Avenger of Sins (SPECTR Series 3, #6)

Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

It was a banshee, John thought dimly. A creature of grief, compelled to make all who heard it grieve as well. If death came to one, death should come to all.

Megan’s crescent moon charm seemed to burn against his skin, where it hung tucked beneath his shirt. Under Harlow’s orders, she’d just been left there, sealed in until her forty days were up, until there was no way left to save her.

SPECTR agents kidnapped him, took him away from the mother who loved him, then allowed him to believe he’d been given away. They put Ryan in a lab, and trapped him, Jo, and poor Tim in SPECTR. Tim died in the line of duty, never even having a chance to learn the truth.

This burden on his heart shouldn’t be his alone to bear. Harlow and all his enablers should feel it too, right before they perish.

He took a deep, steadying breath. The banshee would tell him what he wanted to hear, try to align their interests. He needed to resist.

“But you are right to feel angry,” it whispered, and he couldn’t disagree.

Ryan stood very still, head cocked to the side. “Are you all right?” John asked.

“No.” Ryan cast him a rueful look. “But that’s not the point, is it? I can feel its power surging through me. I think it will be enough to get us out of here. And after we escape the compound, once we’re safe again, you’ll exorcise me. Just like before.”

John nodded. “Just like before.”

“Then let’s do this.”

Ryan crossed the room and stood beside the door. He closed his bloody eyes and took on an attitude of concentration. His breathing grew harsh, and a bubble of blood burst from one nostril.

What if he couldn’t do this? What if the NHE didn’t give him enough energy? What if…

A burst of gunfire sounded on the other side of the door, causing John to jump. It was followed by a beep as the door unlocked—then a single shot.

Ryan staggered. John grabbed his arm before he could crumple. “You can’t keep this up!”

Ryan licked the blood that had trickled down to his mouth. “No choice. Come on.”

He opened the door. The two guards lay outside, both dead from gunshot wounds. A sick satisfaction filled John, along with a murmur of “Their pain ended too quickly, but at least they’re dead.”

John shook his head, trying to dislodge the voice. His exorcist sense hummed like a live wire; when he looked at Ryan, he could see the demon within, hungry for more violence. Could feel other NHEs, like glowing lights beckoning to him from other points in the compound.

He couldn’t command them as he had the fully transformed ghouls in New Orleans. But some were so, so close to their forty days. Just a little while longer, and he could have them.

No—that wasn’t why he was here. He straightened his spine, tried to focus past the banshee’s influence that howled through his soul like a bleak wind, or a scream of the damned.

“Can you sense Harlow?” he asked. “Or Caleb?”

Caleb. Fuck, he must be so scared right now. They had to get to him, had to save Gray and Night.

Ryan nodded. “I can. Harlow is headed for Caleb now. I’ll try to shield us from any other guards, but I might not be able to get them all.”

John squatted by one of the bodies and took the 9mm from his belt. “I’ll take care of any you can’t handle. And any who are possessed, though it doesn’t seem Harlow has the same interest in demon soldiers that Forsythe had.”

“Just in boosting paranormal ability,” Ryan agreed.

John checked the clip, gratified to find it full. “We need to move.”

They started down the hall, Ryan leading the way to Harlow. Shouts sounded behind them; John spun and fired. He was already faster and stronger than an unpossessed human; how much better would he get if the possession lingered?

No, that was the banshee talking.

“Is it? Or do you just finally recognize the truth?”

One guard went down from the shot; the second collapsed beneath a mental pulse from Ryan. They turned their backs from the dead or dying men and continued on.

Time seemed to slow and speed up simultaneously; the banshee gave him an edge in each confrontation, but between fights they seemed to go from hallway to central tunnel, through the raised blast door, and to another hall in a series of blinks. Like a film carelessly cut.

Ryan moved like a hunter, the lycanthrope within lending his battered body strength and focus. As for John…

“Yes,” the banshee moaned, “let them suffer as we have suffered. As you suffered.”

At some point, he became aware his face was wet with tears, his own or the banshee’s, or both. People like these guards, blindly following the orders of their superiors, had stolen him from his former life. Locked him away. Experimented on him, killed his friends, destroyed his life…

Maybe Ryan was right. He had nothing left; better to drag everyone else down into death and despair alongside him…

Caleb’s face flashed through his mind. Warm brown eyes, alive with love. Gray, tenderly cupping his face at Fort Sumter.

He wasn’t alone. He had things to live for. Reasons for hope.

“Your enemies will kill them. You will be alone. Except for me.”

“No,” he said aloud.

Ryan turned to him, and oh Goddess, he was in bad shape. One eye drooping, blood dripping freely from nose and ears. “What?”

John gripped his arm. “Ryan, you can’t keep this up?—”

“I can.” Ryan pulled away, and for an instant anger flashed across his face, before being replaced by determination. “Sorry—the demon, it’s angry. Always. But we can’t stop now, Jonny. You know that.”

He was right; there was nothing to do but push forward. “You take out the guards; I’ll deal with the other NHEs.”

“Okay.” Ryan slowed. “We’re almost there now.”

They turned a final corner, and Harlow walked ahead of them, surrounded by his cohort.

The banshee stirred at the sight of Harlow, prompted by John’s rush of fury. “Make him hurt, make him feel what we are feeling!”

There were only two armed guards. They turned at the sound of footsteps, eyes betraying their surprise even as they brought their weapons up.

Ryan flung his hand out, as if needing the physical gesture to direct his power now. One stiffened, all electrical activity in his brain momentarily turned to static, then collapsed. Even as he hit the floor, Ryan let out a cry and clapped both hands to his head, before falling to his knees.

“Ryan!” John shouted—and was brought up short by the second guard pointing a rifle directly at his head.

That would have stopped him, before the banshee, before the trail of bodies behind him. Now the banshee rose within him, and he let it, their desires in perfect alignment. With its strength and speed, and his training, he propelled himself at the guard, avoiding the swinging barrel as the man belatedly tried to readjust his aim. He tore the weapon free, snapping a few of the guard’s fingers as he did so, and hurled it away. A moment later, he slammed the man’s helmet into the wall, hard enough for his eyes to go glassy.

“Stop!” Harlow barked. “Stop, or I’ll kill him!”

John let the guard fall and turned. Harlow held one hand outstretched, his telekinetic gift mimicking the movement and wrapping itself around Ryan’s neck. Ryan clawed at his throat, instinctively trying to pry off the fingers that were psychically strangling him, but only opening deep gouges in his own skin.

“I don’t know how the hell you were able to do a summoning in a bare office,” Harlow said, eyes now fixed on John. “You weren’t possessed when we left you there, or else my exorcists would have warned me.” The two women stood attentively beside him; one nodded, as if to confirm her loyalty.

Ryan had been right; Harlow didn’t know about drakul blood, or other body fluids. So either his source was oddly informed about some things but not others, or it hadn’t been a leak from SPECTR at all.

It had been a feed.

“Surrender, cooperate, and you can have a good life here,” Harlow said. “Otherwise…”

He turned back to Ryan with a scowl. “You could have been so useful. Truly a one-of-a-kind opportunity for me. But I’m afraid the cost-benefit analysis is no longer in your favor.”

And so saying, he slammed Ryan into the wall with the full force of his demon-enhanced TK.

The world slowed around John. He saw Ryan hit the wall with a terrible clarity, heard the crack of breaking bone as his skull met the stone wall. Ryan fell to the floor, limp. Unmoving.

Just a piece of trash Harlow had thrown away.

A rage like he’d never felt kindled in John’s veins, and though the banshee fanned the flames, it belonged to him. He wanted to rip out Harlow’s heart, set fire to the complex, tear down the very mountain.

“There was no way you were ever going to succeed, Nineteen,” Harlow said. “Submit and you’ll be spared.”

John turned away from Ryan’s unmoving body, grief and rage tangling together as the banshee howled along with him from just beneath his skin. Ryan had believed, wholeheartedly, that John would exorcise him again when the time came. But thanks to Harlow, he’d died with a demon inside him.

Ryan was beyond his help now, the demon freed back into the etheric plane. But John could still honor his final request the only way he knew how.

At the Center, he’d been an untrained child who couldn’t imagine doing more than exorcising the ring of friends directly around him. Leaving Megan possessed, and ultimately forgotten.

That was no longer the case. He wasn’t just an adult, but a highly trained government exorcist.

This time, he was going to exorcise the whole damned compound.

“I’ll never submit to you,” John snarled.

He reached deep inside, drawing on everything he had to give, everything the banshee had to offer. Throwing back his head, he screamed as he sent all of that energy, all of his talent, outward. Toward all of those glowing points of light that were NHEs.

It exploded out from him like the pressure wave from a bomb, tearing demons free from their hosts. Dimly, he felt it pass around two larger etheric entities—the drakul—like water around river rocks.

Then it was done, dissipating into the distance. John found himself on his knees, head aching and a coppery taste in his mouth. One of the exorcists cried out in shock—then stumbled away from Harlow, an expression of horror on her face. A moment later, she broke and ran, followed by the other.

Harlow remained, blinking, disoriented.

“Now,” whispered the banshee. “It is his turn to hurt.”

John rose to his feet. Harlow held up one hand, as if to fend him off. “Let’s not do something you’ll regret.”

John rushed him, closing his hands around Harlow’s collar and shoving him back into the wall so hard the back of his head cracked against it. Dazed, Harlow scrabbled at his hands, but John didn’t care.

“I’m not going to regret this,” he said, showing all his teeth as he grinned. “I’m going to fucking kill you with my bare hands, and enjoy every last second of it.”

The woman shoved Caleb away from her, then back-handed him. Blood arced from his mouth, both hers and his.

“You fucking psycho!” she shouted, clapping her hand to her neck. “Backup; I need backup!”

Something struck him from behind, as if he was at the beach and a wave washed unexpectedly over him. He swayed, took a step forward to keep his balance?—

And felt Gray stir within.

He didn’t know what had happened, and honestly didn’t care. Christ, there you are! They’re trying to kill us, so get out here and help!

Gray didn’t waste time with questions, simply roared to the surface. Caleb fell back, readying his TK to support Gray if need be.

“Where did the demons go?” Gray asked, confused.

The hell?

The woman cowered in front of them, but Gray was right—she didn’t smell like a succubus anymore. Above, confused men and women pulled off their headbands; even through the thick glass Caleb could hear their calls of confusion. “What happened?” “Was that an exorcism? But how?” “Oh God, it was twisting my thoughts, and I didn’t even realize.”

“They have been exorcised,” Night said, sounding disappointed. She rose to her feet in a single, inhuman motion. “There is nothing left to hunt.”

John must be behind this, Caleb told Gray.

Gray looked around them. The exorcists above were no threat, and neither was the woman on the floor. “We must find John,” Gray said. “Night, help me with the door.”

Between the two of them, they wrenched the door open. As soon as they were through, Gray broke into a run, followed by Night. Caleb tensed, expecting shouts or alarms. Some sort of resistance, at least.

Instead, the base remained eerily silent. What the fuck was going on?

John would know. They just needed to find him, then go in whatever direction he pointed them.

“There!” Gray exclaimed.

Two figures stood at the end of the hall, surrounded by motionless bodies. John had a man shoved up against the wall, and as Gray hurried to help him, they caught the scent.

Wet peat mingled with tears, underlain with blood. One demon yet remained in the compound.

And it was inside John.

“John!”

John’s head snapped around at Gray’s rumble. His scent, of petrichor and incense, washed over John, joined a moment later by night-blooming jasmine and copal.

Terror spiked through the banshee, the dreadful certainty that these were predators who wanted to eat it. The base level instinct for survival pumped adrenaline through John’s veins, and he had to brace himself not to run.

“Get back!” he ordered, even though his voice trembled with the banshee’s fear. “Don’t come any closer!”

Gray stopped, as did Night. A moment later, it was Caleb in front of him, not Gray.

“Sweetheart?” Caleb asked, holding up his hands as if to show he wasn’t going to hurt anyone. “What’s going on?”

Pushing aside the banshee’s panic, John refocused on Harlow. The man’s face was going red as he struggled to break free. John tightened the collar around Harlow’s neck, cutting off even more air. “He wanted us to be his lab rats again.” Fear filled Harlow’s eyes, giving John a burst of savage pleasure. “He killed Ryan. Told me to submit. But I won’t. I’m going to make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

“John, listen to me.” Caleb took a step closer. “This isn’t you. You aren’t like Ryan; you aren’t a cold-blooded killer.”

“See?” the banshee whispered frantically. “They are our enemy! Kill the mortal and run. We will escape; we’ll find all the others who hurt you.”

The ones hidden in SPECTR safe houses. The banshee was right; his job wasn’t finished. He couldn’t exorcise himself yet, not until he made sure they first knew suffering, then knew death.

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head,” Caleb said, voice so gentle it cut through the haze. “But I know you. John Starkweather, Jonathan Low—it doesn’t matter what you call yourself. Because I— we —see you for who you really are inside. And if you ever need a reminder, like I think you do now, we’re here to give it to you.”

John’s hands shook. He stared into Harlow’s wide, terrified eyes, and felt only contempt.

“He deserves to weep as you have wept! Then die, as Ryan died.”

“He deserves it,” John echoed.

“I can’t disagree with that,” Caleb said. “But you don’t. He’s done for, and if you kill him now, it will weigh on you for the rest of your life.”

John wavered, and the banshee sensed it. “You were far more helpless when you were a child,” it said slyly, and he could almost feel fingers riffle through his memories. “Don’t you remember the pain, the terror, the despair? Yours went on for months; killing him so quickly is an act of mercy.”

He took a deep, gulping breath. His hands shook, and he longed to agree. To give in, to stop feeling so torn, to just let it all go and become…

A killer? A monster?

John let go and stepped back. Harlow sank to the floor, gasping for breath, but John ignored him.

“No, what are you doing? Stop!”

I’m sorry, he told the banshee. Then pushed it out of his soul.

It fought, but there was nothing to cling to, all his will bent on ejecting the intruder. With a final snarl, it slipped away, back across the veil.

Caleb rushed to him, drawing John into his arms. As they clung to one another, shouts of “SPECTR agents! Drop your weapons!” rang out from the central tunnel.

Kaniyar had arrived.