Hunt the Darkness (Guardians of Eternity #11)(20)

“Sally,” he growled.

“I’ll be careful.” The promise had barely left her lips before she was dropping into the hole.

“Dammit,” Roke hissed in horror, swiftly leaping behind her.

He landed in a surprisingly large room that was lined with thick walls of cement.

“Ta-da.” Sally sent him a mocking smile. “You see, sunproof enough for the fussiest vampire.”

Stepping forward, Roke lifted his brows as he took in the towering shelves that held cans of food as well as bottled water. There was a narrow bed shoved against a far wall and an open cabinet that held row after row of ceramic pots filled with potions, dried herbs, and copper pans for mixing spells. On the top of the cabinet were kerosene lanterns, basic tools, and a first aid kit.

“Your mother built this?”

She shrugged. “Actually, I think it was a bomb shelter before she decided it suited her purposes and claimed it for herself.”

“It will do. At least for today,” he murmured, moving forward to touch the pallor of her cheek. “First dinner. And then bed.”

Chapter Six

Levet surveyed the tangled mass of steel and chrome and rubber that had once been Roke’s motorcycle. A petulant scowl marred his forehead.

It wasn’t his fault.

How was he to know that anyone would be stupid enough to put such a sharp curve in the road? Or that the motorcycle would acquire a mind of its own and fly off the road to smash into a tree?

“Mon dieu. What an absurd machine,” he muttered, well aware that Roke was bound to blame him for the wreck. Vampires were so unreasonable. “Who would build a vehicle with only two wheels? Roke should be happy that I rid him of such a faulty piece of equipment. He might have been seriously injured.”

Brushing the dust from his wings, Levet wrinkled his snout, considering the possibility of a long vacation in the Bahamas.

Sand, palm trees, and drinks with little umbrellas in them.

What more could a gargoyle want?

And perhaps in a few centuries Roke would have forgotten all about his silly motorcycle.

It was the scent of brimstone that yanked him out of his broodings, making his tail twitch in warning.

“Yannah?” He searched the darkness, confused when there was no sign of the tiny demon who kept his life in constant chaos. Then, without warning, he felt a familiar tug that started deep inside him spreading outward until he was consumed by a sudden darkness. “Eek.”

Only seconds passed, but Levet knew he was being jerked through space. How often had Yannah taken his hand and smiled sweetly before zapping them halfway around the world? And this felt exactly the same, although this was the first time he’d been alone when he was being zapped.

It only made the terrifying experience worse.

Coming to a gut-wrenching halt, the darkness abruptly parted and Levet spread his wings as he struggled to keep his balance.

Mon dieu, he would never get used to that.

Never.

Waiting for the dizziness to clear, Levet glanced around the large cave.

There wasn’t much to see, but his gargoyle senses could detect the vast spiderweb of caverns beneath his feet and catch the scent of river water that wafted on the breeze.

Ah. He recognized his surroundings.

This was the hidden lair south of Chicago and where the Oracles were staying.

Which, of course, made sense.

Yannah’s mother, Siljar, was a piggly-wiggly, no wait . . . was it big-wit? Wig? Bah. Whatever. Siljar was an Oracle who carried a lot of power on the Commission and Yannah was her most trusted ally. The two would never admit that Yannah carried out secret duties for her mother, but Levet was not entirely blind.

Yannah would abruptly travel to strange places and skulk about areas he considered far too dangerous, then without warning would be halfway around the world, feverishly digging through ancient manuscripts.

Not that she ever discussed her mysterious duties with him.

Non.

He was just the male she wished to keep tucked in her private lair with his wings firmly clipped.

Scowling at the thought, Levet was preparing to go in search of the aggravating female when a demon stepped into the cave from a hidden entrance.

The small man was swathed in a heavy robe that covered him from head to toe, making him look like a monk with his bulge of a belly, his round face, and his nearly bald head.

But his pale, translucent skin marked him as a Miera demon.

“You,” Levet called, making a sound of impatience when the creature pretended he hadn’t heard him. “Sacrebleu. Are you deaf?”

The male Miera came to a reluctant halt, his expression carefully bland.

“Are you speaking to me?”

“But of course.” Levet glanced around the empty cavern. “There is no one else about.”

There was a beat before the man managed a smile. “Have you come to petition the Oracles?”

“Moi?” Levet’s wings fluttered in disbelief. “Do you not recognize me?”

“Should I?”

“But of course. I am, Levet, recently reinstalled member of the Gargoyle Guild and savior of the world.”

The man offered a stiff bow. “And I am Brandel, Historian for the Commission.”

“You are an Oracle?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. . . .” Had Levet been a lesser demon he might have been frightened by the information. There were Oracles who would destroy entire villages for an imagined insult. Levet, however, had promised himself that he would never be intimidated again. “Very well. I have been brought here by Yannah. I wish to see her.”