“I can’t.” Despite my effort to maintain control, my voice cracked at the last word. “It’s not safe,” I finished in a stronger tone.
Cat sighed. “I know you said demons were after you, but that’s not going to stop Ian. He’s not the run-and-hide type. He’s the stay-and-fight type. Believe me, we tried to get him to change, and we failed.”
I almost flung my mobile through the windshield, because she was right. Dammit, she was right! Ian had never backed down from a fight, no matter the danger. Now what was I supposed to do?
As if I’d asked that out loud, Cat said, “If I were you, I’d concentrate on killing whoever is threatening Ian. I know that’s damn near impossible, but I still think you’ll have a better chance against a bunch of pissed-off demons than you will at getting Ian to suddenly stay inside and take up knitting.”
She was probably right again, but I had an oath to fulfill. Still, this was one more reason to want Dagon dead, and I didn’t have to abandon my oath to search for the other resurrected souls in order to kill Dagon. I could multitask.
“My apologies for my misdirected ire before,” I said.
Cat grunted. “Don’t worry. Love makes us all crazy—”
I hung up so fast, I didn’t hear the rest of her reply. Was what I felt for Ian that obvious? Silver whined, laying his head on the console between our seats. He always sensed when I needed comforting, and yes, I needed it badly right now.
Still, I had a job to do. That’s why I pet his head only once before turning my attention back to the road.
The day before yesterday, a man had been arrested for causing a disturbance at the famed Lion Gate in the ancient city of Mycenae. Nothing unusual there, except cell-phone video showed the man shouting in a sixth-century b.c.e. Greek dialect. Add the man’s off-camera escape from no fewer than five security officers, and this was a lead I would have investigated right away if I hadn’t had to rush off to court.
If this was another resurrected soul and Ian’s lawsuit meant that Dagon beat me to him again, I’d be so pissed.
I sped up. Over the next hour, city lights were replaced by the faint glow from the stars. By the time I reached Mycenae, modern buildings were nowhere in sight. There was only the rolling hills of Argos and the ruins of the former great citadel.
“Mycenae rich in gold,” Homer had written in his famed poem about the fall of Troy at the hands of the Greeks. The riches of Mycenae were long gone, but hints of the citadel’s former glory remained, such as part of the fortress’s wall on the highest hill; the tall stone entryway to the rumored burial site of King Agamemnon, or the aforementioned Lion Gate, where two leonine stone carvings marked the entrance to the city.
During the day, this area was dotted with tourists. At half past four in the morning, it was empty. Or it should have been. When I parked in the lot reserved for tour buses, I heard a faint cut-off scream.
I’d dressed for court, not for battle, so I didn’t have any weapons on me. I grabbed a satchel I’d packed some demon bone knives and silver knives in, then flew toward the sound, leaving Silver behind in the car. As I flew, I prayed to any gods that might be listening. Please don’t let me be too late, please don’t let me be too late . . .
The citadel was now silent. I detected no movement among the pale stone ruins, either. I dipped lower, losing my visual advantage to utilize another sense. Yes, there. By the entrance to the underground cistern. I smelled blood.
I landed and then crouched low to enter the tunnel where the ancient city’s former water supply had been stored. It was dry now, which was unfortunate. I could’ve pulled the energy the water contained to increase my strength, but the only liquid I now sensed in the cistern was blood. The scent was almost choking as I descended the rough, uneven steps of the steeply sloped tunnel. But no scent of demon. Just blood and the sickly smell of terror.
Then a soft, anguished noise came from farther ahead. I abandoned caution and flew the rest of the way. I knew that sound. Someone was dying in agony.