleasure, and dropped his hand.

Gaby was too stunned to move. A riot of combustible sensations jerried inside her. Why would he do such a thing?

And why had she allowed it by standing there, silent, numb, stupefied?

By God, she wouldn't allow it.

In delayed reaction, with no clue to her intentions, she punched him in the jaw.

Hard.

He wasn't expecting the blow. He didn't prepare for it, didn't try to dodge her fist. She connected solidly, and his head snapped to the side.

Eyes narrowed, teeth bared, he said, "Son of a—"

Gaby took another shot, this one coming low and swinging up, aimed at his midsection. But she'd given him a warning with that first strike, and he easily sidestepped her, caught her elbow, and jerked her off balance.

He'd forgotten they were on steps, and she went down them.

He cursed as he tried to catch her arm so she wouldn't fall.

She didn't. She leaped down the steps, immediately turned, and squared off with him again. He blocked her kick to his ribs, her elbow to his head.

"Christ, Gaby, I don't want to fight you."

"Too bad," she growled, and landed a knee to his thigh.

His leg crumpled, but on his way down, he caught her ankle and tripped her.

Neither of them stayed down.

"I don't fight women," he warned.

"Then plan on staying in bed tomorrow."

"Is that a threat—or an invitation?" He blocked another blow, frustrating her.

No one blocked her strikes.

"You can jam your invitation." Stupid bastard. Her next kick caught him in the biceps, making him curse. Good, Let him be distracted. She swung for his face—and he caught her list one inch from making contact with his straight, very handsome nose.

She would have broken it. She still wanted to.

"I'm sorry I fondled you."

Fondled her. How ridiculous that sounded. "Not yet," she warned, "but you will be." Her left almost connected, before he caught it, too.

Gaby jerked free and then retreated a step to prepare for her next move.

He eyed her expression, flattened his mouth, and said, "If you pull that knife on me, you'll be the sorry one."

"Ha!" She eyed him up and down. "I don't need my knife for the likes of you." She didn't want to kill him. She just wanted him to bleed some.

Moving fast, he ducked under a punch that would've blacked his eye, and came up behind her. She managed an elbow to his midsection before he pinned her arms to her sides and squeezed the breath right out of her.

He kept his face tucked in by her shoulder, so she couldn't head-butt him, and he hefted her right off her feet, so she couldn't stomp his toes.

Not that she'd have done much damage in her flip-flops, anyway.

She went limp, giving him her dead weight. But he didn't let go, didn't give her any leverage.

"I shouldn't have touched you," he said, breathing hard and fast. "That was wrong and you have my sincere apology."

"Bastard," she gasped out around the restriction of his hold. Sparks lit in front of her eyes as she went lightheaded from lack of oxygen.

Cautiously, Cross gave her a bit more room. With his face so close beside hers, his breath teased her neck, his wet hair touched cold against her skin.

"I've never in my life done anything like that. I don't blame you for being pissed, and I swear to you, it won't happen again." He paused, cursed under his breath, and added, "Unless I have your permission."

That made her jerk and howl, determined to get free and bludgeon him into the ground.

His arms tightened like a vise. "But I need to talk to you now, Gaby, and you will act civilized."

His superior attitude bit big-time, but what could she do about it? At the moment, nothing. She couldn't get free of him without causing him a serious injury, possibly even killing him, and that she wouldn't do.

She killed enough bad people.

She didn't want to kill a good one.

He waited, and much as it nettled Gaby, she gave a small nod.

Being smart, the second he opened his arms, he separated himself from her. In less of a hurry, Gaby turned to face him. He'd gotten his way, but there were things he should know.

Her gaze locked with his. "If I'd wanted you hurt, you would be hurting."

He acknowledged that with a nod of his own, rubbed the back of his neck, and paced two feet away. "Where were you earlier today?"

Gaby tracked his every movement. "What's it to you?"

He flashed a fearsome, annoyed frown. "A man was murdered."

She stared back, her expression carefully blank. Had he somehow connected her to it? Impossible. He'd seen the body, the damage she'd done. Yet he hadn't hesitated to cozy up to her, to confront her and .. .fondle her.

Just thinking that word left her feeling oily. She didn't like it.

Surely, if Cross believed her capable of such a grotesque deed, he wouldn't have taken her on.

Far from discouraging him, her lack of response made him edgier. He slashed a hand through the air. "Scratch that. He wasn't just murdered, he was destroyed."

A question burned in her mind, and Gaby couldn't help asking, "Who was he?"

"Hell if I know."

A sliver of moon crept out from behind the clouds, forming a bluish glow around Cross. Mesmerized, Gaby studied him. A gutter dripped. Beneath the streets, water rushed through sewer lines.

Judging by his auras, Detective Cross was pure.

She couldn't forget that—no matter how badly he annoyed her. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"He was elderly, a denture wearer, so there's no way to get dental records. No one has reported him missing, but he should be easily recognizable." Something hardened in his features. He rubbed his brow. "Cancerous tumors grew all over his body."

Cancer.

The word brought back such horrific nightmares. Gaby knew cancer intimately, had dealt with it, suffered for it, hated it. But those strange growths… she'd never seen anything like that.

"He was pretty cut up, but from what we can tell, the tumors were exposed, most of them on his head. Sort of heavy and fleshy." He glanced up, caught her direct gaze in his, and his mouth tightened. "That doesn't make you flinch?"

She'd killed a demon. She knew it, even if he didn't. Whatever had ailed the elder, it didn't matter in the final scheme of things.

Cross looked her over, but not with admiration. "You are a tough little nut, aren't you?"

Gaby refused to react to the gibe.

"He'd also been mutilated."

Mutilated, dismembered, almost beheaded. "You mean during the murder?" She'd done what needed doing. She wouldn't fall apart over it now.

"Not exactly, but whoever killed him did a job of it. No, I meant that someone had hacked off the ends of his fingers. I think on purpose."

Hacked off? The odd stubbiness of his hands flashed briefly in Gaby's mind. So that hadn't just been part of the apparition. "Why?"

"We can't know for sure, but my guess is so there wouldn't be any fingerprints."

Realization dawned. Without dental records or fingerprints, no one could identify him—whoever he might be. "Dear God."

Cross laughed without humor. "I doubt God had much to do with any of this."

Gaby knew that he couldn't be more wrong. God had sent her to kill the demon; that made Him very involved.

Remembering the way evil had pursued her earlier before the rain, thinking of the black omen she'd encountered in the woods, Gaby decided she needed time to ponder things.

"This is all… disturbing," she lied. "If you're done annoying me, I'd like to go in now." She started to do just that, and Cross stopped her.

"I asked you where you were today."

"Out walking. Far as I know, that's not a crime."

"No, it's not. But you had a blade on you, and while I don't think you have the strength to commit that grisly murder—"

"Why not?"

He looked at her in disbelief. "You can't weigh more than a hundred pounds." His gaze went to her upper arms. "You don't have enough meat on your frame to cut through bread, much less bones. No, whoever diced that old guy up had to be a big son of a bitch."

"Yeah?" Luckily, Cross was as clueless as everyone else. "So what do you want with me?"

His mouth opened, and then he shook his head and closed it again. "That's a loaded question, Gaby."

Not again. "Quit wasting my time."

He shifted position. "I don't think you did the damage, but that doesn't mean you can't be working with someone else."

Her smile taunted him. "I work alone."

"Got any witnesses?"

Her snort was deliberately rude. "Just those goons you already spoke to."

Luther crossed his arms and surveyed her. "Ah. The guy you flattened, and his cronies."

"We already agreed he had it coming."

"Maybe." He came closer to the steps, staring up at her with blatant suspicion. "They didn't know much."

"About me or anything else, I know. Dunces, all of them." She kept her stance calm, bored, and insulting. "But I don't make a habit of chatting up the locals, so they're the best I've got."

"Meaning you have no way to confirm your whereabouts."

Now she needed confirmation? "I asked you this once today, Detective, but it seems I need to ask again. You planning to arrest me?"

"No." He looked plenty annoyed that he couldn't. "At least, not yet."

"Then I'm done talking." Gaby jerked the front door open and walked face first into a dead, mangled creature hanging from the overhead hall light.

Drying, sticky guts swung back and forth, almost slapping her in the face. The awful smell of it assaulted her nose.

For one of the few times in her life, surprise brought a shout of horror from her throat.

In one agile leap, Cross shot up the steps, only to draw back when he saw the ghastly thing dangling there. "Shit."

"Smells like," Gaby agreed. She stared at the unrecognizable creature that had surely been dead for at least a week.

Mort's door hit the wall and he ran into the hallway. "Gaby! Are you—" He, too, nearly collided with the animal remains hanging from the foyer light. In terror and revulsion, he stumbled back, lost his balance, and fell on his ass. Eyes bulging with fright, face gone pasty white, he whispered, "Oh my God."

Mort wore only his yellowed underwear; his eyes were puffier than before, his nose red and watery. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Forgetting the disgusting animal remains, Gaby demanded, "Are you still crying?"

Mort stared at the dead critter, mute. He looked ready to barf. Or faint. Or both. He put a hand over his mouth and gagged.

Pathetic. "Suck it up, Mort. It's only roadkill." Using her knife. Gaby cut it down and. holding it by the rope used to hang it, tossed it out the door and into the corner where the buildings met. Blocking Moil's sight of the door with her body, she said, "Just someone's sick idea of a joke, that's all."

Cross growled behind her. He stared at the rotted animal corpse, then slowly brought his gaze up to zero in on Mort.

"Or maybe," he suggested, "it's a threat."

Gaby didn't like the sound of that. "Don't deliberately scare him. Detective."

Cross looked from Gaby to Mort and back again. "Why the hell is he crying?"

Mort objected to that. "I'm not!"

She shrugged. "He's not."

Unconvinced, Cross continued to look between them. "You two have a fight?"

Gaby just glared at him, but Mort—looking more morose and guilty than any man should—swallowed hard and shook his head. "No."

Eyes narrowing, Cross whispered, "A lovers' spat, then?"

Gaby considered slugging him again. "You're warped."

The detective just shrugged. "After three years together, you two claim to barely know each other." One brow arched up. "But now I'm getting a different impression."

"Good night. Detective." And to Mort, "Get rid of that carcass, will you? It'll stink up the place."

Distaste wrinkled Mort's nose; he gagged pathetically and nodded. "All right, Gaby."

Making sure Gaby would hear him, Cross said, "I'll help, Mort. Then you and I can talk some more."

"Talk? About what?"

"About you and Gaby having a dispute."

Meddling prick. Gaby stomped up the rest of the stairs, went into her room, and slammed the door.

But she couldn't sleep, and trying to hear the detective over the outside noise of traffic and human chatter was a waste of time. With nothing much else to do, she sprawled out in the bed and let her thoughts drift away.

Evil had stalked her, taunted her, and then escaped her.

Unthinkable.

Definitely unacceptable.

Tomorrow she'd start the hunt. One way or another, she'd figure things out. Evil didn't stand a chance.

It never did.

Shoving aside the stack of reports and his empty coffee mug, Luther sat back in his leather chair. Even two days after tangling with Gaby, a twinge in his ribs had him rubbing the spot—and smiling in memory.

Maybe Gaby was right. Maybe he was warped. Why else would a lingering ache, caused by her dead-on kick, amuse him?

"Something funny?"

He looked up at Ann Kennedy, a veteran detective and longtime friend. "Not really."

She propped her perky ass on the corner of his desk. "You're rubbing your ribs. Get in a scuffle?"

Luther dropped his hand. "Not really, no." But he believed Gaby when she said she could have hurt him if she'd wanted to. Which meant… she hadn't wanted to.

"Being evasive?" Her gaze turned speculative. "C'mon, Luther. Spill it. You know I'm not going away until you do."

"It's nothing. Really." Swiveling to face her, he asked, "You ever heard of a disease that sort of… morphs a person's expression?"

Both brows lifted. "Morph?"

"Yeah." He straightened in his chair. "You know." He moved his hands around his face. "Makes you look different."

"In a weird way?"

"Not so much." It was all too freaky and strange, but never at any point had Gaby looked weird. Maybe otherworldly. But still a woman. "Just… not the same."

Ann laughed. "Well, that'd be different." She tipped her head. "So who'd you see morph?"

Earnest, even eager, to figure Gaby out, he still wanted to protect her—why, he couldn't say. She'd already proven she could protect herself. "Just a lead I'm following."

Ann looked ready to launch into more questions when Gary Webb dropped mail on his desk and said, "Maybe it's like in Servant."

Both Ann and Luther peered up at him.

"Oh, come on. Are you two so old you can't keep up with pop culture? Rhetorical question. You're both ancient."

Luther laughed. He supposed to a guy barely out of his teens, thirty-something did seem old. "I don't mind a young'un like you giving me shit, but Ann here, she can be deadly. You should show more caution."

"Indeed," Ann said.

Unconcerned, Gary launched into speech. "Servant is an underground graphic novel. Really cool, too."

"A comic book?" Ann asked with disdain. "You're still reading those?"

"God save us." Gary dropped the mail pouch and scowled at her. "It's not a mere comic book. Graphic novels are books with illustrations, and Servant is a great story with awesome drawings. Trust me. It's some super-creepy shit." He nodded at Luther. "Including bad guys who morph."

Luther met Ann's commiserating gaze. "Yeah, well, somehow I think we're talking about two different things. But thanks anyway."

Irked at their ignorance, Gary retrieved his mail and stalked away to finish his intern duties.

"Crazy kids these days." Ann swung one foot. "You're a detective, Luther. If you want to know what sort of disease someone has, just ask."

He had—and got a foul-mouthed reply instead of an answer. "Most people would be irked at that kind of nosiness."

"Maybe. So ask someone who knows the person." Ann lifted herself off his desk. "But whatever it is, it sounds horrid, and unlike anything I've ever heard of."

Watching Ann leave, Luther admired her curves in a detached yet automatic way. He'd known her a long time, but he wasn't an idiot so he kept work and his social life separate.

Except that he'd slipped up with Gaby.

He still couldn't believe he'd copped a feel. And of what? The woman barely had any curves to speak of, and what she did have she kept protected beneath of a lot of poisonous thorns.

Yet he hadn't been able to help himself. It was a part of his personality he'd never encountered before. He always kept his head, always controlled himself.

Fuck,

After running a hand through his hair, Luther looked at the not-quite-finished reports and made a fast decision. He'd come back to them later.

He pulled out a clean sheet of paper and a pen and made himself a list.

Background check on Mort. He'd start with a face-to-face and see what he could find out just through chatting.

Investigate morphing. God, that word sucked, but he couldn't think of one better, not to describe the way Gaby had altered right in front of his eyes.

Check into her mother's death. One of the few times he felt Gaby had been straight-up honest was when she mentioned her mother.

Luther started to fold the list, and on impulse scrawled, Cancer in background. The mutilated man had a strange sort of cancer. Yet when he'd told Gaby, she kept such a stony expression that he couldn't read her at all. Perhaps cancer had touched her life in some way. Maybe it even had something to do with the odd way she changed appearance.

Tucking the note into his pants pocket, Luther left his desk.

He'd start finding answers now by first visiting with Mort. And maybe when he finished that, he'd visit with Gaby again, too. The woman had secrets that might, or might not, be related to the grisly murder of an old man consumed with cancer.

Until he found out, Luther knew he wouldn't be able to get her out of his mind.

Gaby pushed her lank hair away from her face and realized it now hung an inch or so below her shoulders. Time to cut it off again. She got out her shears, big and sharp enough to be lethal, and in one fist, gathered the hair together at the back of her neck. Doing it this way wouldn't make an even cut, but who gave a flip?

She didn't.

She eased the blades around the hank of hair and was just about to hack it off in one big chunk when a strange sensation crawled over her. She went rigid, jerked back, and the point of the scissors gouged her in the top of the shoulder. A single drop of crimson blood trailed over her pale skin and down to her collarbone.

The evil was back.

Dropping the scissors into the sink, Gaby strode to the window and looked out. At late afternoon, the sun held high in the sky, casting tree shadows around the surrounding area. Kids of all ages scuttled around the playground, shrieking, jumping, creating a boisterous sonance of laughter and ephemeral happiness.

Gaby tuned them out to listen for other sounds, baser sounds. Besides the kids, nothing stirred, not even a breeze, and yet, she felt it. Hot.

Sticky.

Calculating.

Close to the innocent children. But uninterested in them.

By rote, Gaby reached behind her and fingered her knife, safe in its sheath beneath her baggy T-shirt. She inhaled slow and deep, once, again, a third time. Her senses sharpened, but not by God's will.

No, this was mere human instinct, pathetic in comparison, but all she had at her disposal.

So the evil didn't plan anything. Yet. It only watched her. But why?

And what difference did that make? One way or another, she had to destroy it. She felt it studying her so she knew it was close. She sensed it lurked just beyond the playground, so it had dared to come within reach. It wanted to hide, but that wouldn't do.

Gaby would go to it, force a confrontation, and then demolish it.

Turning away from the window, she strode to the side of her bed and slipped her feet into her flip-flops. Key in her pocket, she went out the door and rushed in silent haste down the steps.

Thankfully, Mort didn't appear. She didn't want any interruptions that might give the evil an opportunity to escape.

Keeping half her attention on avoiding Mort, Gaby shoved open the entry door—and almost Collided with Luther Cross.

They didn't make actual contact, so he had no reason to grasp her arms. But he did anyway.

"Well, well. Going out for another stroll. Gaby?"

Sensations exploded. Thoughts of Luther had plagued her all through the long, lonely nights, until she concluded that she'd have to get rid of him.

Permanently.

Other than the possession of her knife, he had no solid reason to suspect her of anything.

That meant, as aberrant as it might be, his interest came from a different source.

Strange bastard. Didn't he know that put him on a level with goofy Mort? Surely, he couldn't want that.

Cold with deliberate and somewhat feigned disdain, Gaby looked down at his hands on her arms. "Let go."

He stupidly ignored that. "You're cut." Using his hold, he tilted her to the side and examined the bead of blood on her pale skin. "What happened?"

"I'm fine. Now let go."

"Cut yourself shaving?"

His attempt at humor only incensed her further. "I said. Let. Go."

Dark lashes lowered over narrowed eyes. "You're in one hell of a hurry, you look pissed, and you have blood on your neck. I think I have good cause to ask a few—"

This time Gaby gave him no warning, and for some odd reason, he wasn't as prepared as he'd been during their first scuffle. Her bony knee slugged hard against the inside of his thigh. She hit high up, close to his groin, hard enough to cause him to cringe not only with pain, but with inborn defense of his jewels.

When he lurched forward trying to cover himself, Gaby brought her elbow up and in, and then shot it back into his jaw in a clean strike. His head snapped back, his arms flailed, and his foot landed just beyond the top step. He tumbled backward in an awkward heap.

Gaby jumped down around him, sprinted across the street, and scaled the chain-link fence around the playground—all before Luther had picked himself up off the steps. After that one quick glance back, Gaby kept her attention focused forward. Somehow she knew he wouldn't follow her, but even if he did, once she'd wound her way in and out of alleys, he'd have a hell of a time finding her again.

The children at play paid her no attention at all. It would have been disgustingly easy for her to harm any of them—if she'd had that intent. Still at a fast pace, she went over the fence again, this time toward the back, then beyond the empty school.

When her lungs burned and sweat smothered her skin, Gaby drew to a pause. She'd allowed herself to run freely, trusting a sixth sense developed through pain and purpose, to guide her in pursuit of the archfiend haunting her.

When she perused her surroundings, she found herself in front of a hospital, facing the entrance for the emergency room.

Abhorrence overtook her. Her detestation of all things medical squeezed her throat in a viselike grip, making deep breaths problematic. Chills chased away the sweat. Revulsion churned in her belly.

She remembered being here—not at this specific hospital, but to her wounded psyche they were all the same. Misery hung heavy in the air. Fear, desolation, and anxiety wafted in and around the human cattle. As many security guards as medical personnel mingled through the masses.

Through constantly breached doors, Gaby detected the voices, elevated in both pain and anger. A hacking, wheezing body bumped her as it passed, making slow, stooped progress into the unit. Ambulances came and went; people of all sorts talked, ate chips or cookies, and swilled caffeinated adrenaline.

It should have been chaos, but to Gaby's jaundiced eye, it appeared more like frigid, choreographed efficiency.

She stood there, taking it all in, letting it stir her memories until it became a part of her.

And hurt her. Again.

Gathering her wits, she studied the ambulance drivers talking as they replaced a gurney, then the nurse in her tidy white uniform, sharing amicable conversation with a woman in a suit. Her impulses tightened. Her stomach knotted in dread. She curled her hands into fists.

Then she went in to find the fiend who'd led her here.