Objects in the Mirror

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

StarCrossed 3: Objects in the Mirror TOP SHELF An imprint of Torquere Press, Inc. PO Box 2545 Round Rock, TX 78680 Copyright 2008 by Reno MacLeod and Jaye Valentine Cover illustration by Rose Lenoir StarCrossed Logo and Star Field copyright Reno MacLeod Published with permission ISBN: 978-1-60370-651-3, 1-60370-651-8 www.torquerepress.com All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680. First Torquere Press Printing: March 2009 Printed in the USA

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For our many Muses, for we know you are watching.

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Chapter One Twenty-two years ago... It was hot, even though the sun had only been in the sky for a few hours, and the stench of blood was already drawing flies. Matthew wiped a grimy arm across his sweaty brow and looked toward the cages. The two creatures paced back and forth, anxiously waiting for their meal. Matthew shook his head with worry. "You're growing. I sure hope Papa knows what he's doing with you two. You're both bigger than your momma already." Matthew picked up the ax again, putting his back into the swing. The horse carcass bounced with the blow, blood spattering across his face as he severed meat from the torso. "And you eat twice as much." One of the creatures stopped pacing. Its head dropped down, silver eyes watching with interest as Matthew performed his task. Nostrils flared, snorting out hot breath in obvious disgust. Its massive head swung around to look toward its companion. They were held separately in old traveling circus wagons -- rescued visions of the past with their peeling, canary yellow paint and rusty iron bars. The floorboards showed their age, creaking each time the creatures walked from one side to the other. Matthew was nervous; he was new at this task. The congregation member whose place he had taken had gone a little crazy, waking in the middle of the night, screaming until his throat was raw. Matthew, the youngest son of Pastor Isaiah Banks, was now of acceptable age for the responsibility. The Black Hills Congregation leader had made it clear that he didn't want anyone else in his flock working so far behind the scenes anymore. Still, Matthew had a hard time wrapping his head around the entire concept. The presence of these creatures had given him a whole new outlook on the nature of man, God, and the universe. When he'd been a small child and woke up in the middle of the night crying, his mother had told him there were no such things as monsters. Momma, rest her soul, had lied. Matthew had never truly gotten over that innocent deceit, and now as a teenager, he still had a hard time believing his eyes. Boots crunched on the hard summer ground. John -- Matthew’s older brother -- approached. Water sloshed from the pails he carried, one for each of the creatures. "The pets giving you any trouble there, little brother?" John set the buckets down in front of the wagons. His fingers gripped the shock stick he'd constantly worn on his belt ever since one of the bastards had taken a chunk out of his side. From that day forward, John had told Matthew that they weren't to take chances anymore. "Nothin' more than usual. That one on the left is active today. I swear he's smarter than he looks." Matthew picked up a stone the size of his fist. He hurled it at the glowering demon, StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 4

striking it hard on the side of its head. The gray beast bellowed and slammed its bulk against the iron bars, rocking the wagon on its wheels. "Papa said that after today we shouldn't feed them. He wants them good and hungry for Sunday. Kinda makes me feel sorry for the Baker boy." *** For eleven years, Pastor Isaiah Banks had been the shepherd of the Black Hills Congregation in Piedmont, South Dakota. His father had preceded him and his grandfather before that. His oldest boy, John, would inherit his flock someday, along with close to forty million dollars. Six million in cold, hard cash lay hidden in the caves upon which the old resort was built. Isaiah's granddaddy had bought the place for a song during Prohibition, the purchase made possible by the family's bootlegging business. The Congregation's remaining net worth was tied up in government T-bills, earning interest. All for the Lord's glory and the salvation of sinners, of course. Isaiah tamped out the imported, illegal Cuban cigar in the marble ashtray on the edge of his desk. His private office suite was set well up into a hill, in the old monastery overlooking the vast square mileage that constituted the bulk of the Congregation's land holdings. This wing was offlimits. Not even his beloved, dearly departed Millie had been permitted access when she was alive. A pious woman and an obedient wife, Millie had trusted her husband implicitly when he'd told her that this part of the building was his sanctuary, his meditation space to commune in private with the Lord. He'd told her that this sanctified space was where the Lord God Almighty chose to reveal to him the laws and directives that guided their humble community. "Get out," Isaiah said to the whore still lazing in his bed. He gazed out the window, smiling as he saw the two old circus wagons emerge from the cave network's south entrance, his strapping, blond-haired sons leading the Belgian draft horses that pulled them. On this hot Sunday morning in July, Isaiah Banks' belly was full and his libido sated. In less than an hour, he'd be leading his people in prayer and sacrifice. Thomas Baker would be setting an example for the Black Hills flock today. You didn't openly defy Pastor Isaiah Banks and live to gloat about it for long. *** Matthew turned his gaze toward his older brother as he tugged his mare along the path. "Are you sure this is the right thing to do, John? Thomas has always been a good boy. I know it was wrong for him to have those filthy magazines, but feedin' him to the demons seems mighty extreme to me. He didn't hurt no one." He'd always trusted John, and even on such a sensitive topic, Matthew felt safe in asking. He looked back at the cages, which were covered against the sun and prying eyes until the moment was right. None were allowed to look upon the demons until the pastor gave his permission. Although the canvas tarps kept the demons from sight, sounds of their shuffling about could be heard. The horses chomped nervously at their bits. John pulled his wagon toward one side of the ceremonial dais. Last night, a wedding had taken place on the raised, wooden structure. Earlier this morning, their father had conducted Sunday StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 5

service. Now, it was being set up for the Lord's Punishment. Wedding, worship, and the wrath of God, all unfolding on the multipurpose stage in the span of one day. The Congregation was nothing if not well organized. The crowd began to assemble. Men, women, children, all were dragging themselves out into the scorching noonday sun. No one was exempt from the proceedings unless they were desperately ill. All were required to listen to the pastor's accusatory words and the final pleas of the condemned. "This is the way it has to be," John said. "Slaps on the wrist and the threats of mortal men don't work anymore. Papa knows that, same as his daddy knew it. The only way to wage a winning war against sin is to put the fear of God into the hearts of the wicked." John brought his horse to a halt and began to unhitch her. "Not much more effective a deterrent than to watch a fellow sinner devoured alive." "Amen to that," Matthew whispered. *** Matthew waited for John to finish with the first cage, watching closely how things were handled. Another Congregation member came forward to take John's mare. Matthew led his own forward. Behind him, something hit the bars hard, startling the front row of onlookers. Matthew felt his stomach churn. "Are we locking the cages end-to-end now?" This was his first time helping with a sacrifice, but Matthew was keenly aware of how one mistake could be fatal. Better to ask now than to pay the price later. John made a huffing sound and rolled his eyes. "You never did pay attention. The kid goes in with the calmer one first. It'll be over too quick once the mean one gets hold of him. The lesson learnt well--" "--is the lesson learnt slow. I know, I know." Matthew kicked at the dirt, grousing. "And then we hook 'em up?" John nodded. "Then we hook 'em up." Matthew went to the rear of the wagon. He yanked up the canvas that covered the bars, taking a quick glimpse at the beast inside. The monster was lying on its belly, its head resting on one forearm. Claws dragged lazily over the planked floor leaving gouges in the wood. Its molten silver eyes darted toward the sudden infusion of natural light, zeroing in on Matthew. It made no move to rise. Matthew sucked in his breath and lowered the tarp. "John, they're identical twins. A minute ago, this one was striking the bars so hard I thought he was going to splinter them. He's all still and calm now, so how do you know which one is which?" "Stick your hand through the bars," John replied with a grin. "You'll find out quick enough." StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 6

"Very funny," Matthew scoffed. "Come on, John, I'm serious." "All right, all right." John chuckled and shook his head. He went to the second cage and flipped its tarp up to match its counterpart. "Check out the wings. They've both got a deformed one, bent and sort of shriveled up. Which side is that one's bum wing on?" "The right." Matthew saw that the demon in John's cage had his deformity on the left. "Huh. Never noticed that before. They get into a fight, or did Papa break them on purpose so he could tell them apart?" John looked into the cage before him, and Matthew could tell John was being careful not to meet the thing's gaze. That one had scary eyes. Both of them did, but that one had something behind those eerie, silver irises that the other one lacked. A cunning intelligence, a deliberate thoughtfulness like the thing was biding its time waiting for a mistake to be made. John had always said it wouldn't happen on his watch. That nasty gash on John's right side had done away with any potential carelessness eight years ago, and Matthew had grown accustomed to his brother's continual safety reminders. "Nah, Papa didn't do it, their momma did." John slid his shock baton out of the leather strap that holstered it to his belt. "Like they weren't monsters already, they were born deformed. They each had one good wing, but the other wing they shared. You know, like those Siamese twins from the circus where we bought the wagons? Anyway, their momma screamed like a banshee when they came out. I don't think she was none too pleased at having birthed defectives. She picked up her babies, one in each of her big, ugly paws, and ripped 'em apart." John snorted. "You should have heard those poor little devils screech. It went on for hours. Finally, the momma stuffed 'em through the bars and pitched 'em out of her cage. Turned her back on 'em. Papa had some of the men corral the little beasts in the cave. The female started refusing her food, wouldn't drink, and no matter how she got beat or stuck or shocked, she wouldn't cooperate." John wrinkled his nose up and shrugged his shoulders. "Not sure what happened to her. They put her out of her misery, I suspect. Didn't really need her anymore with two to take her place." John sidled up to Matthew, and Matthew felt the tip of the shock stick poke him in the butt. Matthew batted the baton away and threw his brother a foul look. "Go ahead," John said, "stick your hand in." John peered into the cage Matthew had drawn. This beast, they could look in the eyes. An ugly, evil thing, but much weaker in body and spirit than the other. "Go ahead, Matthew. Trust me." Flexing his fingers, Matthew forced himself to relax and he stepped closer to the cage. "I shouldn’t have to fear either one of them, should I? I haven't done nothin' against God. He hasn't any reason to smite me." Still, fear gripped Matthew as he pushed his hand through the bars. A trickle of sweat ran down the center of his back. In the far cage, the more hostile of the demons came up to the bars and stuck its muzzle through, straining to see what was happening with its twin. Coal-colored talons grasped the iron bars and drew downward, creating a horrible, penetrating sound. StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 7

The demon in the cage before Matthew behaved just as John had predicted. It sucked in a wheezing breath and withdrew to the far end of the cage. Long, clawed fingers nervously gripped the iron bars. The creature tilted its enormous, wolf-like head and stared at Matthew with a questioning expression. "See, I told you," John said with a chuckle. "That's Anula, the gentle one. I think he's given up. Lord knows I would, after being stuck in a ten-by-ten crate for fifteen years. The one with the good right wing and the bad attitude is Veli." A swell of music caught Matthew's attention. The crowd had started the opening hymn. Show time. *** Thomas Baker stood to the right of the pulpit, wrists bound behind his back. Matthew stood nervously in front of the cages, shifting from one foot to the other, wiping sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans. He'd witnessed similar proceedings dozens of times before, but never close up. John had always teased him for hanging so far back in the crowd. Now there wasn't any choice. Matthew had a backstage pass to the hottest show in town. He swallowed hard and dried off his palms again. His father's voice boomed over the loudspeakers. "Surely thou wilt slay the wicked, O God. Depart from me therefore, ye bloody men! For they speak against thee wickedly, and thine enemies take thy name in vain. Do not I hate them, O Lord, that hates thee? And am not I grieved with those that rise up against thee? I hate them with perfect hatred! I count them mine enemies! Search me, O God, and know my heart. Try me, and know my thoughts, and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!" A hush fell over the assembled as they and Pastor Isaiah concluded his sermon with the traditional, communal recitation of Psalm 139. The prayer before the slaughter. The pastor opened his arms wide, one hand gripping the crook of the shepherd's staff he held. "My brothers and sisters in Christ!" he began, his voice sounding like a trumpet echoing off the hills after which this gathered flock had been named. "Why are we assembled here today?" The crowd, all four hundred twenty-seven of them -- no one was ill today, thanks be to God -answered in a singular voice. "To punish the wicked, Great Shepherd!" "And where stands the wicked?" the pastor queried back. "There!" A sea of index fingers pointed toward the dais. Thomas Baker, fifteen years old. Tall and lanky, naked save for white fabric cinched around his waist like a loincloth. The symbol of his coming purity. His wrists were bound tightly behind his back, and his eyes were cast down like the shameful. Thomas visibly trembled. Matthew winced and let out a sharp sigh. He felt John's elbow poke him in the ribs, but Matthew kept his eyes on StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 8

the accused. "And what say the wicked?" Pastor Isaiah's tone sounded challenging. A tear rolled down Thomas Baker's cheek. His shoulders shook. But he said the words in a strong, clear voice. Matthew knew that Thomas must be fearful of what might happen to his younger brother and sister if he misbehaved further. They always feared for those left behind, and Matthew was beginning to suspect that was a great part of his father's power. "I am heartily sorry for these my misdoings, O Lord," Thomas said. "And I beseech the warmth of your blessed forgiveness in the life hereafter!" The crowd roared. And then, as the din diminished and ceased to echo off the hills, a few soft voices began the Holy Sacrificial Litany. "The sacrifice is the way to repentance. All shall watch and be renewed!" Slowly, as if a conductor were orchestrating the chant, more voices chimed in. Two of the congregation's elders approached the condemned, one at each of Thomas Baker's elbows. They led him to the center of the dais, and then they roughly spun him around to face the cages. The chorus of voices stirred the beasts. Matthew had noticed that, over time, the demons had come to recognize the mantra as a ringing of the dinner bell. Not fed since he and John had done their work on Wednesday morning, the demons seemed wild with hunger. Both had begun to pace their confines, even the more reserved of the two, drool leaking from their gaping jaws. Matthew waited for his father's subtle nod, and then he and John pulled the concealing canvases away. The sudden movement excited the demon Veli, and it rushed the bars, slamming into them with enough force to teeter the wagon. The chanting continued. Untroubled by the disturbance, the gathered obviously trusted in their pastor and God to keep them safe from harm. As Thomas Baker neared the other cage, Matthew could see the fear written in his eyes. Thomas had begun the slow, downward spiral of a non-believer, so Matthew knew this action was justified. He waited for John to prod the more timid of the two demons back into the corner of the wagon before unlocking the cage. Matthew swung the creaky door open wide enough to shove Thomas inside. The moment the boy was through, Matthew slammed the iron door shut. The lock was put back into place, sealing the fate of the guilty. The more docile demon held back, sniffing the air, its lips curled upward into a canine smile. Thomas Baker crouched down, cowering in the corner of the cage. Anula snorted, taking a step closer. The volume of the chanting grew. "The sacrifice is the way to repentance. All shall watch and be renewed! The sacrifice is the way to repentance. All shall watch and be renewed!" Anula, with dinner in reach, set its gaze on the other cage. It made a low sound, the pitch starting deep and ending on a higher note as it looked through the bars at its twin. Outside the cage, Matthew blanched. That had sounded just like a question.

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In the far cage, Veli stopped its impatient treading and rose up on its powerful hindquarters. Reaching an impressive height of seven feet, it stood as perfectly erect as any human and walked toward its sibling with ease. Matthew had never before witnessed either demon standing completely upright. He stared, spellbound. When metal bars brought the contentious demon to a halt, it made eye-contact with its more timid sibling and made a deep-throated clicking sound that escalated quickly into a throbbing purr. "They're communicating?" Matthew was amazed, stunned. "By the One True God, how is that possible? They're only animals!" Eyes wide, John shook his head. "I... I don't know!" John looked toward his father. Pastor Isaiah nodded. "Hook up the cages," John said to his brother. "And make it quick. Sooner we get these monsters back in the cave, the better I'll feel. I don't like this, Matthew, I don't like it at all." John went to the dais-side of the nasty one's cage and gave it a push to line it up. With his eyes still locked on Thomas -- who had wet himself in fear -- Matthew slapped the cages' interlocking fasteners into place then untied the pulley to raise the connecting walls. Matthew silently prayed that Thomas Baker be forgiven his sins, and hand-over-hand he pulled the rough rope and raised the gates. When the inner wall was lifted a foot from the wagon's floor, Matthew watched as Veli dropped to all fours and shoved its head and shoulders underneath it. The crowd continued to chant. "The sacrifice is the way to repentance. All shall watch and be renewed!" The instant the demon was clear of the gate, it bounded past its sibling, felling the trembling child. Thomas Baker's scream rose above the chant but was quickly extinguished as the beast tore out the child's throat and gored his belly. Bathed in the boy's blood, Veli let out a vengeful shriek and, taking a handful of still-warm innards, he hurled them at Matthew. Matthew shrieked in horror. Veli laughed, the sound wholly inhuman but laughter nonetheless. Matthew watched as Anula waited until its twin had its fill. What Matthew saw, John had once explained as typical pack behavior. The demon with the tattered left wing, Veli -- the more forceful of the pair and the elder of the twins by seconds -- was quite obviously the alpha of their pack of two. The alpha got the honor of the kill once the quarry was cornered, and also received first crack at the spoils. Only when Veli backed off and nudged its twin did the other begin to feast, and then only modestly. It was a show of intent to usurp the alpha's position for an underling to exhibit greed. With what was probably barely enough in his belly to merely soften hunger's edge, Anula backed away. Veli, the alpha, moved in a second time to shake the remains, and in an act that looked StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 10

purposeful to Matthew, it showered bones and scraps of human gore as far as possible. Rather than find horror in the act, most of the Black Hills faithful left their chairs and fell onto their knees close to the cages. Their faces tilted upward to catch the rain of scarlet to claim a part of the sacrificial cleansing. Matthew sighed and shook his head. Evidently satisfied, Veli rubbed against its twin, their black-tufted tails briefly entwining in a show of affection. Veli's jaws closed over the back of Anula's neck in ownership and dominance. Matthew tore his eyes from the bizarre sight of the affectionate demons in time to see his father raise the shepherd's staff and turn to once again face the throng. The well-practiced congregation began to sing. That was Matthew's cue. "Let's get 'em back to the cave, Matthew," John said. He shoved his shock stick into the cage. The tip of it touched the alpha demon's neck. John turned on the juice and eighty thousand volts shot through the metal. The electricity bit deep and sharp, pulling a pain-enraged howl from Veli. It spun around fast, wings raised -- one fully, the other lifting only inches from his back -- and Veli placed himself between the human tormentors and his own brother, lips curled in defiant challenge. Matthew looked nervously from the demons to John and back again. "Does he always do this?" A pitchfork stuck out of a nearby pile of straw. Matthew grabbed it, joining John's effort to herd the angry demon back into its own cage. *** Anula stumbled, falling face-first into the hay bedding that was scattered all over the wagon floor. Stunned momentarily, he opened his eyes, looking about wildly to get his bearings. The mid-day sun glinted off something buried in the thatch. He rolled to one side, his back to the human boys, and he quickly snatched up the item. A curved piece of metal, a bit of the handle from the pail of water the humans had given him earlier. Somehow, the end piece that curved to keep the handle attached to the bucket had fallen off. Anula had no idea of what use it could be, but there must be something. His brother would know, so he opened his mouth and hissed at Veli, good wing and tufted tail twitching excitedly. With the boys distracted, Veli rejoined him, grunting loudly in apparent irritation at having had their affections interrupted. Anula saw that Veli had caught sight of the shiny piece of metal and Veli quickly took it from his grasp. Veli hid it in the coil of his tail. Anula locked his gaze on Veli's for a fraction of a heartbeat, enough time for wordless promises to be exchanged before the sting of the shock stick was on them again. This time, Veli separated from him willingly, scuffling steps leaving a trail in the hay. Veli paused as he went through the doorway, turning to look first at the human boys and then at their father. With a toothy grin, Veli purred at Anula then leaped over into his own cage. The gates slammed down immediately behind him, separating them once again. *** StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 11

The compound was quiet by the time the pastor's sons arrived back at the cave. Matthew readied the hose while John unhitched the horses. Fire hydrants were strategically placed throughout the property. One was located just outside the mouth of the main cave. Matthew took up the business end of the hose and dragged it into the cave. He worked in silence. He'd seen this spectacle many times before, but this had been the first time he'd been a participant. There hadn't been much left of Thomas Baker. A twinge went through Matthew's heart when he contemplated that Thomas' parents wouldn't need anything larger than a Sucrets box to bury their eldest child's mortal remains. "Let's get this done with," John called out. Matthew swiveled the nozzle to the open position and shot the stream of cold water into the first cage, hitting the stain that had once been Thomas Baker. His stomach churned, watching the crimson river run out from between the wooden planks to pool on the ground and saturate the earth. When the water ran clear, Matthew turned the hose on the more timid demon, jaw set tight as he washed grisly gore from the beast's face and claws. Anula shrieked and cringed in a corner. The demon wailed and once the wet assault was over, Matthew watched Anula curl up into a fetal position on its right side, unfurl its left wing and canopy it over itself. Sleep seemed to overtake it quickly. Matthew approached the other cage with far more care, keeping as close an eye on the alpha demon as it did on him. Opening the valve on the hose, he let the full pressure hit Veli, knocking the creature back against the far side of the cage. Matthew did his best to keep the monster pinned there by the force of the water until the demon was rid of the stench. He cut the pressure and backed away from the cage, surprised when the foul beast sought out a corner and curled into a ball like its twin. "Done, John. They look like they're settling down. Can we go now?" "Not soon enough for me. These things are givin' me the willies today. Never saw 'em act so... so human before." John shut off the hydrant, slapped Matthew affectionately on the back, and urged him toward the horses. "Last one home is a dirty rotten heathen!" John tore off like a shot, Matthew close on his heels. *** Night had fallen. Crickets chirped loudly in the underbrush. Shadows swayed on the ground in time to the soft breeze blowing through the trees. The moon was full and bright, looming large as it rose above the horizon. Anula sat with his back against the bars. He exhaled sharply, foggy puffs of condensation swirling from his nostrils. As warm as it got during the daytime at the compound, it became almost frigid at night. Veli hadn't slept at all, but had lain awake at the back of his cage. Thinking. Plotting. Planning. When he noticed his brother was still awake, Veli uncoiled and made his way to the gated end of the wagon, raising his toes carefully as he walked to keep his talons from clicking on the wood floor. A tonal vibration too low for humans to hear filled the space between them as they StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 12

communicated. Veli soothed his brother, making promises he intended to keep. The human boys had been hasty in completing their task, most likely still rattled by what they'd seen. Neither one had noticed the draw gate hadn't nestled down properly into place to lock. The small scrap of metal wedged into the track had been effective. When Veli pushed his shoulder against the gate, the metal bars slid upward. Casting a glance to the mouth of the cave, he could barely see the sparse glitter of house lights in the distance. It was late, and good little sheep were tucked into their beds during the wicked hours between nightfall and dawn. After so many years and careful attention, Veli had learned their patterns. He slithered down from the wagon on his belly, using his tail to let the cage door down nice and quiet. Silently, he made his way to his brother's enclosure. Having watched their captors closely, Veli figured out the primitive locking mechanism with ease. He hoisted the barrier. Though the wagon's open bars had let air in, the night's breeze had never felt so fresh nor had the sounds around them seemed so vibrant. Veli chirped excitedly as Anula cautiously came forward. Anula hopped down from the wagon, landing lightly on his feet despite his bulk. A short series of deep, cooing sounds offered his obedience to his brother. Veli returned the purring rumble, and then he nudged Anula toward the mouth of the cave and freedom. It took more than one shove of his snout to get Anula moving, but by the time they'd cleared the cave's entrance they were moving at a smooth, trotting gait. Veli stole away into the night, his beloved Anula in tow, moving them relentlessly forward until he could no longer see the town lights glimmering behind them in the distance.

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Chapter Two Living in a cage for all of their existence had severely crippled the demons, not only in mind and spirit, but in physical condition as well. Adrenaline from their escape had driven the pair hard throughout the night. Come morning, they were forty miles deep into the wild hills of South Dakota, but fifteen years spent sleeping in the cool shade of rocky caverns had not prepared them for the rugged terrain or for the arid heat of summer. When the exhilaration of sudden freedom had worn off, the demons had collapsed. Veli had pressed his brother into a shadowed copse of trees on the far side of a ravine before they'd coiled together and lost consciousness. As the morning hours grew old, and the heat of the day stretched its fingers into even the darkest shadows of the woods, Veli awakened. He found himself confused upon opening his eyes, expecting the hard surface of wood under him but finding instead the soft warmth of his brother and open ground. He pitched his ears forward and back, trying to catch the dreaded sound of human voices. Though sounds assaulted him on all sides, not a single one was the voice of John or Matthew Banks, or anything human at all. A smile curled along Veli's muzzle. They'd done it. They'd gotten away. Shifting, he pressed his bulk into his brother's sleeping form. A moan answered, but no motion. Veli snapped his teeth down onto Anula's ear. Anula yelped, eyes flying open. He seemed confused and panicked, but it subsided when Veli caught his gaze. Grunting softly, Anula butted his forehead against Veli's chest. Veli drew Anula to him with his massive, clawed hands. The pair drifted in and out of sleep. Each time they woke, Veli rubbed against Anula to leave the scent of his ownership. The periods of consciousness lengthened and eventually hunger set in. Veli knew it was his duty to provide for his weaker, dependent twin. He nudged Anula to his feet, a deep, throaty purr barely masking an authoritative snarl. Anula rose up on all fours then dropped immediately back down to his belly. Whimpering, he tucked his muzzle under one arm, shielding his eyes. It looked like he wanted sleep much more than food. After several more attempts at getting Anula up and moving, Veli's patience began to wear thin. Finding food was one concern, but as the hours dragged on, the danger of a search party that might have been sent after them grew stronger. The Black Hills Congregation leadership was sure to have discovered the escape of their most prized possessions by now, and nothing was likely to stop them from trying to reclaim their property. Veli swung his head around nervously at every alien sound, angry fear lodging itself deeper with StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 14

every chirping bird and snapped twig. He gave Anula another aggressive shove, and when the response was the same as before, Veli climbed on top and closed his powerful jaws around the back of Anula's neck. A deep, warning growl reverberated against Anula's flesh. Veli was done with this disobedience. He felt Anula tense beneath his weight, Anula flinching as Veli's fangs sank deeper. Breath snorted out from Anula's nostrils, blowing clouds of dry, dusty earth into the air. Anula whimpered and began to struggle. This resistance was new to Veli. His brother had always submitted immediately, and any other being thrust into the cage had died too soon to resist. As Anula twisted and bucked against him, Veli's excitement ramped up quickly. Bare flank connected with groin, and he felt a stirring: something akin to hunger but considerably more intense. Caging his ward with all four limbs, jagged teeth tightened, and Veli began rutting against his brother. Anula struggled, and Veli looked over Anula's shoulder as sharp claws striated the hard, thirsty ground. Head thrown back, Anula wailed at the sky, craning his neck to snap at Veli. The protesting did little except to further excite Veli, and he felt the tingling sensation of blood rushing down between his thighs. It caused an awkward pain, like an itch unsatisfied. Panting, he dug his claws into the sharply angled hips that rose up against his, holding fiercely onto Anula's mottled gray skin. He felt Anula break out into a cold, clammy sweat. Anula twisted and landed flat on his back. Veli still had Anula caged in, and Veli knew he was stronger. He smiled a feral smile as Anula dug his feet into the dirt and tried to scramble backward. Anula was panicked, Veli could sense it, and he held firm in the knowledge that Anula couldn't overpower him. Anula suddenly ceased the frantic attempt at escape, and with an obvious struggle to get lips and tongue and teeth in the right positions, Anula growled out an all-too-familiar sound. "Stop!" Veli froze, the word holding as much power as a binding spell. Neither of them had mastered the humans' language, but there were some words where the meaning had been crystal clear. The fear and hurt reflected in Anula's eyes stalled the rough handling. Veli's chest rumbled as he pushed his brother to rise, ignoring his own unfulfilled desires. Anula walked on ahead without glancing back. Veli followed.

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Chapter Three Present day... Detective Samantha Wright scuffed off the bottoms of her shoes on the wire-brushed boot scraper next to the door. She'd been inside the mansion on Lafayette Street enough times to know the drill. No heavy perfume, no uniforms, no religious items, and no tracking dirt in on your shoes. Sam wasn't the perfume sort, so that was no problem. She'd been promoted to plainclothes detective five years ago and didn't much care to fraternize outside her division, so not dragging a uniformed beat cop along wasn't a problem either. She had put her Italian grandma's crucifix in the black Malibu's glove compartment as soon as the Salem Police Department had issued her the vehicle. Sam wasn't religious herself anymore, but she wasn't about to toss away a fond memory or a perfectly fine good-luck charm. Sam tucked a manila envelope under her arm and rang the doorbell. A young, blonde woman in a traditional black maid's uniform promptly answered the door, smiling at the detective from inside the closed vestibule. The servant gestured Sam inside, closing the outer door behind them before opening the windowless inner door into the foyer. Sam knew that drill, too. Every precaution was taken by the carefully selected staff to ensure that no sunlight got inside the house during the day. An important element of one's job description when employed by a vampire. The maid gestured toward the formal sitting room to the right of the grand foyer. "If you would like to take a seat, Detective, I'll see if Gennady is available to see you." Sam's gaze went to the perfect twin puncture wounds beginning to scab over on the young woman's throat. The detective wasn't sure if the girl got hazard pay for that or if it might simply be considered a perk. She supposed it depended on whether or not one considered a five hundred-forty-six-year-old vampire who looked like a seventeen-year-old rock star to be all that and a bag of chips. Sam bet the blonde thought he was, and that the attraction was likely mutual. Sam had known Gennady Zaitsev for long enough now to know how his tastes ran in that regard. He liked them young, he liked them pretty, and he didn't much care which gender they were or if they were even human. So long as the blood was fresh and the vessel attractive, Gennady wasn't otherwise picky about his food. By all appearances, the maid had been the featured item on today's lunch menu. "Tell your boss it's imperative that I see him and that I'm in a bit of a hurry," Sam said as she entered the sitting room. The maid smiled politely at Sam before backing out of the room and drawing the double doors shut.

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Sam unbuttoned her blazer and adjusted her shoulder holster. She fanned herself with the manila envelope while she waited for the vampire. It was always too warm in this house to suit her. Thankfully, she knew she wouldn't have to wait long. Gennady wasn't prone to theatrics or symbolic displays of his own power and importance. He was a rather down-to-earth sort, all things considered. Sam had learned through experience that the melodramatics of the undead were highly exaggerated in literature and film. The vampires she knew personally never wore low-cut white shirts with billowy sleeves, and she had yet to meet one who spoke part-time French. Sam spun on her heels when the doors swung open. The fair, fresh-faced vampire with long black hair bounded into the room wearing his usual attire: a pair of ragged cut-off jeans, no shoes, and a T-shirt with some sort of obnoxious or off-color saying on it. Today's shirt -- fire engine red with white block letters -- proclaimed IT ONLY SEEMS KINKY THE FIRST TIME. Even though she'd known him since she was born, she never got over the shock of his appearance versus his age. Gennady was the first undead citizen that she'd ever met. Her father had been chief of the Salem PD when she was born. Gennady, in addition to being the driving force behind the creation of the Salem Special Council and its president, had also been her father's closest friend. Sam had spent as much time in the Zaitsev mansion growing up as she had in her parents' house. She'd also had a major crush on Gennady when she'd hit puberty. What thirteen-year-old girl wouldn't have a crush on a pretty seventeen-year-old Japanese boy? Sam stuffed the envelope back under her arm, shook her head, and grinned. "Samantha," Gennady said as he crossed the room. He grasped both of Sam's hands and gave her a quick peck on one cheek. "We need to talk," she said. Gennady sighed. "I've been expecting you. Are there any leads?" "Not yet," Sam said. "We've managed to keep the media out of it so far, but you and I both know that's only temporary. The sooner we figure this out, the better." "Agreed. Thank you for including me. You didn't have to." Sam shrugged, offering him a small smile. "You've assisted me many times on cases in which you had no vested interest. I figure the very least I can do is keep you in the loop on a case in which you and your kind do have a stake." Gennady laughed. "Stake. Shit." Sam felt warmth creep into her cheeks. "Sorry, Gennady. No offense intended." "None taken," Gennady said, an amused smile making him look even younger. "They don't work on us, anyway. Come on, let me get you a drink." With brisk strides Gennady led Sam through the foyer and down a long hall to the kitchen. The StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 17

heart of the immense house was a flurry of activity, as was typical. A few faces Sam recognized. The blonde maid who'd let her into the house earlier. Another staffer whose name she couldn't recall. The other familiar face -- or, more specifically, rear -- that Sam recognized was the black, bushy-tailed ass end of Gennady's partner, Fallon Demeter, sticking out of the refrigerator. The young, black-haired werefox was rooting inside the appliance. Gennady grabbed his lover's white-tipped tail and yanked him out of the fridge. Fallon yelped and seemed about to playfully retaliate when he spotted the detective. "Uh oh, business." He gave Gennady a quick kiss, smiled at Sam, and then hastily trotted off. Sam gave Gennady a good-natured scowl and muttered, "I still think you're a cradle-robber." Chuckling, Gennady closed the refrigerator, leaned back on its stainless steel surface, and handed a soft drink to Sam. The others in the room, seeing their master settling in to speak with the police officer, made themselves scarce without commotion. "I'll get right to the point," Sam said. She handed him the large envelope. "Crime scene photos, between you and me. I think you'll agree--" She paused, unscrewed the cap, and took a swig of the soda. "This has your boy Jace Barton written all over it." *** Cigarette smoke curled around Jace's face as his gaze settled on Konnor's ass. He watched toned muscles flex under tight, stonewashed blue jeans as Konnor -- bent precariously over the antique, red-felt covered pool table -- attempted to make an almost impossible shot. Jace knew his brother was determined. His twin had already been forced to shed his shirt and both shoes so far during the match. Jace, on the other hand, was still fully dressed. "You can surrender now, Konnor. Save yourself some dignity." Jace moved to one end of the table, Fallon's fish tanks gurgling behind him. Konnor swept chestnut hair from his dark blue eyes with his forearm, and then settled back down with the cue. He eyed the shot, held his breath, slammed the cue into the striped ball he was obviously aiming for... ...and missed by a mile. Billiards wasn't his game and, boy, was Jace happy about that. Give Konnor a couple shots of good tequila, some natural-feathered darts and a decent dartboard, and Jace's mirror-image twin was the proverbial one-eyed king in the land of the blind. With a pool cue in his hands? Not so much. Konnor popped open the snap above his zipper, stuck his thumb under the waistband of his Levis and lasciviously caressed his own skin. "You know I suck at this game." His fingers moved from the snap to the zipper tab. He gave it a scant tug downward. "I know you suck at this game." Jace took a swig from his half-empty beer bottle. "What I don't know," he said, sauntering up to Konnor to slip his fingers between tight denim and bare flesh, "is why you agree to play every time I ask. You know you'll end up with your pants around your StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 18

ankles."

A bright grin spread across Konnor's handsome, tanned face. "Because I know that I'll end up

with my pants around my ankles? And your next stupid question is...?"

"I think you just need a new approach to the game, Konnor." Jace made a purring sound,

pressing Konnor's ass against the edge of the ebony pool table. Konnor's legs parted; Jace slipped

between them. Two complementary pieces of a well-worn puzzle. "After all, what isn't there to

like about a game where you try to get balls in a hole by using your stick?"

Konnor groaned. "One more bad pun and I'm zipping my pants back up."

Jace clucked his tongue, hooked his fingers into Konnor's belt loops and gave a hard tug. "Mm.

No, you aren't." He smiled and dropped to his knees in front of his brother, boldly rubbing his

face against the obvious proof of Konnor’s interest. "You'll need to keep the volume down," Jace

said, looking up. "We don't have the nightclub noise to cover up your screams and moans here."

"That's awfully presumptuous on your part, don't you think?" Konnor asked, teasing in his voice.

His hands went to Jace's head, fingers threading through Jace's hair. "Besides, I thought you

liked having an audience."

"I was thinking of your needs, little brother."

"In that case," Konnor said, "what I need right now is your mouth on my dick."

"I'm starting to think you planned this from the start. Lose the game, lose your clothes, get a

blowjob." Jace slid his fingers around the base of Konnor's cock and gave it a squeeze. "You're

getting as devious as I am."

He traced the outline of Konnor's cock with his tongue before slipping the soft crown between

his lips. Lost in the unique taste of his brother, the subtle creak of the pool table as Konnor's

weight pressed against it, the heat of his own breath reflected off muscled thighs, Jace's vision

blurred as his eyes slipped to half-mast. He dropped his other hand down to squeeze at the

growing hardness between his own thighs.

A sharp gasp suddenly broke through soft moans and heavy panting.

"Fuck!" Jace growled, mood shattered as he dropped to the floor on his ass. He turned to the

willowy, dark-haired figure that stood in the doorway. The young man looked as if he couldn’t

decide if he should leave or continue with his mission now that the damage had already been

done. Jace made the decision for him. "What is it, Fallon?"

"Gennady needs you downstairs in his study," Fallon said, gaze now politely lowered to the

floor. He shifted his lanky body sideways, and he didn't turn back around until the sound of

Konnor's zipper being tugged up had stopped. Fallon's bright blue eyes lifted. "He said it couldn't

wait."

Jace picked himself up off the floor, grumbling and grousing under his breath.

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Konnor pushed away from the pool table, yanking his shirt down over the waistband of his jeans. Walking a bit bow-legged, he adjusted himself in his pants. "Tell your boyfriend his timing sucks," Konnor said, grinning at Fallon. Konnor glanced at Jace and pointed. "And you owe me a blowjob." *** Jace took the lead as they entered the study, his gaze turning immediately to the detective. A crackle of tension streaked down his spine. Sam didn't look like she was there on a social call. He shifted his attention from her to his adoptive father. "You wanted to see us?" "Just you, actually," Gennady said from behind his desk. "You don't need Konnor here, do you, Samantha?" Sam shook her head. "No, only Jace." Konnor's brow wrinkled. "What the--" "Why don't you go see if you can entertain Fallon for a while, Konnor." Gennady looked up briefly at the beautiful portrait of Fallon that Jace had painted recently. He smiled at Jace then addressed Konnor. "Fallon seems bored, and I've got a busy day lined up. I'm sure he'll appreciate your company." Konnor persisted. "Jace, what the hell is--" "That wasn't a request, Konnor." Gennady jerked his head toward the door. "Go. Find Fallon. Now." Konnor shot a concerned glance in Jace's direction, and then slipped out the door without further protest. "Have a seat, Jace," Gennady said. Jace didn’t move. Instincts died hard and, for him, some of those primal urges had never fully diminished. He sensed the low level of hostility in the room growing, and without Konnor at his side he felt vulnerable. "Jace," Gennady said in a soft, hushed tone. "Please, sit down. It'll be all right." Sam moved from her spot against the wall to sit on one corner of Gennady's large desk, facing the two guest chairs positioned a few feet away. She nodded her head subtly toward the seats. Jace ticked his eyes from Sam to Gennady and back again. He wrinkled his upper lip slightly, sitting gingerly as if expecting the chair to be electrified, and he kept his gaze glued on Sam. "Why the inquisition?" "Nice to see you again, too, Jace," said Sam with a smirk. "I won't waste your time. Corny as it StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 20

sounds, where were you last night between the hours of midnight and four a.m.?" Jace felt his jaw clench. "Out. Why?" The tight feeling in his chest spread outward. "It was Konnor's turn to run Tailz last night. I left him at the bar then I took a drive over to Cambridge for some dancing and drinks. Found some twenty-year-old man-pussy and went home with him. Last I checked, that's not a crime in Massachusetts." Sam's eyes rolled. "Charming. Does your friend have a name? Maybe a phone number?" Jace smirked. "He's not interested in women, sweetheart, but if you're in need I might be able to give you what--" A sharp look from Gennady cut the insult short, and Jace turned his remaining words into a sharp snort. He dropped his head back against the chair and found a place on the ceiling to stare at as he spoke. "I don’t get their phone numbers, Detective. It's usually never more than a one-night fuck. I think this one's name was Mark, but I'm not really sure." Sam plucked the manila folder from the edge of Gennady's desk. She tossed it onto Jace's lap. "Take a look. According to the forensics report, it happened last night sometime between the hours of midnight and four. Tell me what you see." Jace opened the folder and pulled out the photos. A natural-born hunter himself, gruesome scenes weren't something that upset him. He looked through the five glossies with a careful and critical eye. "Someone doesn’t like priests. Might be one of those little boys from thirty years ago come to bring justice to his abuser." "Nah, this man was spotless." Sam yawned and scrubbed a hand down her face. "Sorry, I've been up all night, and I'm about half a pot low in the caffeine department. Anyway, it looks to me like the killer is someone who hates religion in general, not simply this individual priest. Putting the body on display like that, pinned up crucifixion-style to his own church door? That's definitely sending a message. And the way the guy's head is twisted around one-eighty tells me that our perp is incredibly strong. As in possibly-not-human strong." Gennady picked up the phone on his desk. He pressed a single button, said, "Coffee, please, and maybe some snacks," and then hung up again. "Caffeine is on its way. I apologize for the interruption." Sam nodded, her eyes fixed on Jace. "You think I did this?" Jace shuffled through the photos again, this time paying more attention to the gory details. The broken neck had almost certainly been how death had finally come to the priest, but it certainly wasn’t the only injury. Something had torn the man's belly open, and even to the untrained eye it looked as if something had feasted on the man's innards. "I'll give you that it looks like something supernatural did this, but I swear it wasn't me." Jace shrugged, a whisper of a smile on his lips. "I wouldn’t have left the body. Waste of good meat. Besides, I have no need to leave some cryptic bullshit symbolism behind regarding my distaste for religious assholes. That's no big secret, and everyone knows that if I have something to say about it, I'll just fucking say it." Gennady visibly winced. StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 21

"I'm going to do you a favor, Jace, and pretend like I didn't hear any of that." Sam pushed away from the desk. She glanced over her shoulder at Gennady and gave him a shrugging oh well look before turning back to Jace. "I need you to come down to the station for questioning. You can ride with me, or I can meet you there." She shot Gennady a glance on her way out. "I suggest you get on the phone, my friend. I'm afraid your boy is in need of a lawyer." *** Konnor stood outside of Gennady's study for several minutes, attempting to listen through the door. His heart pounded, his stomach flip-flopped, and he started to perspire profusely. He abandoned his eavesdropping post when several staff members gave him the evil eye as they passed by their employer's office. After searching through the first two levels of the mansion, Konnor eventually came upon Fallon in the third-floor screening room, playing a video game on the enormous, wall-mounted plasma TV. The surround-sound was deafening, and Konnor called Fallon's name out three times before he finally got a response. "Fallon!" Blushing brightly, Fallon lowered the volume on the flight-simulation game. The jet engine roars fell to a reasonable level, and he motioned for Konnor to join him. "Hey. Everything go okay with your brother? Sam looked really serious." Konnor took a seat next to Fallon on the couch. He shrugged and scratched at the back of his neck. "I don't know what the hell's going on. Gennady kicked me out and sent me looking for you." A smiled tweaked up one corner of his mouth, and he bumped knees with Fallon. "You are allegedly bored. I am allegedly supposed to entertain you." "Yeah, right," Fallon said, mimicking Konnor's droll attitude with a playful roll of his eyes. "That means he wants you to keep me out of trouble." Fallon passed a game controller to Konnor. "Here, we'll keep one another from being bored." Konnor stared dumbly at the controller, about as clueless regarding how to play video games as he was about shooting pool. He flicked his gaze back and forth between the controller and Fallon several times, his eyes finally stopping on Fallon. "What if I told you that Gennady's exact words were 'I want you to show Fallon a good time. A really good time'?" Fallon paused the game. Calm blue eyes turned to Konnor, a dark brow arching. "I'd say you were thinking wishfully and picking up bad habits from Jace." A moment of silence passed between them. Then without warning, Fallon tossed his game controller aside and pounced on Konnor, tumbling them both to the floor in a heap. Fallon was nimble, and he managed to keep himself out from under Konnor as they wrestled playfully on the floor. During a moment of catching their breath, he pressed his cold nose to Konnor's cheek. "Gennady will take care of everything," Fallon whispered. "Don't worry, Konnor."

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Konnor brushed his playmate's hair out of his face and gave Fallon a peck on the forehead. "I hope you're right. I wish I knew what was going on; this is making me crazy. Hey, quit tickling me with your tail." Fallon's weight settled over Konnor, and Fallon continued to lazily flick his tail back and forth along Konnor's thighs. Away at college in Japan for four years, Fallon had rejoined the Zaitsev household only a year ago, but Konnor had known Fallon for all but the first four years of the werefox's life. Fallon had become as attached to Konnor as if they were natural siblings. Konnor knew, though, that even after eighteen years Fallon's jury was still out on Jace. The elder of the twins had an aggressive streak in him that was absent in Konnor. Konnor knew that, and it was rare that others didn't pick up on it. It was also a rare day when Jace resisted the urge to tug on Fallon's tail or grab at him in an even less savory manner. Konnor knew that were it not for the fact that Fallon had become Gennady's life-partner, tail-pulling and ass-grabbing on the part of Jace would be the very least of Fallon's worries. A smile full of cunning crept over Fallon's lips. "We could go find out what's going on. I know a secret way." Konnor quirked up an eyebrow. "Yeah?" Fallon nodded enthusiastically. Crawling off Konnor, Fallon motioned for him to follow. *** Fallon led Konnor down the back stairs, through the rear part of the basement, and into the large industrial laundry room. The soft, steady drone of washing machines hard at work covered the sounds made as Fallon slid part of the wall panel to one side to reveal a waist-tall door. "Lots of houses in this area have these. They're left over from the Underground Railroad. In Civil War times, people built passageways in the walls of their houses to hide runaway slaves from the authorities." Tugging open the small door, Fallon peered inside. "They used them again during Prohibition. Moonshiners." He stepped into the opening and looked over his shoulder to signal that Konnor should quietly follow. The passageway opened up to a normal human's height once inside, but it was only two feet wide and had no source of light. Neither was a problem for Fallon or Konnor, and they moved along efficiently until Fallon stopped again. Keeping his voice hushed, Konnor asked, "Do these go to every room in the house?" "Nope. They used these tunnels as backdoor escapes. There's one opening on each floor, and one tunnel that leads out back to the watershed. It's like a rabbit warren. Your enemy comes to one hole, and you go out another one that pops up behind his back." Fallon stopped again as they came to a small flight of very narrow stairs. "Gennady's study is on the next floor, so go up nice and slow. And be quiet." Fallon headed up the stairs. Konnor crept silently up the skinny flight of stairs and paused next to Fallon. He could hear Jace, StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 23

Gennady, and Sam speaking loud and clear. "I'll be damned," Konnor said quietly. Fallon winked and whispered, "My rabbits never get away." *** "Lawyer? Fuck!" Jace stood, his chair toppling over. He paid it no mind. "I didn’t do this! Father, tell her I didn’t do this!" His shoulders bulked up, and his tail wiggled anxiously down inside his left pant leg. Gennady leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms overhead, his fingers lacing behind his neck. "Samantha," he said. "Let me ask you something. You've kept the details from the media, yes?" A soft knock came at the door. "Refreshments, sir," came a masculine voice from the other side. "Enter," Gennady said. Sam snatched a steaming mug of coffee from the pewter tray as the uniformed man passed by. The servant left the tray -- soft drinks, crackers and cheese, and a plate filled with strips of raw, red meat -- on a table. Sam's nose wrinkled up. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that." The servant smiled at her, baring his long, serrated fangs. "You should try it sometime. The easiest thing in the world to digest is meat of a similar constitution." Sam waved a hand. "Pass. I've come a long way, but I'm not quite ready to try Human Fricassee, thanks." "For some of us, it's all our stomachs can digest," Jace said, taking the plate and walking toward the far corner of the room to eat. He kept one shoulder toward Sam. He didn't give a shit about her sensitivities, but he rarely ate in company other than Konnor's. It was a lingering paranoia left over from his days of existing inside a cage. "That will be all, Edward," Gennady said, dismissing the servant. "Thank you." With the door closed, Sam took a long sip of her coffee. "We tidied up the crime scene. As far as the media knows, Father Kaminski had a massive coronary in the rectory and died instantly. He had a history of heart trouble, and the fact that he was obese and diabetic makes that unquestionably plausible. But when you look at how many there are who know the truth: three other detectives, a shitload of beat cops, the entire CSI division, the city coroner's office." Sam gave Gennady a pointed look. "The fucking mayor." Her eyes rolled and she let out a huffy sigh. "You know as well as I do, Gennady, that the 'what happens in Salem stays in Salem' thing can only be depended on for so long. I give it a couple of days, maybe a week at most, until somebody talks out of church." Sam shrugged. "So to speak." Jace listened as he finished his last sliver of legally-sanctioned human flesh. Thankfully, StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 24

cremations were on the rise in the funeral industry. Things were not looking good, but Jace trusted Gennady. He knew Gennady would do whatever he could to keep Jace safe. Gennady always had, and it was out of respect for Gennady that Jace made his decision. "I'll go with you, Sam." Jace set down the empty plate, casting a solemn eye toward his father. "Don't worry." Gennady rose from his chair and went to Jace, two fingers tilting Jace’s chin up. "Cooperate with them fully, understand? I know you had nothing to do with this. I'll make some phone calls, and we'll get started on finding a resolution." He offered Jace a warm smile and placed a loving kiss on his cheek. "No worries. I know who to call."

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Chapter Four Dark blond, shoulder-length hair with just enough of a wave to make it look bed-tousled. Slender, but muscled. Personal trainer muscles, not hard-work muscles. Perfectly manicured hands that had never done a hard day's physical labor in the young man's life. Only Jericho Zaitsev wasn't so young, he just looked that way. Perpetually twenty-two. By all appearances, he was no different than any of the rich, twenty-something Beautiful People who got past the critical bouncers at the posh club's red velvet ropes. No different except for two distinguishing facts. Jericho wasn't young -- he'd been born in 1904, originally -- and he wasn't exactly 'people' anymore. Not since the vampire Gennady Ivanovich Zaitsev had turned him into one of the walking undead in the summer of 1926. Jericho hadn't expected to bump into the prosecution's star witness the night before. He had been shocked to see Dan Parker leg-humping his dance partner under the glittering disco ball on Club Marquee's main floor. The prosecution witness in the high profile, Central Park West arson case obviously had a side that hadn't been revealed during the discovery phase of the trial. If Jericho had been able to salivate, he'd have been positively drooling at the sight. Winning this case was important to him. Getting the son of an A-list Hollywood actor off the hook for a crime he'd clearly committed would raise Jericho's already lofty prestige, not to mention commanding yet another zero at the end of his hourly billing rate. It had taken three one-thousand-dollar bottles of 1995 Clos du Mesnil and some heavy petting in the VIP lounge to find out that Daniel Parker -- in addition to being an incredibly nosy neighbor - was a bona fide, dyed-in-the-wool fang junkie. The guy had passed out before anything fun had happened, so Jericho had done the gentlemanly thing. The least he could do, since he'd been the one who'd gotten the guy hammered. He took Daniel Parker home with him. *** The sun had been up for hours. Stainless steel blinds set on a timer had lowered just before first light, covering the glut of floor-to-ceiling windows in the swank Chelsea penthouse. Jericho had already conducted three hours of business -- phone calls, emails, faxes -- and was getting ready to awaken his houseguest when he heard the man quietly moan. Jericho smiled and went to the kitchen to fix Daniel some hair of the dog. A Mimosa, made from freshly squeezed orange juice and a newly uncorked bottle of the liquid gold the man had guzzled like tap water the night before. Funny how humans didn't mind repeating recent mistakes as long they were cloaked in something benign and fruity.

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***

It wasn't the first time Dan Parker had awakened in a strange place, but it was the first time that he'd done so where the cost of the sheets probably equaled a week of his usual pay. Dan wasn't poor, but his lays usually were. For this one, he didn't want to make a bad impression, and that made him force back any possibility of getting sick despite the drum and bugle corps marching inside his head. In an effort to stave off the nausea and dizziness, Dan forced himself to try and recall the evening before in detail. A flash of sinful blond teased at his memory. Dan smiled, remembering the tawdry things they'd done. He let his hand drift under the sheets, wrapped his fingers around his erection and began stroking himself. When things got going particularly well and the first moan escaped him, Dan arched his back. That was when he felt it: the sharp, aching sting in his neck. The memory of how he'd gotten the bite came flooding back promptly as the blond vision that had caused it rematerialized before his eyes. "Shit." Dan's heart raced. "You're real." "Well," Jericho said as he entered the bedroom, "thank you so very much for the confirmation of my existence." He set the pewter tray he carried down on the nightstand next to the bed. Dan did a quick inventory: a Mimosa in a crystal champagne flute, a glass of ice water, and two aspirins. Breakfast of champions. Jericho took a seat on the edge of the bed, and the twin puncture marks on Dan's neck were lightly stroked with the tips of bone-cold fingers. "That's a good look for you, Daniel. I'd let you see for yourself, but I'm not a big fan of mirrors. How are you feeling?" Dan's gaze followed Jericho's to the outline of Dan's erection under the silk sheet. Jericho made a show of smiling at the shape, his tongue toying with one sharp fang. "And a good morning to you, too." "I'm sorry. I'm glad it wasn't a dream, is all." Dan felt his cheeks go warm, and his erection jumped. "Headache. A little sore throat, but nothing I can't handle." He bypassed the water and aspirin and went straight for the booze. "I must have been wasted last night. I don’t even remember walking here." Jericho handed Dan the pills. "Here, take these. Plain old Bayer aspirin. And you didn't walk -- I did. You're a good bit heavier than you look, Daniel. Solid muscle. Nice." "You carried me?" Dan asked in disbelief, reaching for the aspirin. Odd. He hated taking pills of any sort, but he found himself wanting to do anything the vampire suggested. Dan swallowed the pills and washed them down with the Mimosa, and then settled back against the pillows. He finished the drink and handed the glass to Jericho. "Did we... ah... do anything? Beyond the bite, I mean?" He reached up to run his fingers along the small punctures, eyelids fluttering slightly as he fought off a needful pang for more.

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Dan had lusted after the idea of vampires since he was eight years old, watching Kiefer in The Lost Boys in the dark confines of his bedroom. In his teen years, he'd gone to every Goth club in New York and most of them along the eastern seaboard, seeking out people who convincingly pretended to be vampires. He'd even fantasized that his mother had named him Daniel after the interviewer in a famous vampire novel and not because of the more obvious biblical reference. Now he was in the true presence, not of someone with artificial fangs but of the genuine article. "Yes, I carried you and, no, we didn't do anything." Jericho set the champagne flute back on the tray. "I wasn't able to feed. I'd barely bitten down when you passed out and crumpled to the floor. Fortunately, the paparazzi were occupied with that British singer with the dreadful drug problem who was madly raving about the impending apocalypse. I was able to spirit you away without a fuss, so our dirty little secret is safe for now." Jericho's hand slid down Dan's bare chest, fingernails scraping lightly. "I could be disbarred for this, you know." "Only if someone finds out, and I certainly won't be the one to tell." Dan caught his lower lip in his teeth as Jericho's nails worked close to a nipple. "I don't have anywhere I need to be today, and it seems unfair of me to have not given you some satisfaction. If you still want it, I'll give you a nibble." Dan's palms began to sweat at the idea of being fully awake and sober for it this time. Jericho tugged his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. The thin pajama pants he wore and the silk sheet were all that separated them as he straddled Dan. "Of course I want it." Jericho's hips swayed subtly, and he dropped a hand to the sheet and slowly traced the outline of Dan's erection with one finger. He smiled when Dan's cock twitched under his touch. "You're a virgin, aren't you? To the bite, I mean." "Is it that obvious? I feel like I've fantasized about it for so long that I can't possibly be, but I guess technically... yeah, I am." Another surge of warmth rushed to Dan's cheeks and he jerked his hips upward, lifting Jericho easily. Though Dan knew Jericho to be much older than he appeared, part of the initial attraction was the vampire’s youthful face and sophisticated manner. On the cusp of turning twenty-seven, Dan found himself drawn to younger men the world would consider pretty. Jericho wasn't just pretty. He was fucking gorgeous. "I suppose since I am a virgin it won't be too horrible of me to ask. Will it hurt? I don't remember too much from last night." "That depends, Daniel." Jericho leaned over Dan, caging him in between knees and elbows. Jericho's fingers skimmed over the bite marks again. "If you want it to hurt, it will hurt." A soft moan preceded Jericho's dry tongue lapping over the healing wounds. "If you wish to feel pleasure, on the other hand..." Needle-sharp fangs scraped over unmarked flesh on the other side of Dan's neck. "Which shall it be? Pain?" Jericho bit hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to puncture. "Or pleasure?" Jericho positioned his teeth on Dan's jugular and applied minimal pressure. The quiver that started at Jericho's bite turned into a full-body shiver. "Definitely pleasure. I'm really not into the whole pain thing." Dan slipped his arms around Jericho's back, fingers trailing over the vampire’s shoulder blades. "What about sex? I mean, can you... you know? Most of the books claim vampires can't. It's all right if you can't." StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 28

Jericho's fangs sank in and he immediately started to suck. Dan went rigid, his hips rising and rubbing roughly along Jericho's body as the vampire granted him his lifelong wish. Jericho had been right. There was little pain involved once the initial puncture was made, and the erotic pleasure that flooded him afterward wiped every trace of that away. Dan laid his head back, lips parted. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," he chanted, gulping down air as fast as he could take it in. Jericho's head lifted. "Don't believe everything you read, Daniel." With fresh blood flowing through his system, Jericho had no problem directing it to the most urgently needy locations. He grabbed a bottle of lube from the bedside table. "All fours, or wrap your pretty legs around my neck. Pick one." Dan lifted his legs at Jericho's direction, wanting to see Jericho’s face as it all happened. He knew it was likely that he'd never see his nocturnal wet dream again after this, and Dan wanted to cherish every second. Jericho slicked himself up. With one hand, he teasingly stroked Dan's leg that was slung over his shoulder, and with the other he positioned his cock against Dan's hole. He licked blood off his fangs as he tilted his hips and gave a slight push. Dan let out a deep, guttural groan, toes and fingers curling as Jericho worked at pushing inside. He forced himself to relax, concentrated on his breathing and the frantic beating of his heart. "Harder," he gasped, pressing his face against Jericho's stone-cold chest. His own felt suddenly soaked with sweat, scorching hot in contrast. "Please, harder." Jericho complied, rolled his hips and pushed. His cock, warm with fresh blood, drove deeper into Dan. A slight canting of hips rubbed the head of Jericho's dick over Dan's prostate, and Jericho smiled down on him when Dan's eyes widened. "You are utterly delicious," Jericho cooed. "Inside and out." Dan's gasps came short and fast as Jericho's cock rubbed along his sweet spot. His own dick twitched in response, and Dan reached down to cup his palm over the dripping head. "This... this is amazing. I still can't believe--" He arched suddenly, thoughts fleeing his mind as pleasure rocked him. Dan clawed Jericho's back, grabbed the vampire’s head, and pressed Jericho's face to his throat. "Please, do it again! Oh God, Jericho! I'm so close!" A snarling growl barely preceded fangs sinking into the cords of Dan's neck. Jericho fucked him hard, sucked even harder, and Dan was undecided as to which activity was more intoxicating. Wetness slurped between pressed bellies as Dan finally succumbed to the overwhelming stimulation. He screamed, though the sound was short-lived. His throat was parched, his body draining of energy. A few bursts of uncontrolled hip jerks, and Dan went stiff then still. Sinking into deep pillows, he gazed up at Jericho as the vampire pulled back, lips glistening crimson with just the slightest evidence of the bite.

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Jericho's cell phone buzzed on the nightstand. Dan was almost relieved, hoping that the span of a phone call might be enough time for him to regain enough strength for another round. Or at least enough to be able to stand. With preternatural speed and agility, Jericho sprung off the bed at the sound of Ozzy Osbourne's A Shot in the Dark.

Jericho snapped his phone open. "Good evening, Father. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Dan sighed and sank back into the pillow, making a mental note to leave Jericho with his phone

number.

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Chapter Five Gennady was well known for his pleasant nature and infinite patience, but even he had his limits. His dedication to his children, however, was another matter entirely. He was fiercely loyal to those whom he had made, equally so in regard to those whom he'd adopted. There was no hierarchy among those whom he considered to be his children. He loved them all differently but equally. Social rank, prestige, freedom, the acquisition of property, and the accumulation of wealth... all those things paled in comparison to the importance of family where Gennady was concerned. He paced the length of his study, arms folded tightly across his chest, a cordless telephone headset in place. The last update he'd received was now three hours old, a courtesy call from the police station because he was named on Jace Barton's wallet identification card as primary emergency contact. It would have been a hell of a lot more convenient had this all gone down when the sun wasn't up. Three hours remained before Gennady could safely step outside. While contemporary literature and film had gotten most aspects of real-life vampirism wrong, the sunlight issue wasn't one of them. It was deadly in even the smallest of doses and not a pleasant way to expire. If given a choice, vampires without exception would choose the relative painlessness of swift decapitation. Though grisly to onlookers, decapitation was much preferred over being tortuously cooked inside of one's own skin until there was nothing left but a shapeless pile of ash. "Detective Samantha Wright," Gennady said into the flexible sponge-tipped microphone. He completed three lengths of the room before he heard the familiar female voice in his earphone. "Detective Wright." Gennady kept pacing. "We are now speaking off the record." "If you say so." "I say so. I want him out of there, Samantha. Tonight. I don't care if you have a case against him or not, I want him back here this evening." "I'll do what I can, Gennady, but I can't make any promises. You know that. I'm walking a precarious line between two worlds here. I'm a human, a cop, and a member of the Special Council. If anyone's got to maintain a detached and impartial position, it's me." "It shouldn't be a problem, anyway," Gennady said. "I've called in expert counsel for him. The best criminal defense attorney in the country." He smirked as Sam snorted a wry laugh into the StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 31

phone. "How is Jericho these days? Last I heard he was up to his asshole in--" "My son is quite well, thank you," Gennady said. "I'm certain he's just as eager to see you. Samantha, I'm serious about this. I want Jace back here tonight. I'll keep him under armed guard to eliminate flight risk, if that's what you want, but I will not have him spending the night in jail. Am I making myself perfectly clear?" "Crystal." Gennady heard a clicking sound, and then he heard Sam blow out a long, slow breath. He smiled. Samantha only smoked when she was nervous or facing defeat. "You know, Gennady, one of these days you're going to ask too much of me. I'm going to lose my job and my pension, and then you're going to have to adopt me, too." Gennady laughed, the sound hearty and genuine. "I would consider that a privilege." *** The cab ride from Logan International Airport in Boston to the central police station in Salem had taken less than half an hour. Jericho had greased the hack's palm well enough that the driver had coasted through just about every red light they'd encountered en route. Once inside the small, modern brick building, Jericho set his briefcase on the counter. He cleared his throat to tear the desk sergeant's attention away from a brown-bag snack and the current issue of Penthouse Letters. Before the burly man could speak, Jericho handed him a business card. "Who you here to see?" The desk sergeant squinted at Jericho's card then handed it back. "Jace Barton. He was brought in for questioning a few hours ago by Detective Samantha Wright." Jericho slid his briefcase off the counter and went to the main door to be buzzed in. The desk sergeant picked up the phone and started dialing. "I'll get you a uniform to take you back." "I know the way, Sergeant," Jericho said. "If you would just be so kind as to buzz the door." *** Jace Barton paced the sparse interrogation room for close to three hours before he finally resigned himself to sitting at the heavy oak table facing the mirror. He knew he was being watched. Irritated when he found he couldn’t lean back in the chair -- all the furnishings were bolted to the floor -- he lit a cigarette and muttered to himself, mindlessly spinning his lighter on the table with one finger. The only sound in the bare room was a monotonous hum from the ventilation system, and Jace found his thoughts wandering back to the photos Sam had shown him. Being accused of the crime and having the threat of jail was bad enough. He had spent the first chapters of his life in a cage, and the last thing he wanted was to go back. But what was really nagging him was whether StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 32

the Council intended on even bothering with jail. Jace had never paid much attention to the Salem Special Council or its rules and regulations, and he wondered if creatures that turned sour were simply put down like crazed dogs. He worried about Konnor and the position it would leave him in should things not go well. Even in that horrible place of their youth they had at least been together. The loud buzz of the security lock jolted Jace from his thoughts and he tensed. He had been ready for the typical overweight, balding officer who would sip coffee, curse, and test his patience. The man who entered was tall, well dressed, handsome. Jace recognized him instantly, despite being shocked at seeing him so soon. The blond Adonis was one of Gennady's vampire offspring, Jericho Zaitsev. Jace knew him well. "Jericho, you have no idea how fucking glad I am to see you." Jace relaxed back in his chair. "I can't believe Gennady was actually able to get you up here tonight." "It's good to see you again, Jace, though the circumstances could certainly be better." Jericho opened his briefcase, grabbed the stack of graphic eight-by-ten glossies and fanned them out on the table. "You didn't do this, right?" "Of course not," Jace said. He held his tongue against anything more, well aware that there were others behind the mirror, listening. "Gennady taught me and Konnor better. You know that." Jace looked on as Jericho flipped through bullet-listed notes written on yellow legal pads in a neat, precise hand. "Respected business owner. Generous contributor to various local, human-centric charities. No prior record." He smiled at Jace while he re-packed his briefcase. "A veritable pillar of the community. I'll have you out of here within the hour, on one condition." "Name it." "You tell me where you were between midnight and four. The truth." Jace looked past Jericho's shoulder toward the one-way mirror. "I'll tell you, but I want that other room empty." Jericho rose from his seat, approached the surveillance mirror, and tapped on the glass. In under a minute, the door to the room opened. Sam did a really credible job of not reacting one way or the other to Jericho's presence. Jace was impressed but kept his chuckle to himself. "I need fifteen minutes alone with my client," Jericho said. "No snoops." "My office okay?" Jericho nodded. Sam re-opened the door, and with a wave of his fingers, Jericho beckoned Jace to follow as Sam StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 33

led the way down the hall. *** With the door closed and Sam gone, Jericho turned to Jace. "Between midnight and four." "That was pretty smooth. Still got a thing for our lady of the law?" Jace couldn't resist slipping in a smirk. Jericho settled into Sam's chair behind her desk. "None of your fucking business," he said. "Just answer the question." "Ooh. Touchy." Jace shot an inquisitive eyebrow up, but ultimately decided not to push the issue. He knew that inciting Jericho to a debate over the Sam issue would go several rounds and likely end up with Jericho the victor. Jace didn't like to lose, so he dropped it. "It was a one-night deal. A guy named Mark I picked up in Cambridge at Club Manic. Club closed at two, we went back to his place and partied. I was there until about five. Then I drove home." "How good of a time did you show him, Jace? Is he going to deny having ever met you, or is he going to chatter on and on in hopes of seeing you again?" Jace ran his tongue along the front of his teeth. He knew it was a lawyer's job to ask these things, but he didn’t like his lifestyle scrutinized under a microscope. "Between midnight and four. Details. Graphic. You know me; I won't blush." The color drained out of Jace's tan skin. "Details?" His voice rose half an octave. "Why does what I did with Mark that night decide if I'm guilty or innocent? We had sex, all right? Hot, steamy, dirty, ass-fucking gay-boy sex." "I don't care if he dressed up in a tutu and danced the Sugarplum Fairy for you," Jericho said. "The bottom line, baby brother, is that you need a solid alibi from a verifiable source. It sounds like he could be it, so I want to know what I'm walking into beforehand. Is he going to clam up like a discarded one-night-stand lover, or is he going to sing like a canary because he thinks he has a chance of seeing you again? That's all I'm asking." "I don’t think that will be a problem." Jace pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, tapped one out, and lit up. He savored the first long suck, letting the smoke ride at the back of his throat before slowly exhaling. He studied Jericho for a moment, running the pad of his thumb along his lower lip. "All right. He lives on Chatham Street in Cambridge, a second-floor apartment. I don’t remember the number, but the house is bright sky blue and hard to miss. Just... just go after dark." "All right." Jericho went to the door, opened it, and peered out into the corridor. Sam was apparently standing just outside. "Charge him now, or I'm taking my client home," Jericho said.

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Jace could practically hear Sam's eyeballs rolling when he heard her say, "Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind." He grinned and got up from the table. *** A light easterly breeze had blown a midnight fog in from Boston Harbor, shrouding the Cambridge streets in a thick, eerie blue mist. A nice night for a hunt if Jericho hadn't been otherwise engaged. Business always came before pleasure. He'd signed Jace Barton out of the Salem police station -- no formal charges had been made -- and drove him to Cambridge in search of an alibi. Jericho slid his blood red Porsche Carerra into the sole vacant spot on the street. The parking brake on, he turned to Jace. "Now," he said, sliding his right arm across the back of the passenger seat, "how about you fill me in on the details you left out at the station." His fingers tapped a staccato beat on the expensive leather headrest. "Go after dark. I'm guessing that wasn't solely for my benefit?" Jace turned in his seat, looking uncomfortable with Jericho's breach of his personal space. He took a deep breath. "No, and it wasn’t a slip of the tongue. Mark is a vampire, same as you, and he wasn’t a one-night stand. I've been with him on and off for several weeks." "So... what we have established here is that you've been intimately involved with an out-of-town vampire for several weeks. You were with him on the night the priest was murdered, during the hours in question. And he'll be able to verify this when we knock on his door. Correct?" Jace nodded. "He won't want the cops involved, but I think he'll talk to you. He's not very trusting of anyone in a uniform." The light blue, three-story home stuck out like a firefly at midnight among its austere, darker-hued neighbors. "That’s the one. He's home; the bedroom light is on." Jericho hopped out of the car, looking over the low-profile roof of the vehicle to scan the landscape. The passenger door slammed shut and Jace stood up. A cat mewled somewhere in the distance. "I don't want to scare him off," Jericho said. "Perhaps you should make first contact alone." He shrugged and tapped on the roof of the car. "Your call. You know the guy." "I think that would be for the best." Jace shoved both hands into his pockets and turned toward the house. "I'll give a shout when everything is clear." *** Jace felt his heart rate increase with every step toward the building, but not for any reason that Jericho might suspect. He was utterly confident his new lover would come through for him as an alibi. It was the dark pattern of passion he'd shared with Mark that made Jace's heart race. Mark was young by vampire standards and still giddy with the power over others his new life afforded him. Jace knew that being a demon and allowing Mark the thrill of seduction was like StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 35

giving an addict a free shot of Grade-A junk. Mark got to flaunt his new pet to his groupies. Jace got the euphoric bite and great sex. A mutually beneficial arrangement. Bounding up the back stairs two at a time, Jace came to the sliding glass door and tapped a fingernail against it. No answer. He switched to a more traditional knock, though he knew Mark should have been able to hear his heartbeat through the glass with those enhanced preternatural senses. When knocking didn’t receive a response, Jace peered in, squinting. He could barely see Mark's bedroom. Something wasn't right, and Jace's excited rush at seeing Mark again so soon turned into a feeling of cold dread. He easily forced the sliding glass door open. "Mark?" The scene that greeted Jace in the bedroom was enough to make even his stomach lurch. Mark kept a St. Andrew's cross in the corner of the room, which they had used in their sexual romps. Someone had altered the wooden structure from its X shape to a traditional, upright cross. Strung across it and tied with barbed wire was a limp form, mangled, bloody, and headless. There were burns along the body, and the hands and feet were nailed to the cross. Someone had enjoyed himself. Even with the corpse decapitated, Jace knew it was Mark. Nude from the waist up, the vampire's tattoo of a hooded serpent wrapping around the torso confirmed his identity. As he backed cautiously from the room, Jace's senses shot into overdrive. He searched the apartment for the one who had done the deed. There were no sounds coming from any of the rooms, and the pungent odor of blood masked any lingering scents that might have been out of place. Convinced he was alone, Jace gathered his wits as best he could and dashed out of the apartment, shaken. Jericho was waiting for him by the curb. Horrified, Jace raced over and grabbed Jericho by the shoulders. "Fucking Christ, Jericho! They took off his head!" *** Jericho crammed the last of the other vampire's remains into a large, green garbage bag, the chopped-up remnants of the bloodied, wooden cross in another. He stretched lazily and cracked his neck. "I'll call Sam on our way back to Salem," he told Jace. "She's got a couple of CSI pals who are very good at keeping their mouths shut. I'm sorry." Jace stood, back to the wall, watching as Jericho took care of the mess. He'd started out helping, but had gotten progressively more disturbed with the situation, and Jericho finally asked him to sit off to the side. With the main evidence of the murder cleaned up, they were ready to leave. "What are we going to do with him?" Jericho slung a plastic sack over one shoulder. "If it were I?" Jericho took in a deep breath Jace knew was unnecessary. "I'd want an awesome funeral pyre, somewhere with a spectacular view." Jericho nodded over his shoulder at the burden he so effortlessly carried. "How old was he?"

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Jace pushed off from the wall, arms unfolding as he reached for one of the heavy bags. "Twentyeight; twenty-four of them were human years. I think he still has a human family somewhere. He mentioned a sister once." "Just a baby. Shit." Jericho calmly left the apartment, Jace following numbly behind. They dumped the bags into the trunk of the car. "I think you'd better call Father and let him know what's going on. He'll be worried." Jace snapped out of the zombie-like trance he'd fallen into, watching as the man he'd been so intimate with an evening earlier was loaded into the trunk. He got back in the car and fished out his phone. Scrolling down his list of contacts, Jace felt a wave of nausea flood over him as Mark's name and number popped up. He paused, letting out a shuddering breath and deleting the entry before continuing on to Gennady's number. The voice on the other end of the line spoke after less than a full ring. "Jace? Is that you? Are you all right?" Despite the fear and misery he felt, Jace had to smile. Gennady had probably been sitting by the phone, waiting since the moment he'd left the house. Jace found himself once more whispering silent thanks for the day the vampire had taken him and his brother in. "Yeah, Father, it's me. I'm okay. Jericho is here with me, trying to get me out of this mess." "Where are you? It's awfully late. I was expecting you hours ago." "We took a ride out to see someone who might have been able to clear my name," Jace said, his fingers drawing patterns on the passenger window through the condensation that had gathered there. "It didn't turn out so well. I'll fill you in when we get back."

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Chapter Six Fallon watched Konnor bolt out of the house the moment they all heard the familiar engine rumble. He followed right behind. Konnor yanked the passenger door of Jericho's car open before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop. Jace was hauled out of the car by his shirt collar and slammed hard into his brother's chest. Konnor kissed him hard and pawed at his hair. "Where the hell have you been?" "Missed you, too." Jace drew Konnor tightly into his arms and pressed his nose into his brother's hair. "I don't know what's going on, but I think I'm in deep shit." Fallon remained on the front porch, arms wrapped around his chest. He watched the twins closely and felt a soft pain for them both. Another figure stepped from the car. Fallon smiled. It had been nearly a year since Jericho had last been home, and in that time Fallon had gone from being another of Gennady's adoptees to his lover and partner. Though Jericho had never spoken sourly about the issue from a distance, Fallon was apprehensive as to how Jericho was going to receive him face-to-face. They had been close once, in an odd sort of way, and Fallon feared losing that connection. "Come on inside," Konnor said, sliding an arm around Jace to guide him into the house. "Father wants us all upstairs in the screening room so we can hash this out and figure out what to do." Konnor bumped shoulders with Fallon as he passed and offered him a friendly, grateful smile. Jericho locked up his car and brought up the rear, pausing when he reached the top step. "Hey, kid. Looking good." "Gennady has really missed you," Fallon said, caving quickly and butting his head against Jericho's shoulder. "He's very glad you've come home to him. You shouldn't stay away for so long." Jericho kissed the top of Fallon's head quickly, and then pulled the front door open and held it for Fallon, gesturing inside. "Yeah." He nodded and sighed a little. "I know." *** As they entered the screening room on the third floor of the house, Jace went straight to Gennady and slid his arms around him. He had been the focus of trouble before, but never to this extent, and Jace was thankful for the care and patience his surrogate father had shown. "Jericho has been amazing, Father. But I'm in so much trouble." Gennady nuzzled the crook of Jace's neck and shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll figure this out. Now, go sit with your brother. He's been worried sick about you." Gennady smiled broadly as Jericho StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 38

entered the room accompanied by Fallon. He gave Jace a dismissive pat on the rump. "Go take care of Konnor." With one glance, Jace could tell that what Gennady had said about Konnor was true. Konnor had his tail out of his pants and was rubbing the furry black tip of it nervously. "You'll rub it bald if you keep that up," Jace said softly, brushing his mouth along Konnor's jaw until he came to an ear, which he nipped. He found himself somewhat worried about what news of an extracurricular lover might do to Konnor. Though they had both agreed upon an open relationship long ago, Jace had taken lovers in the past and Konnor hadn't. But until Mark, Jace had never actually gone out of his way to hide a relationship before. "Love you, Konnor," Jace said. "No matter what, I'll always find my way back to you." Konnor snuggled, resting his head on Jace's shoulder. *** Jericho leaned in to brush cheeks with his maker. His eyes slid playfully to Fallon then back to Gennady, a mischievous smile curving his mouth. "The older you get, Father, the younger they get. Keep up the trend and next time you'll be dating sperm." Had Fallon been in his fox form, his ears would have gone flat to his head. A soft, sharp sound slipped from his throat. Gennady chuckled. "Now, now," he said to Jericho, teasing. "You're jealous because your old man can still attract the young and the beautiful. And besides --" He tilted Fallon's chin up and brushed his lips lightly across Fallon’s mouth. "This one's a keeper." Fallon pressed his head into Gennady's chest and wagged his long, bushy tail back and forth. Jace's hold on Konnor visibly tightened and he broke the silence. "He was dead, Father. When we went to contact him as my alibi, we found him at his apartment, butchered." Gennady took a seat on the red-carpeted steps that led up to the viewing screen dais. He patted a spot beside himself, and Fallon flowed from human to fox form to curl up beside him. Fallon swished his tail across the soft carpet as he watched Gennady look around at the family. Fallon knew there were many others that Gennady called kin scattered around the globe, but he also knew that those present were the ones closest to the vampire. A wistful smile curled Fallon's canine lips as he wished they were gathered together now for a more pleasant reason. Gennady's gaze went to Jace. "Start from the beginning. Who is dead, Jace?" All eyes turned to Jace and the demon shifted uncomfortably. "A few months ago, I met a vampire named Mark at a nightclub. He was into some less than conventional forms of sex, and when he found out what I was, he became very interested. We started spending time together." Jace swallowed hard. "I let him bite me. I had only let one other do that to me before, but it left a StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 39

lasting impression. I wanted it again." Jericho faded into the shadows of the theatre-style curtains. Fallon pretended not to notice, but Jericho's cowering couldn't have been more obvious. "I was with him last night," Jace said. "And tonight, Jericho and I found him decapitated and pinned to a cross." "I'm very sorry, Jace," Gennady said quickly. Jace let out a harsh breath. "I may have been the last person to see him alive. I swear, he was very much alive when I left him." "It wasn't another vampire," Jericho said. "No vampire, no matter how fucked in the head he is, would kill another like that. I called Sam before we left the scene. She has a CSI team there now, on the hush. She'll be here shortly to examine the body." Gennady's dark eyebrows shot up in unison. "I beg your pardon?" "I... uh... cleaned up a little," Jericho said. "In case the local police got there first." "Please define 'cleaned up a little.'" Gennady's voice was uncommonly stern. Fallon's eyes flicked to him. Gennady didn't look happy, not at all. Jericho shrugged. "The body's in the trunk of my car." *** While Jericho and Gennady debated the wisdom of bringing the body back to the house, Jace turned his attention to Konnor. "Konnor, I'm sorry I hadn't mentioned him. It wasn't anything serious. I got off on his bite, and I was embarrassed to let you know." Konnor made a crooked half-smile. "Let's concentrate on getting you out of this mess. I'll worry about killing you later." *** With the rest of the vehicles moved out into the courtyard, Jericho's bright red Carerra sat in the center of the expansive garage, both doors and the trunk of the car opened. The family stood in a semi-circle around the Porsche while Sam went about her work. Sam would have preferred to bring a forensics team with her, but under the circumstances, Gennady wasn't real keen on opening his home up to strangers. That aside, all those whom Sam trusted without question had already been dispatched to Cambridge. That left her to sift through the bagged remains. Gloved up, Sam untied one of the garbage bags then closed it immediately, stepping back. She reached into a jacket pocket for her Vicks inhaler and took two sharp whiffs of the menthol. The undead decomposed much more rapidly than the recently living. "If anyone is squeamish, StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 40

now would be a good time to go back to the house." "I'll wait for you inside," Fallon said to Gennady, hugging him before trotting quickly inside. Jace pulled Konnor closer. "It's gruesome. Someone was trying to send a message with this." Sam bent back down over the trunk. She picked through the body parts as best she could without removing them from the bag. "There's not a lot of blood around the neckline," she said. "It doesn't look like he'd fed within a couple of hours before this happened. Looks like it was one clean slice. A machete. Maybe a sickle." Sam closed the bag and then the trunk. "Leave the car locked up here for tonight. I'll have somebody pick up the remains in the morning. Jace, I'll have to ask you to stay here until further notice. Is that going to be a problem?" "You still think I did it." Jace's expression darkened. "Yeah, I'll stay put. You know I have nowhere else to go."

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Chapter Seven With only a few hours left before sunrise, the daytime staff had begun to trickle in. Gennady stood in the doorway of Jace and Konnor's old bedroom. He'd already sent Fallon along to their master suite with a promise to take Fallon for a long romp in the woods once things settled down. Gennady had told them he had an extreme sense of unease about letting anyone out of his sight. There were simply too many unknowns, too much risk. Jace listened patiently as Gennady announced his decision that the Zaitsev mansion was now officially under lock-down. No one of the supernatural persuasion was to leave the premises without Gennady's express consent, and no one was to leave unaccompanied. No exceptions. "Is there anything else you need?" Gennady asked. Jace stood by a window, tail twitching irritably as he looked out at the serene pre-dawn scenery. He had come to like it in Salem. Though he had long doubted that anyplace could ever be permanent, he had hoped to stay in the little seaport town for as long as possible. He had wanted a place like this for Konnor, especially. The drama they had endured as youngsters had left far deeper scars on Konnor than himself. Gennady's home, and Salem itself, had been the perfect salve for those psychological and emotional wounds. Jace found himself furious that something was threatening to take it all away. "No, Father, we have all we need." Jace kept his eyes on the street. "Go rest. I won't leave the house." "We'll figure this out, Jace," Gennady said. "Get some sleep, and I'll see you both in a few hours." Jace turned around to see Gennady leave the room and close the door. Konnor sat down on the foot of the king-sized bed, and then flopped flat on his back. "I keep waiting to wake up, like this is some sort of freakish nightmare." Jace joined his brother on the bed. "Someone is doing this to frame me. No one knew about Mark, and yet it was so obvious to me that the killer had singled him out to implicate me." Jace looked toward the window. "For all I know they could be out there right now, watching." "Well," Konnor said, propping up on his elbows, "Gennady's got this place buttoned up like a fortress, so you're safe in here. But that doesn't help us find out who the hell's behind this. I mean, I know we've both made a career out of pissing people off, but enough for someone to do this kind of awful shit and then try to pin it on you?" Konnor shook his head. "I don't know, Jace. This actually has me pretty damn scared. I don't like it." "Whoever it is has an almost inhuman fury inside of them. I can understand why they would think it was the work of a demon. Both murders carry that same sort of hate in them." Sighing, StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 42

Jace turned and crawled the length of the bed to lie alongside Konnor. "You need to keep close to Gennady and the family. This person seems to have his eye on me. He might not even know you exist, but if he finds out... I need to keep you safe, Konnor." Konnor rolled onto his side and draped one arm across Jace's chest. "Look, I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but I'm scared for you, Jace. We're probably safe here, but... well, just in case. Fallon showed me something. About the house." Konnor brushed some wayward bangs away from Jace's eyes with his fingers. "There are passageways in this place, behind the walls. I haven't seen it yet, but Fallon also told me that there's an underground tunnel that leads from the house to the other side of the property. It ends up at the watershed. I figured you should know about it in case you need to make a quick exit." Intrigued with the idea, Jace cocked his head. "Where? How did you get in?" he asked, sliding his hand along Konnor's hip. "The laundry room. You go one way and it leads to the tunnel. Go the other direction and it leads to a narrow staircase built behind the walls. That leads to Gennady's study on the first floor. That's as far as I went." "I'd like to check it out sometime, but we should wait until we know everyone else is occupied before we go bumping around inside the walls." He let his hand drift lower on Konnor's hip, making no effort to disguise his destination or intent. "Besides, I seem to recall owing someone something." "Somebody's trying to frame you for murder and all you can think about is sex?" Konnor smiled and pressed his hips against Jace. "Am I really that irresistible?" "Of course you are." Jace leaned in and kissed Konnor, his lips working slowly against his brother's mouth to silence him. Using his bulk, he rolled Konnor onto his back. Jace rubbed his hand over the growing bulge in Konnor's jeans. It pulsed, and Jace felt the heat gathering. Jace could feel Konnor's heart pounding fiercely. Konnor was the one with no willpower, not when it came to Jace, and Jace knew it. Little had changed since their days in the wild. The years they'd spent wandering the Dakota wilderness had gone a long way in cementing the dynamics of their relationship. They now led civilized lives on the surface -- formal education, a thriving business, nice home, nice clothes, nice cars -- but the trappings of humanity had in no way dulled or tarnished what they truly were inside. Demons. Lethal pack hunters with clear-cut rank. Jace's alpha position had been firmly established in their small familial pack long before they'd escaped from their human captors. It had been Jace who'd led them to the posh ski resort where they'd taken the lives of the handsome young twins whose likenesses they had ultimately absorbed. More than twenty years later and nothing had changed, civilized exterior notwithstanding. Though Konnor teased him on occasion, Jace was fully aware that Konnor knew his place. Jace also knew that Konnor accepted the fact that, despite Jace's love and devotion to him, Jace would defend his alpha position. It was their way. Konnor’s knees fell wide, legs spreading, belly and throat clearly exposed in supplication. Jace could feel Konnor tremble under his touch, Konnor's skin on fire, cock visibly pulsing beneath StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 43

soft, worn jeans. With signs of Konnor's submission clear, Jace continued with gentleness not always present. The button on the jeans popped, and he buried his face at the opening. He breathed onto Konnor's belly and licked at Konnor's downy treasure trail. Behind them, the timer on the wall chirped. The automated shades began to descend, clacking as they blocked out the light of the waning moon. He looked up and saw Konnor's dark blue eyes turn silver in the dark. Jace didn’t miss a beat. He moved between Konnor's thighs and tugged the tight jeans down powerful thighs. "Roll over for me, little brother." Konnor did as he was told, planting himself on all fours on the mattress. The stainless steel window shades clicked into place.

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Chapter Eight The younger of the two blond-haired men wiped an arm across his brow. He was perspiring heavily despite the chilly dawn air. His heavy backpack landed with a loud thunk as he heaved it on top of the stone sarcophagus. "I think that's everything." He eyed the large burlap sack lying at the other man's feet. The end of the sack was still tightly secured by rope. He gave it a prod with the toe of his boot. "How come it ain't movin' no more?" The other man's nose wrinkled up. "It got tired of strugglin', I reckon." He flipped the metal shock stick over in his hand and then shoved the handle end toward the younger man. "Give it a poke if that'll make you feel better, but keep it on low. Don't want the damn thing screechin' and wakin' up half the fuckin' town." "Are you sure this is the right thing to do?" The younger man flipped on the switch, jabbed the end of the metal rod into the folds of burlap, jumping back with a yelp when the sack lurched and expanded. The older one pitched his cigarette to the dirt and crushed it out with his boot. The lines of a hard life were apparent around his eyes as looked at his younger brother with a hard-as-steel expression. "Yeah, Matthew." John Banks spat at the burlap sack and gave it another sharp kick. "I'm sure."

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Chapter Nine Even in the darkness, Jace could see his brother's form as it tensely waited for his attention. He took his time, enjoyed the drawn out silence, the way Konnor's breathing paused each time the bed creaked. Jace agreed that Konnor had reason for his apprehension. Konnor had experienced Jace's darker mood many times. It came over Jace quickly, often without warning. It could make his manner cruel, especially if sex were involved. Konnor was wise to be wary. Jace spilled hot breath over Konnor's smooth haunches as he inspected his brother. A continuous flood of sounds came from Jace to let Konnor know he was pleased thus far. Jace invaded with his tongue. Thumbs followed the wet path, slowly exposing Konnor's clenching hole. "So nervous," Jace said. Konnor's response was a quick, whimpering mewl. His forehead dropped to the mattress, his ass lifting higher. "Why didn't you tell me?" Jace had been expecting the question. Guilt had been eating away at him since the moment Mark's existence had been made known to the family. He stroked his fingers over Konnor's ass, his fingernails bearing down hard enough to leave pink lines in the flesh. "I meant to, Konnor. He lasted longer than the others because he offered something they didn’t. Something that it embarrassed me to admit." Konnor rocked back. "What could he have possibly had to give that you couldn't find right here? It's not like there's any lack of vampires, if that's your kink." Jace flipped Konnor onto his back and caged him. "Someone sounds jealous. My kinks and how I choose to satisfy them are my business, little brother. We've had this discussion before." Jace blinked, turning his eyes silver, and his lengthening teeth pressed to the pounding artery in Konnor's throat, wet saliva pooling on Konnor's warm skin. Jace growled. "Mark happened to know how to get me off better than anyone else I've sampled from this little town." "I don't want to see you end up dead because of a piece of ass." Jace blew out heated breath against Konnor's throat with frustration. Konnor was right; Jace knew he'd grown careless. "Too late for all that now," Jace muttered. "Be with me, Konnor? Before they cart me off and lock me in a cage somewhere." "We won't let that happen." Konnor's face burrowed against Jace's neck and his tongue dragged wetly over Jace's skin, comforting. "You didn't do anything, and we'll prove it. And if we don't--" StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 46

Konnor nipped at Jace's ear. "Father has more money than God. You know as well as I do that if proper channels don't work, he can buy your way out of this. You're not going anywhere." "I had hoped this would be our home for a long time. I wanted that peace for you, Konnor. I'm sorry if something I've done is going to ruin that." Jace gently bulldozed Konnor into the pillows, hips making contact as he shed his clothing. What he needed most of all now was to feel the joy of union with his sibling. Nothing else ever soothed Jace the way their couplings did. "Love you. I know I don’t say it half as much as I should." Konnor reached under his pillow, grabbed the small bottle of lube they kept stashed there, and then slid it into Jace's hand. "Love you, too," Konnor said. "Now be a good demon and fuck your little brother."

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Chapter Ten John looked on as Matthew finished pouring the sea salt out on the dead brown grass and stepped back to examine his work. The white crystals sparkled in the weak morning sun as it filtered through the trees of St. Mary's Cemetery. Drawn in the center circle were glyphs the Banks brothers had memorized before they'd even learned to write their own names. "Trap's done, John," Matthew said with pride. John laid the last of the items on the end of the stone sarcophagus that belonged to a nineteenthcentury preacher. "A visual representation of the demon," John said. "That was an easy one." He slapped the photograph of the juvenile demon in its cage onto the cold, hard marble. "An item representing your reason for summoning the demon. Another piece of cake." Next to the photograph he set a sharp, curved sickle. The blade was stained a dark, brownish-red in spots. John's gaze went to the big burlap sack on the ground and he smirked. "An item the demon might covet. That one wasn't so easy. Was it, little brother?" Matthew had come to stand beside John. "Nope. Findin' one was hard enough, but trickin' angels ain't as easy as trickin' demons. You sure God won't be mad at us, John?" Matthew cast a worried glance skyward. God can suck my dick, John thought, but he smiled warmly at his younger brother and offered words of encouragement. "That thing in the bag ain't no angel, Matthew. Not a holy one, anyways. Just because something's pretty don't necessarily mean it's good. Just another one of the Devil's tricks, but our demon friend won't know no different. Now help me lug that sack of shit up here." John grabbed one end of the rough material and, with Matthew's help, heaved it easily onto the stone. The creature inside was light. John stepped back, watching carefully as Matthew began to cautiously untie the rope securing the burlap bag. "Hard to believe those demons got all human lookin', ain't it?" Matthew said. "Are you sure that man we saw is one of them that Papa kept all those years ago?" "Yeah, I'm sure." John dug in his coat pocket and came up with a little scrap of bent metal that he tossed to his brother. Matthew caught the small piece of aluminum that the demons had used to escape. He rolled it between his fingers. "That son-of-a-bitch and his Devil's spawn twin were why I got my ass kicked around for the StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 48

next two years," John said as he yanked the rope completely off the burlap bag. "Papa wasn't ever the same after those things got away. I'm sure it's him. A man don't forget shit like that." The angel -- an androgynous blond beauty, just like the icons adorning stained-glass windows in churches worldwide -- tumbled out onto the makeshift altar in a heap. Thin wrists were bound together with wire. His mouth had been taped shut, but the angel's blue eyes continued to burn with an unearthly fury as his gaze fell on John and Matthew. Matthew stuffed the piece of metal in a pocket and pulled a length of rope from the pile of supplies. He reached for the angel's wrists almost timidly. The scowl on the winged creature's face obviously frightened Matthew, but the one John knew he had on his own face as Matthew hesitated was even more intimidating. Working quickly, Matthew pulled the angel's form taut over the cold marble and bound him tightly to it. "Sun's comin' up fast," Matthew said. "The trees will keep us from pryin' eyes, but we better work quick." John pulled a buck knife from the side of one of his boots. "Give me your left hand." "What for?" Matthew asked, offering it palm up. John rolled his eyes. A grown man now, and Matthew still didn't pay attention. "Papa's notes say we need to mark the pentagram with the blood of the summoners. That would be us." Before Matthew could blink or pull his hand away, John sliced the blade across his palm. As Matthew gasped and pulled back, John did the same to his own left palm, rubbed their hands together, and then he flipped the knife to the ground. The blade stuck in the cold, hard soil next to the makeshift altar. "The blood of Matthew and John Banks to mark the demon's signpost," John recited from memory. He nodded toward the struggling angel. "Make sure that thing doesn't get away." *** The angel Sariel's eyes widened with recognition. He'd hoped that the boys were merely misguided in their need to summon the demon of whom they spoke. But as the angel of guidance watched, it became clear to him that these two meant to go through with one of the most powerful corruptions of a human soul. Sariel struggled, his back arching off the unyielding stone. He bit at the tape from the inside, finally tearing it away from his mouth so he could speak. "You cannot do this!" *** John had barely taken two steps toward the edge of the salt barrier when he heard the melodious voice. He turned around slowly. The damn angel had chewed through the duct tape. "Matthew," John said without taking his eyes from the angel's, "don't listen to it. It's a trickster, and it'll lie to you like nobody's business. Shock it if you have to, but don't knock it out. Won't be StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 49

no good to us if it's unconscious when the demon shows." John spat on the ground, turned on his heel, and stepped carefully out of the circle. When he got to the first of the five angel-topped headstones surrounding the sarcophagus, John rubbed his bloodied hands on the marble angel's wings. The good preacher had a fine wife and four beautiful daughters, and the entire family had died in a raging house fire. Pious, decent souls all, not a sinner among them. God, in his infinite, merciful wisdom, had allowed a sudden wind to blow a curtain in the path of a candle's flame. The preacher, his wife, and their infant daughter had all burned alive. The older daughters had gotten lost in the house trying to escape the flames, and all three had died of smoke inhalation. John had done his homework. Oddly, if one drew imaginary lines through dead center of the father's sarcophagus, the rest of his family's monuments made the shape of a five-pointed star. A perfect pentagram. God may not be merciful, John thought, but he sure as shit has a fine sense of irony. As he went about his work, John cast an occasional glance at the angel flopping about on the flat stone, wings spreading to reveal the bloody mess John had delivered to the creature upon its capture. It hadn't stopped at the flight feathers. Hollow bone had been splintered and exposed. The angel's blood still wept from the wounds, staining cream-colored feathers and splattering the cemetery ground. "You have no idea what you are about to do, human!" The angel's tears streaked down pale cheeks. He looked up as Matthew moved closer, and he begged, "Your brother is wrong, Matthew! I am an angel. My name is Sariel. I am an Angel of Guidance, something you both could use right now." "John ain't never wrong. He's all the guidance I need." John smirked as he passed by the marble altar. "Good job, Matthew. Don't listen. Just like any other demon with its lies and deception." The second angel statue was marked, and then John tended quickly to the other three. He returned to the sarcophagus and plucked his knife from the ground, his eyes flicking toward his brother. "Hold your hand over its mouth, Matthew. Here we go." Matthew clapped his hand over Sariel's mouth. "Ready, John." John took the photograph of the demon, the edges yellowed from time, and he rubbed his hand across the hideous image. With his own blood and his brother's mingled, spread on the picture and five statues, John held the photograph up in the air, closed his eyes, and concentrated. "Demon, come to me!"

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Chapter Eleven Jace eased a third finger into Konnor. Another wave of pleasure racking his body, Konnor raised his hips, shoving his hard cock farther down Jace's constricting throat, and Jace moaned his approval around it. The room was steamy, temperature and humidity rising as they writhed upon the bed in carnal lust. Jace had halted his transformation just shy of completion. He'd taken on the long fingers, curled claws, sharp teeth, and ridged spine of his natural form. His muzzle had just started to protrude, giving his long, flat, canine-like tongue a place to coil out from as it wrapped around Konnor's dick. Konnor trembled as Jace watched him carefully, precariously balanced on the edge of ejaculation. Konnor arched his back off the bed, his fingers digging into Jace's shoulders. He blinked to chase stinging sweat from his eyes. "Want to feel you inside me, Jace. Please," he said, panting. "Please, no more teasing." Jace smiled, and Konnor's cock slipped free to snap wetly against his belly. "Love it when you beg." Jace crawled over his brother, sweeping those long legs up toward Konnor's chest. He fumbled through the sheets for the bottle of lube, drizzled it over his cock, and then Jace stroked himself to full arousal for Konnor's enjoyment. Konnor moaned at the sight, and Jace guided himself in and pressed forward with powerful hips. "Breathe, and look at me." Nodding, Konnor again did as he was told, riveting his attention on his brother's determined face. His hips fell into rhythm with Jace's firm thrusts. He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, relaxing as much as he could to accommodate Jace's length and girth. A shiver shuddered through him from head to toe, his dick leaked copiously onto his belly, and Konnor let out a strangled whimper. "Nobody... nobody makes me feel like you do." Jace slowed, cupping Konnor's face in both hands and kissing him sweetly. "I won't leave you, and you know I'll kill anyone who comes between us." Jace's spine curved, he pushed in deep, and Konnor clenched himself around his brother's thick cock. Jace pressed Konnor's wrists to the mattress. The pace increased, the bed creaking in protest as the headboard bounced against the wall. Dark hair dripping with sweat plastered against Jace's shoulders and face, and long teeth cut as soft kisses turned brutal.

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"Fuck, Konnor!" Jace yelped, plunging in deep as he mauled Konnor's neck. The biting, as always, set Konnor off. He jerked his hips upward, his head thrown back as he cried out with a loud, unearthly howl. The steel window shades served more than one useful purpose in this household. The sound of pounding blood rushed through Konnor's ears. With no more than a grazing touch of Jace's belly against his cock, Konnor erupted, spattering them both with his warm, sticky essence. Fucked to the point of incoherence, Konnor whimpered his brother's name over and over again as he emptied himself between them. Konnor losing control and the compressing heat around his cock dragged Jace along with him. Pushed in balls deep, Jace held still and Konnor tightened his muscles to grip him. A growl rumbled from Jace's chest, his flanks quivering with every rapturous pulse of heat that Konnor felt filling him. Jace remained buried even after Konnor had gone limp, and in a rather sadistic gesture Jace grabbed Konnor's cock to further torment the hypersensitive tip. Konnor yelped and twitched at the contact, laughing as he tried to push Jace away. "Move," he said, still short on breath. "You're too heavy when I'm not changed over, too." Jace's head butted against Konnor's chest, and then he turned onto his left side. "Now I'm hungry." "Isn't that unusual." After giving Jace a quick peck on the head, Konnor rolled to the opposite side to pluck the phone from the nightstand. "What do you want?" he asked Jace while he listened to the phone ring. A young woman's voice answered with a perky, accented, "Mornin', Konnor! What can I be gettin' for ye?" "Jace, what do you want from the kitchen?" Konnor asked again. Still nothing. "Fuck, did you fall asleep already?" Konnor looked over his shoulder and gasped, dropping the phone to the floor in a clatter. The bed was empty, save for strewn clothes and an empty bottle of lube. He hadn't felt Jace get up.

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Chapter Twelve "Pizza. Half with onions and green pepper, the other half -- what the fuck?" Jace sat straight up, eyes snapping open as he felt hard, cold earth replace his soft bed and warm brother. Konnor was gone, but as the cold air nipped at Jace, he realized it wasn’t his brother who'd gone missing. He had. Naked, he looked about to discover he'd somehow been transported to the middle of a very old cemetery. Two humans were standing close, one looking on wide-eyed with fear, the other smirking in a manner that even Jace found disturbing. He gathered his feet under him and stood. Only then did he notice the white ring of salt. He drew his top lip up in a snarl. "Who the fuck are you, ass-wipes?" "Outside the circle, Matthew," the apparent elder of the two said. "Be careful not to break it." Matthew stepped gingerly over the thick line of salt. The other man stepped out as well, leaving the blood-smeared picture of the teenage demon to flutter aimlessly to the ground. The older one cocked his head and smiled. "You're still an ugly sucker, just like I remember." Jace stooped and picked up the photo, frowning. The image caused him to step back, and his heel came too close to the line of salt. It bumped hard, like a solid, immovable wall. "Fuck!" Tail sweeping back and forth, he faced his captors and snarled. "John and Matthew Banks, all grown up and still following Daddy's word." "Matthew, go wait in the truck." John tossed the keys to his brother, but the keys hit him in the chest before falling to the ground. "Matthew, now! Go wait in the damn truck!" As if in a trance, Matthew retrieved the keys and did as his brother instructed. John didn't speak until the truck door slammed closed. "Papa died two years after you and the other one escaped. I got blamed. Still got scars from the strap marks. When we couldn't find you, and Papa couldn't summon no more of your kind, the Congregation turned on him. Bastard died of a heart attack when the people were breakin' down his door. I grabbed Matthew and ran; I knew they'd come after us next. Kinda left a bad taste in my mouth regardin' the faithful, if you know what I mean." A flurry of motion caught Jace's attention, and he swung his head around. "Your father got what was coming to him, kid." Jace moved toward the center of the circle to the marble stone where StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 53

the angel lay struggling. "For you to do this to an angel, your faith must have fallen like a load of cow shit off a rail car, John." Jace mounted the sarcophagus and menacingly straddled the bound angel. "Hello, Sariel." "Get off of me, Jace!" Sariel struggled against his bonds. Jace grinned, plucking a loose pinfeather from the air as it wafted downward. "Tsk. You should be a bit more diplomatic toward me, seeing the trouble you're in at the moment." Jace ran two claws down Sariel's bare chest. "I assume he is for me," Jace asked John. "But in exchange for what?" John pulled a rumpled pack of Camels and a lighter from his pocket. He lit up, took a deep drag, and then blew it out slowly. "Yeah, it's all yours. Heard through the grapevine that you've got a thing for pretty winged boys." Jace brushed his nose along Sariel's throat and smiled. "Apparently you do, too." Jace purred, his tail lazily swishing against the marble slab. John took another draw on his smoke, smiling as he blew it back out. "Heard more recently that you got a thing for pretty fanged boys, too. Sorry to hear about your friend." John took another drag. Jace's jaw went slack. "You motherfucker. You were the one who slaughtered Mark?" Jace leaped off the altar and paced the salt line, looking for the slightest break. "I'll rip your fucking head off!" "Matthew's a sheep, but he knows how to lay a nice tidy salt line." John licked a finger and stuck it up as if testing the air. "And no breeze at all today to help you out. Tough luck, demon." John leaned back casually against a broad tree trunk. "I did the priest, and a minister at a Unitarian church around the corner from here about a week before that. Seems like the death of a Unitarian don't rank nearly as high as the Catholics in your so-called open city. That poor bastard's story was all the way back on page four of the local paper. The priest got front page for an apparent heart attack." One more drag on his smoke, and John flicked the butt to the ground. "I got a proposition for you, Jace Barton." *** Sariel lay still, as if made of the same marble he rested upon. He'd had dealings with Jace Barton in the past, and he knew that if Jace remained focused on the man, Jace might completely forget about the winged temptation on the slab. Meanwhile, he listened, learning more and more about the terrible events that had befallen the city of Salem. The Special Council had been informed when each murder was discovered, and Jace's name had been on everyone's lips. Now, it seemed to Sariel that as much as many would love to see Jace shot at sunrise, he was innocent of the crimes.

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***

"A proposition?" Jace clenched his jaw and turned back toward the angel, smiling as he saw Sariel tense. Like chum in the water, it drew Jace in. The look of disgust Jace got as he slipped one hand up Sariel's inner thigh was pure delight. Jace's gaze returned to John. "What do you want?" "What I want," John said as he pushed away from the tree, "is to rid the world of as much Christian vermin as I possibly can. I thought you might be inclined to help." "There was a time I would have gladly taken you up on that offer, John. Part of me still wants to." Jace crawled back onto the sarcophagus and slipped between Sariel's bound legs. "But I pledged that I'd behave myself. I have a life here, one I don’t want to give up." Sariel snorted and rolled his eyes. "You're so well behaved otherwise, Jace. You do realize you're invading my personal space here, don't you?" "You're my gift, Sariel. Sorry, but you know the rules. I can do what I want with you. No harm, no foul." Jace smirked. "Besides, you know you like it. Or should I have John here run across the street for a bottle of tequila to loosen you up first?" "Jace, we like that you've become part of our family, but --" "Shut up, Sariel. I think I'm going to fuck you senseless just on principle." Jace bent over and planted a wet kiss on Sariel's forehead. "Wonderful," Sariel moaned. "I'm really sorry to hear that, Jace." John reached back into his coat pocket, again extracting his cigarettes and lighter, along with his cell phone. He lit another Camel and took a long drag. "Got the Salem PD already on speed dial, my friend. A pretty little chickadee named Samantha Wright. A friend of your 'family' if I'm not mistaken." He took another deep hit off his cigarette, and a long curl of smoke wafted through the trees. "One phone call, Jace. One phone call, and either you've got yourself an alibi or a witness. Pick one." Jace’s eyes narrowed. "Witness to what, exactly?" "A witness to you killing, gutting, and pinning the priest to his own church door. Saw it with my own eyes." John took another pull on his smoke. "Terrible, terrible thing. On the other hand, I could provide you with an ironclad alibi, seein' as your real one ain't available anymore. I can provide you with the real killer and a witness to his deed. Even got pictures of that one." Sariel looked as if he were about to speak, but he wisely said nothing. Jace contemplated the situation. Sariel was in as much danger as the priest and minister had been. Jace knew how the minds of men like John worked. The moment Sariel spoke up in Jace's defense, John would add the angel to his hit list. As much as he enjoyed fucking with angels, Jace generally didn’t feel the need to kill them. StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 55

"All right," Jace said finally, "but not in this town. Not in Salem." "Deal," John said with no hesitation. "Here's how this is gonna go down, demon. And if you try and fuck me over, I've got an insurance policy sitting in a post office box two blocks from the police station. If I don't show up to pay the rent on it every month, they've got instructions to send the contents to the FBI." A menacing smile quirked the man's lips. "I'd hate to see you bein' a wise guy comin' back to bite your twin brother in the ass. You with me so far?" Jace snorted loudly. "You really are fucked up, John-boy. If I weren't your target, I might even be applauding your wickedness. But I'm warning you: mess with Konnor? I'll hunt you and your little retard brother down, and I'll make damn sure the both of you suffer in the lowest bowels of hell for all eternity. You with me so far?" "That'll be kinda hard to do from a prison cell. Cool your heels, cowboy. Ain't nothin' gonna happen to your boy so long as you don't try and screw me. Figuratively speakin', of course." John finished his cigarette and flicked the remains inside the salt circle. He tossed a small knapsack in right after. "Get yourself human lookin'. There are clothes and sneakers in the bag." John chucked his buck knife into the ring. It landed with a thud, the blade buried in the dirt right between Jace's feet. "Cut loose your pretty little friend there and send him on his way." Fangs cutting into his lower lip, Jace picked up the knife and slipped it through the ropes binding Sariel. With less care, he removed the wire from the angel's wrists. "Consider this a rain check." "I'll get word to Gennady and the Council, Jace," Sariel said, lightly rubbing his bruised flesh. "No," Jace snapped, grabbing Sariel by a damaged wing. "Konnor's life is in danger, Sariel. You don't say or do anything. Understand?" Sariel blanched. "Get out of here." "Jace--" "I mean it, Sariel. Go!" As Sariel disappeared into the cemetery, Jace forced his transformation back into his human form. He tugged on the jeans and oversized sweatshirt from the knapsack, but he tossed the sneakers back. "Not wearing those. I wear boots or nothing."

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Chapter Thirteen John Banks snapped the cell phone closed, jammed it back in his pocket, and hauled out his smokes. He shook a cigarette halfway out of the pack and snagged it with his teeth. By the time he had the Camel lit, he could hear the sirens getting closer. His eyes went to the old truck parked at the curb just outside the main cemetery gate. Matthew had the radio tuned full-blast on a Christian music station. His eyes were closed as he sang along. John took a drag of his smoke and broke the circle of salt with the toe of a worn leather boot. "Let's get the fuck out of here, cowboy, before the cavalry shows up." He snatched up the knapsack and stuffed the rest of his gear into it, then slung it over one shoulder. "I got a car parked at the north entrance. If we walk quick, we'll be pullin' away before they even get the boy out of the truck." "You sick son of a bitch." Jace glanced back toward the truck as he chased barefoot after John. "You're really going to let him take the fall, aren't you? Got what you came for, and your own brother is the expendable escape plan." Jace shook his head. "You humans are a real piece of work." By the time they emerged on the far side of the cemetery, John could hear tires screeching as the wailing squad cars surrounded the Chevy pickup. *** Detective Sam Wright had her pistol in hand, but she stood well back. There were more than enough uniforms on the scene to bring in a single unarmed man. Six squad cars penned in the old green pickup truck. Two more blocked each end of the street. With a half-dozen pistols trained on him and at least that many rifles, Matthew stayed put in the truck's passenger seat and slowly raised his hands overhead. Satisfied, Sam crossed the street, weapon poised in one hand while she fished her Miranda card from her inside breast pocket. With a quick nod from the detective, a uniformed officer flung open the driver's side door of the Chevy. "Matthew Jeremiah Banks?" Sam called from ten paces out. "Yes, ma'am, I'm Matthew." He kept his hands over his head, his nervous eyes darting about. "Ma'am, I'm just waitin' for my brother to come back. I ain't doin' anything wrong." "Lace your fingers together then put your hands on top of your head, Mr. Banks." Sam's voice became quieter as she approached the truck. "One of these nice officers here is going to help you out of the truck and put a pair of handcuffs on you. If you don't fuss, you won't get hurt. Do you StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 57

understand?" "But I can't. John ain't back yet. He told me to wait here!" Matthew's panic seemed to escalate as he turned in his seat to look toward the cemetery. He rolled the window down. "John! John? Where are you?" "Don't fucking move!" yelled one of the cops. "Shit." Sam's heart pounded wildly, and she moved a few steps closer to the truck. The burgeoning lump in her throat was painful to swallow past. "Matthew, you've got to listen to me! Do exactly as I say, or one of these cops is going to shoot you dead. I don't want to see that happen. We'll find your brother and get this all straightened out, I promise." She took a deep breath and blew it out, hoping her voice wouldn't squeak. "Hands on your head, Matthew. Come on, honey, right now." *** Matthew was slower than most, but he was far from stupid. It had become quite clear to him that John had gone and left him. He'd done everything his older brother had ever asked. He'd helped him get the nasty old demon back despite how bad he hated it, and still John had up and left. Tears rimmed his eyes. "He promised. John promised he'd never go and leave me." Matthew wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. *** The cop closest to the passenger side door took aim with his pistol. Sam cursed under her breath. "It's okay, Matthew. Look, I'm putting my gun away. I just want to talk to you." She quickly holstered her weapon, and then held both hands out toward Matthew. She curled her fingers and gently beckoned. "Please, Matthew. It's okay." Without taking her eyes from Matthew, Sam addressed the cop closest to her. "Stand down, Sergeant. Let me handle this." "Sam--" "Now, Sergeant!" The sergeant barked the order. The click of hammers un-cocking ratcheted through the air. Then, silence. "Nobody's going to get hurt, Matthew, I promise. Now, come on out of the truck with your hands up. I'll take you down to the station myself. Please, Matthew." He looked at Sam, his gaze dropping to stare at her gun. "I miss my Momma," Matthew whispered. "She's in heaven."

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Sweat stung Sam's eyes, and she rubbed her temples against her shoulders one after the other. She reached out with her right hand. "Matthew, get out of the truck now and take my hand. I want to help you, but if you don't get out of the truck right now somebody's going to get hurt here. I know you don't want that to happen." Sam's gaze darted to the sergeant beside her and she gave the man a quick nod. The cop fingered his weapon.

"Just knock him down, Ken," Sam whispered.

Matthew's shoulders slumped. He nodded, sliding his ass across the seat until his boots hit the

pavement, his right hand taking Sam's.

Matthew made a grab for Sam's pistol and managed to pull it free.

The sergeant's hand moved so fast even Sam didn't see it. Two shots rang out.

Sam closed her eyes as the world moved in slow motion.

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Chapter Fourteen "Please tell me you found him." Konnor's voice was hopeful, his expression less so. He opened the inner vestibule door. Sam stepped into the foyer and pulled the door closed. "Where's Gennady?" Konnor made a quiet, dejected noise. "In the kitchen with Fallon." He led the way down the long center hallway toward the rear of the mansion. "Father let the staff go home early this morning. He didn't want them overhearing something they shouldn't." He made a beeline for the refrigerator as soon as he entered the kitchen. As he crossed the tile floor, Konnor paused briefly to grab Fallon by the scruff of the shirt collar and hauled the werefox's upper half out of the trashcan. "Hello, Samantha," Gennady said, looking up from his newspaper as she entered the room. "Have a seat." Sam pulled up a chair. "You look like shit." Konnor set a bottle of dark, stout beer on the table in front of Sam. She smiled at Konnor. "Thanks, but I'm on duty." Konnor gave Sam a half-smile. "Nobody'll hear it from me." "Me neither," piped up Fallon, mumbling through a mouthful of whatever it was he'd scavenged from the trash. With a nimble hop, he landed ass-first on the counter, settling on its edge. Konnor handed him a beer and joined him on his perch. Gennady dragged his fingers back through his hair. He scanned Sam's face and then surveyed the rest of her. Sam looked down at herself. Her slacks and blouse were spattered with blood, her blazer nearly saturated. The latter she'd draped over Matthew Banks' leg while she had applied pressure to his femoral artery and waited for the paramedics to arrive. The blazer was history, but her actions had saved the man's life and leg. Gennady stared at Sam and licked his lips. She followed his gaze, the cause of his rapt attention immediately registering. The blood was still relatively fresh. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry, Gennady. If you could dig me up something to wear, I'd be more than happy to change." StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 60

Gennady snapped to attention and his gaze lifted. He smiled, fangs only modestly exposed. "My apologies, Samantha. Blood spilled through violence has a particularly powerful aroma. Why don't you tell us what happened, then we'll see about finding you a suitable change of clothes." Sam sighed and picked up her beer. She took a long, fortifying swallow. "Jace has been summoned." Konnor spewed beer out through his nose. Fallon thumped him on the back. "Summoned?" Gennady looked incredulous. "By whom?" "Two out-of-towners," Sam said. "Brothers, both thirty-something. John and Matthew Banks." A bottle fell to the floor, shattering, and only Fallon's lightning-fast reflexes prevented Konnor from following it down to the tile. Sam scooted her chair sideways so she could address Konnor more directly. "When Matthew Banks got out of surgery and came to, I was able to question him. He sang like a canary, told me everything. I'm sorry, Konnor. I didn't know you and Jace had it so rough as kids." "That was a long time ago." Konnor hopped off the counter. "A different life. I don't like talking about it." Gingerly stepping over the shattered, brown glass, he went to the fridge and plucked out another beer. He chucked the cap in the trash. "What are they doing here? What do they want?" Fallon slid off the counter and started cleaning up the glass. Sam took a long swig of her beer. "From what Matthew said, they've been looking for you and Jace for years. Their life apparently went down the shitter once you guys escaped from the cult compound. They blame you and Jace. They're seeking revenge. At least the older one is. This Matthew is a definite follower type, and in a lot of ways seems to be a couple nuggets short of a Happy Meal." "Where is Jace?" Gennady asked quietly. Letting out a long, sharp breath, Sam shook her head. "We don't know. Matthew Banks said his brother had sent him to wait in their truck. He watched John and Jace talk, then the cops swarmed in on him. The last thing he remembers seeing was John walking toward the other end of the cemetery. Jace was allegedly walking with him." Konnor blanched and leaned against the cold, stainless steel refrigerator. He guzzled more beer. Fallon looked at Konnor with a worried expression on his face as he dumped the broken glass into the trash. "How many men do you have looking for them?" Gennady asked. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Gennady." Sam chugged the rest of her beer then set the bottle down. "I've got two radio cars out, both friends of mine, both instructed to keep their profile low and their mouths shut. I couldn't very well not send anyone out after there was a shoot-out in the streets a mile and a half from the goddamn police station. But I wanted to check StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 61

with you before issuing an all-points. I thought you might want the chance to handle this a bit more... internally." Gennady stood and pushed in his chair. "There's a guest suite on the third floor," he said. "Second door to the left of the stairway. The closet contains an abundance of women's clothing that should be roughly your size. Help yourself to a shower as well. I need a few minutes to think about this."

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Chapter Fifteen Jace drummed his fingers against the passenger door of the silver Toyota Camry, pressing his foot against an imaginary brake pedal as John came to a sudden stop. John had insisted on circling the chaos left behind by the shooting, and then he'd driven them by the place where he and Matthew had done in the priest. Bragging rights, Jace figured. "So... where are you taking me, and exactly what do you expect me to do for you?" Jace asked. "I've seen pictures of your work. You seem to be doing just fine without me." "Too risky," John said. "You've got some advantages over us mere humans, Jace. Speed. Agility." He glanced at Jace and smirked. "You don't leave a whole hell of a lot behind for the police to examine." John's eyes went back to the road. The light turned green and Jace's foot twitched. "So, I'm batting clean-up?" John snickered. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm just the chauffeur and the lure." The car buzzed by a sign: Welcome to New Hampshire, Live Free or Die. Jace couldn’t resist a snort at the irony. He settled back, content that John had crossed the state line. Crimes that were similar in modus operandi could still be connected, but it would take longer with different jurisdictions. It also helped that New Hampshire was one of those conservative states that didn’t generally believe in airing its dirty laundry on the national news. Jace didn't have long to relax. Fifteen minutes past the state line, John eased the car to the curb a block short of the Nashua Holiness Church. The white clapboard building appeared deserted, save for a fifteen-seat van with the church's name emblazoned on both sides and a nondescript beige sedan parked in the adjacent lot. A signpost on the curb in front of the car said: Reserved for Brother C. Walton, Pastor. John hopped out of the car and left the engine running. He leaned back in through the open window after he shut his door. "Head straight up this road a quarter mile and then hang a left. The road'll dead-end about a half-mile later, but keep goin'. There's an old abandoned quarry back there. When you come to the fence, park. I'll be there in about thirty minutes or so with your dinner." John pulled his head out of the window, but before he stepped away or Jace could move, he poked his head in again. "Rent's due on my post office box day after tomorrow." John smiled and winked. "Just sayin'." Jace rolled his eyes. He had no problem with knocking off a priest or two. In fact, the idea of eating something fresh was quite exciting after subsisting on mortuary tidbits from John and Jane Does for so long. Sinking his teeth into something that struggled would be a much-needed rush for his brain as well as a treat for his belly. He nodded to John, waited for the man to disappear into the church, and then slid into the driver's seat. Jace checked the mirrors and eased the car out StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 63

onto the road. He drove conservatively to avoid drawing attention, though Jace found few people out and about anyway. This part of Nashua really did seem to be the stereotypical sleepy New England town. Asphalt soon became ungraded dirt, and Jace knew he was on the right path. The trees that lined the road became denser, and when there came a break in them Jace could see a river. Perfect for dumping clothing and other odds-and-ends that weren't digestible. Jewelry. Fillings. Pacemakers. The vine-covered gate to the quarry came into view, adorned by a warning sign hung cockeyed by one stubborn wire. A second sign proclaiming that trespassers would be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law lay in the dirt, bent and muddied by a tire track. Jace parked under the shade of an old oak tree and got out to explore. *** John settled into the mini-van's front passenger seat next to Brother Cyrus Walton. "Thank you kindly, Brother Walton." John was sporting his very best right-wing fundamentalist Christian image. He'd had enough practice. "My huntin' buddy and I broke down a ways upside the road, near the river. We'd heard there was good goose huntin' around these parts." "A bit off season, but you should catch some wanderers if your eye's sharp," said Brother Walton. He gunned the engine and pulled out onto the road. "Might even find yourself some nice buck back there near the water. You got anything with you that can take down something that big?" John Banks grinned as brightly as a South Dakota summer morning. "Oh, you bet I do, sir. You bet I do." *** Jagged outcroppings of rock made irregular patterns of shadow in the quarry. Jace made his way down into the man-made bowl and began to strip down. Sudden cries of pain and sounds of cracking bone echoed off the towering limestone walls as his body contorted and grew in muscle and mass. His metamorphosis completed, Jace curled his body around the base of a large rock. Like a diamondback rattler, he waited to strike. A mini-van pulled in behind the Toyota. John stepped out of the vehicle and looked around. Alerted in advance by the van's engine, Jace waited patiently, as motionless as stone. Focused on the location of John's voice, he knew the footsteps behind the madman belonged to his target. "He must've gotten bored and went lookin' for game," John said. "I'm sure he's close by. You mind walkin' with me? Been a long time since I was blessed with the company of a righteous man such as yourself." "Be my pleasure," said Brother Walton. He followed along behind John. StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 64

The direction of the wind changed, the scent of both men suddenly hitting Jace directly. His tail twitched. Saliva filled his mouth. Jace saw John smile as John approached the large boulder where Jace was camouflaged. "I think I just saw the sun glint off his rifle," John said, leading the other man closer. "Hey, buddy, where you hidin' at?" John walked past the rock and didn't look down. Jace didn’t wait. He drew back around the rock to let Brother Walton pass by, and then circled around to come up from behind. Rising up on his hind legs, his good wing extended as much as possible, Jace threw Walton into the shadows and cut off all avenues of escape. Brother Walton spun around. "Holy Mother Mary! What are you?" Jace laughed, deep and guttural, and with his tail lashing he took a swipe. Brother Walton fell back hard. Going for shock value, Jace parted ghastly gray lips to reveal a row of lethal teeth. He advanced. The raw scent of blood stirred primitive needs within him and he lunged, jaws scissoring closed around Brother Walton's throat. Fury ripped through Jace. Brother Walton struggled, staring wide-eyed at Jace before Walton's neck was severed with a crunch. Jace dropped down over his fallen victim and immediately began to feed. He kept one ear twitched back toward John, and with a low rumbling growl he sank his muzzle into the soft tissue of Brother Walton's beer belly. His razor-sharp teeth, made for rending meat off bone, sank through flesh as if it were butter. Jace closed his eyes to avoid the arterial spray of blood that spattered toward his face. Belly full to bursting, Jace finished up and began licking his claws and snout clean. He looked up to see John seated casually on the boulder, watching with interest. *** John took out his smokes and lit up, not wanting to rush Jace. One more fucking Christian down and not a speck of blood on his hands. To the former Black Hills Congregationalist, this looked like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

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Chapter Sixteen One cream-colored wing stretched out to warm in the sun. The other was also healing nicely, but was still a bit touchy. Sariel looked down from his perch on the roof of the police station, the heels of his boot tapping lightly against the brick building as he watched the humans below, legs absently swinging. The image of Matthew being shot had played over and over in his mind all morning. He'd watched as Sam Wright had tried to steer the man off his suicidal path. Sariel smiled. Sam was a good soul in a churning ocean of filth. He'd keep an eye out for her. He always had. He let her image slip from his mind, his angelical guiding gift needing to be turned inward. Odd, how it was so easy for him to see the clear path to set others upon, yet his own was always so clouded. Jace had told him to leave things as they were, but walking away from a blister of sin like that wasn’t Sariel's style. He knew that at any moment the madness within John Banks could burst open and leave yet another ugly scar on the face of humanity. As a member of the Special Council, Sariel was bound to inform them of any information he might have on potential situations. He was quite sure this qualified. He knew that Jace had only one concern, one real weakness in his ugly, leathery hide: his twin brother, Konnor. Sariel's gaze drifted toward Lafayette Street. Gennady -- as Council leader and, more importantly, as the demon twins' guardian -- needed to know what was happening to his wayward son. *** Sam felt like a new person. The hot shower had felt wonderful, and she smelled really good. Leave it to a gay vampire with hair down to his ass to have conditioner and shampoo in every scent under the sun. After much deliberation and sniffing of bottles, she'd finally settled on sweet pea. Floral, but not sickening sweet and not too heavy. Therianthrope noses could be ultra sensitive, and she didn't want to make Fallon sneeze. She'd even found clothes to her liking that fit: a pair of nicely broken-in jeans and a T-shirt. The latter, Sam was pretty sure didn't belong to whomever the woman was whose clothes filled the spare bedroom's closet. Sam made a mental note to ask Gennady about that one someday. The black T-shirt with white lettering said ARE YOU GOING TO SUCK MY DICK OR JUST STARE AT IT IN AMAZEMENT? -- Gennady's, obviously. She decided to have a little fun and slipped on the obnoxious shirt instead of one of the mystery woman's frilly tops. A little comic relief would do everyone good.

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Clean and fresh smelling -- and by virtue of both, in a much better mood despite all the recent turmoil -- Sam bounded barefoot down the stairs. Her toes had barely touched the bottom landing when the front doorbell chimed. Sam smiled. Gennady had one of those computerized doorbells where one could change the tune at will. Today's offering was the five-note code from Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Most likely Fallon-the-movie-buff's choice. Sam opened the inner door and stepped into the vestibule. Once the lockset clicked into place behind her, she flung open the solid outer door. Sariel stared a moment, his eyes drifting downward. He chuckled. "Aside from the T-shirt, you clean up quite nicely, Detective." Sam smiled, her gaze dropping down to her own chest. Her cheeks immediately warmed. "C'mon in, Sariel." She held the outer door open while he stepped inside, and once they were both contained she popped open the inner door. "What are you up to?" Sariel passed through the doors easily, his wings stowed away in their natural pockets along the length of his back. Unlike demons, angel wings were always present and required clever concealment. Some chose to wear cloaks or hoodies to cover the unnatural bulges. Sariel preferred long, flowing coats of leather, velvet, or brocade. If he lived anywhere else but Salem, that might have seemed odd. Here, he fit in perfectly. Today, he'd chosen leather. He paused just inside the hallway and turned to Sam, his head cocked slightly. "You were very brave this morning with that young man. It was a good thing you did. If you hadn't been there it would have ended much differently." "You were there?" Sam headed down the hallway toward the kitchen, Sariel at her side. "I was there, even before the cavalry arrived. I saw and heard it all. I need to see Gennady immediately." He smiled at her. "You saved Matthew Banks, perhaps even more than merely physically." Sam blew out a harsh sigh. "I feel really bad for him, Sariel. I know what he's done but..." She stopped in the kitchen doorway, spotting Gennady alone at the table. Konnor and Fallon weren't there. "He seems like such an innocent, somehow." "Who seems like an innocent?" Gennady's smile was warm as he looked up when they entered the room. "Good afternoon, Sariel." He stretched a long leg out underneath the kitchen table and pushed the chair across from him out. "Come on in, make yourself at home." Sariel bowed his head then took the offered chair. "I've come to you with some urgency, Gennady. Council business, I'm afraid." Sam joined them at the table. "Nice shirt," Gennady said with a snort, his pale blue one stating YOU LOOK LIKE I NEED ANOTHER DRINK unusually tame by comparison.

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Sam rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Go ahead, Sariel," Gennady said. "I imagine by now you've noticed that one of your boys is missing?" Sariel folded his hands upon the table as he leaned forward. Gennady looked to Sam before he replied. She nodded. "Yes, we know about Jace," Gennady said. "He was summoned by two men. The sons from the religious cult who had him and Konnor incarcerated from birth until they escaped in their teens. You know their history. Sam interviewed the younger brother when he got out of surgery. They were looking for revenge on Jace and Konnor, blaming the twins for the way their own pitiful lives have turned out." Gennady's expression turned grim. "Jace was seen walking away from the scene this morning in the company of the older human brother. Sam and I were about to discuss how to approach the situation." Sariel nodded. "Yes, but there is a piece of the puzzle missing from your table. Jace hasn’t gone foul, as it may appear at first glance. John Banks is holding Konnor's safety over Jace's head." Sariel steepled his fingers together. "John has rented a post office box, supposedly somewhere in Salem, which contains some sort of letter. He's made an arrangement. If he goes missing, the letter is to be delivered to the authorities. It supposedly contains something that will incriminate Konnor in some unspeakable crime. Whether or not this evidence actually exists, I can't say, but I do know the threat has Jace by the throat. There is also a rented house. Jace took off with John, but I can assure you it was with reluctance." Gennady opened his mouth as if to speak. Sam quickly cut him off. "I'm still confused about something." An elbow propped on the table, she rested her head in her hand and drummed lightly on her scalp. "Matthew said they wanted the demons dead. So, why aren't they? Konnor wasn't even summoned. It doesn't make any sense." Sariel placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. She found it instantly comforting. "Considering the fact that John abandoned his brother, I suspect that Matthew doesn't know the whole truth. John is planning on using Jace to do his dirty business, and if Jace is killed in the process, John won't weep for the loss." He sighed, looking toward Gennady. "No offense toward Konnor, but I think Banks realizes that Konnor isn't a killer. Konnor has never had the same red-hot disdain for religion and humans that Jace has." Gennady scrubbed his hands down his face. He didn't look well-rested to Sam, and she could tell by the pallor of his skin that he most likely hadn't fed recently. The blood that had been all over Sam's clothes probably hadn't helped. "Do you know where this house is, Sariel?" Gennady asked. "No, but Matthew would. If I'm allowed some time with him, I could possibly learn the location." Sam was still puzzled. "How do you know they've rented a house?" StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 68

Sariel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I was... forced to be present for the summoning. I was captured by John and used as the juicy steak on the end of the stick. The existence of the letter was discussed when being allowed to molest me wasn’t enough to turn Jace to John's purpose." Sam's blood pressure spiked, and she pushed away from the table so hard the force upended her chair. She moved closer to Sariel and pushed his long blond hair away from his face, scrutinizing, searching for damage. She saw none, but being an angel, he healed quickly. "Are you all right?" He smiled and laid his hand over hers. "I'm fine. As for Jace... I could see the glee behind his expression, but he behaved himself in the end. You should be proud of him, Gennady. Of course, if he had raped me, I wouldn’t be here now trying to help save his ass." Gennady smiled at Sariel. "Yes, you would. You can't con a con man, my old friend." Sam finally removed her hand from Sariel's face. "All right, gentlemen." She took a deep breath and blew it out in a rush. "In my capacity as a senior member of the Salem Special Council, I hereby make a motion to call for an immediate emergency session. May I please have a second?" Sariel's hand went up.

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Chapter Seventeen Konnor pushed the last of the three long banquet tables into place to form a block "U"

with the other two. With the Salem Special Council members due to arrive shortly, Konnor was

pressed for time. At least this flurry of activity was helping to keep his mind occupied.

After escaping from the Black Hills Congregation at the age of fifteen, Jace and Konnor had

roughed it, wandering the forested mountains of South Dakota for months. Game was scarce, and

on more than one occasion they resorted to plundering livestock, a risky proposition. Instincts

aside, without having been trained to hunt by their own mother or any other of their own kind,

Jace and Konnor lacked the most basic survival skills. Jace became sick and weak quickly. They

wouldn't learn of his allergy to non-human meat until much later on.

Four months after their departure from the Black Hills compound, the brothers happened upon a

posh and rather famous ski resort not far across the South Dakota border into Wyoming. Film

festival season at the Sundance Resort provided not only ample food for the twins in the form of

lost, amateur skiers, but also gifted them with their human forms. They were well past the age

when they should have rightly chosen their permanent human camouflage, but the instinct

remained. And what better time and place to select the human images they would carry for all

time but at a huge gathering of the young and the beautiful? Strengthened by the veritable buffet

of human flesh, the twins took their time over the course of two weeks, narrowing down their

choices to three sets of human male twins.

Konnor let Jace make the final decision. Jace was the alpha and that would never change. On a

snowy night lit bright by a luminous full moon, the demon twins took the handsome, dark-haired

twin brothers. They devoured the young men, bones and all, until there wasn't a single scrap left.

Gorged to near bursting, the brothers then slept until the moon was new. When they awakened,

they both changed for the first time into tall, strong, good-looking men with wavy dark hair, dark

blue eyes, and warmly tanned skinned.

Their good fortune hadn't ended there. A friend of Gennady's -- a werewolf by the name of

Simon Gray -- spotted the brothers the night they had taken down the human twins. He had

nearly intervened when the demons came frightfully close to detection. It was obvious to Simon

that the boys were unskilled, untrained, most likely abandoned. As soon as the full moon

released the werewolf from its unmerciful grasp, Simon contacted Gennady. He knew of the old

vampire's reputation for taking in strays and of his soft spot for abandoned youth. Gennady took

the demons into his home and into his heart, and raised them from then on as his own.

Once they came of age in human terms, Gennady purchased the nightclub property and set Jace

and Konnor up in business for themselves. It took Jace only two years to turn a profit with the

place. Once he paid off Gennady's original investment, Jace took the initiative and created

another club in the basement level of the standalone brick building. He renovated the level above

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the main club into a spacious apartment for himself and Konnor. They had lived there together ever since. The main level of Tailz was similar to many other restaurant pubs. Good food, generous drinks, a pleasant and efficient staff, a nicely decorated, relaxing environment. It was mostly low-key, humans and supernaturals mingling together for dinner and drinks. Nothing unusual for Salem. The lower level was different and had come to know many purposes. The Salem Special Council met there weekly on Wednesday evenings and had special sessions hosted there as well, such as on this occasion. On weekends, the basement of the establishment served a far less noble purpose. Beyond the royal purple and crimson drapes that lined the back wall was a darkened hall containing numerous private alcoves. The lower level of the club -- for those who were privy to its existence -- was always packed on weekends. Due to the vampire population, it had been exempted from Salem's usual bar closing times and liquor laws. From sundown Friday to sunrise Monday it was open from dusk 'til dawn. The alcoves were usually occupied by midnight. While some humans were welcome, their species' overall prudish sensibilities were not. Konnor lit the black wrought-iron sconces that lined the four walls, washing the otherwise dark subterranean room in a soft amber glow. Chairs were pulled up, one for each of the twelve Council members, and clean white cloths were draped over the tables. Konnor slipped behind the bar to tidy up while he waited. *** From the street, the alleyway with its locked gate alongside Tailz seemed quite ordinary. Overgrown grass sprouted up between the cracks in the concrete. The gate and the lock, rusted. Perfect camouflage for the club's clandestine lower level. Those who were trusted had been given special pass cards and special words to be spoken in order to gain entrance. On Council nights the words were changed and aside from Jace, Konnor, and Fallon, only the twelve council members were permitted inside. Sariel spoke the seemingly random pattern of sounds and watched as the lock unlatched itself from the chain. After he passed through, the lock returned to its former state. Several paces in, Sariel came to the heavy iron door that led into the club. This barrier relied on a much more modern security system, and he slid his card through the sensor's slot. A red light turned to green and the door popped open. Thirteen steps down, he stepped through a crimson, glass-beaded curtain and into the basement level of Tailz. *** "Are you here all alone?" Sariel stepped up to the bar and helped himself to a glass of chardonnay. Konnor nodded.

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"Your brother did everything he could to get out of this mess," Sariel said. "The look I saw on his face when John Banks brought your name into the equation... Jace loves you like nothing else in this world, Konnor. But then, I guess you already knew that." Konnor cracked open a dark, stout beer and took a quick swig. "I know he does. I'll be glad when this crap is over with. I miss him, and when things are unsettled like this I get a little edgy." He tipped back the bottle and took a longer pull this time. "Okay, a lot edgy." Their conversation was interrupted as the other members of the Council began to arrive. A man with brown hair streaked gray was first through the door. As the aging werewolf made his way to the bar, Sariel greeted him. "Glad you could make it, Rhett. Gennady should be here soon." "I wouldn't miss it for the world. This situation has us all very concerned." Rhett slipped into one of the tall bar seats. "Jace might be an obnoxious pup, but he's brought life back into our little group." Kind, brown eyes lifted to Konnor. "Both of you have. I'd hate to see him taken out back and shot, especially for something he might not have done." Konnor smiled. He reached under the bar to fetch the bottle of hundred-year-old, single malt Irish whiskey he kept on hand for the werewolf. He poured three fingers worth into a tumbler and filled a second glass with cold spring water. Konnor slapped two cocktail napkins onto the bar at Rhett's left -- all four fingers were missing on Rhett's right hand --then set each glass down. "Good to see you out and about, Rhett. Don't be such a stranger." "Eh, Salem isn't what it used to be," Rhett said, picking up the whiskey and toasting the others. "Your father does his best to keep it all together, bless his heart, but dark days are coming. This little incident is just the rumble of thunder before the storm breaks." Konnor clinked the neck of his beer bottle against the side of Rhett's whiskey glass. "Let's hope you're wrong there, old man. We've all worked too hard to let anyone screw this up now." Konnor sucked down a good half of his beer in one long swallow. "Especially one of those people." The heavy iron door at the front of the lower club opened again. Sam Wright entered -- now wearing a shirt much more politically correct than the one she'd borrowed earlier -- followed by Gennady. Sam made a beeline for the bar and bumped shoulders with the elderly werewolf. "There goes the neighborhood," Sam said, winking at Konnor. "I'm disappointed, Konnor. I thought your job was to keep the riffraff out." "Then you'd better be turning around, human," said Rhett good-naturedly. "Evening, Sam. Looks like you've got a wild one on your hands this time." "Our hands," Sam said. "That's why the Council has been called into session. Gennady thinks we should handle this as an internal matter without involving the human community. I'm inclined to agree."

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She tiptoed and leaned over the bar as if to peek. "You got any real booze back there, handsome?" Konnor smirked, grabbed a bottle off the center island from over his shoulder and gave it a razzle-dazzle flip. "Mexican Kool-Aid, coming right up." Moments later, he slid a double-shot of tequila, a saltshaker, and a wedge of lemon on a napkin in Sam's direction. "I always knew you were good for something besides kissing your brother's ass," Sam said with a teasing grin. She quickly did the lick-drink-suck routine with the tequila and accouterments. "We'll get him back, Konnor. Don't worry."

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Chapter Eighteen John had insisted that every last scrap of the minister be devoured to avoid risk of discovery. With his belly close to bursting, Jace did as he always did. He slept. Despite their bodies being perfect for hunting large, live game, the demons' inner workings were still too close to their human counterparts to process such a large amount of muscle, fat, bone, and organs in so short time. Konnor wisely ate only small portions, but Jace often gorged himself and would sleep for hours afterward. When he awoke, Jace found himself lying on the floor in the center of another salt circle. He was in an old hotel room from the looks of it, and he hoped the whole situation was the result of having overeaten. Jace heaved himself up to a sitting position and looked around. There was a phone book on the side table by the bed. Squinting, he was able to make out the words Fall River, MA, on the book's cover. He had no idea where the hell Fall River was, but at least he knew they were back in Massachusetts and not out in the middle of Bumfuck, South Dakota, like he'd first feared. Jace cleared his throat. John's head popped out of the bathroom. "Well, if it ain't Sleepin' Beauty." John flipped the bathroom light off and entered the main room. "How you feelin'?" "Just peachy, considering you have me in a trap again. Afraid you wouldn’t be able to control me once I woke up?" Jace looked down at where his hands rested so close to the salt line that his fingers nearly touched the white grains. "Your papa taught you well. Only thing I ever really regretted was not going back and ripping his throat out." "Hopefully he's burnin' in hell if there's any such thing as justice." John settled into the bentwood rocking chair that sat near the room's picture window. He rocked slowly, staring contemplatively at Jace. "How much downtime you need before you can kill and feed again? Your belly still looks kinda swollen." Jace scowled indignantly. "I generally don’t eat for a week after a meal that size. If you hadn't made me devour the bones..." John snatched up one of the two bottles of rum sitting on the small, round table near the rocking chair. He screwed off the cap and took a long swallow. "In that case, it looks like we're gonna be spendin' a whole bunch of time together." He held up the bottle. "You drink?" "I own a bar. What do you think?" Jace crawled as close to John as he could without touching the edge of the salt trap. The thought occurred that if he could get his captor drunk, the bastard might make a mistake. For now, Jace would be Mr. Congeniality. "Toss the other bottle to me? Might StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 74

even help the digestion along." "Least I can do, if we're gonna be stuck in here for such a long while." John took the other bottle from the table and chucked it at Jace. "Lots more where that came from. Help yourself." Jace caught the bottle and took two heavy swallows. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "They drove you out, didn’t they?" He snorted and took another drink. "Funny. You and your brother ended up no better off than the beasts you had caged. Except that Konnor and I found our niche in life, and I'd never abandon him to save my own hide. That was cruel, John Banks." John laughed and took another chug. He licked a wayward drop of rum from his lower lip with a quick flick of his tongue. "Judgment, comin' from you? I seem to recall you eatin' the guts out of a man today before his body'd even stopped twitchin'. Little bit of the pot callin' the kettle black there, my friend." "The difference is that I'm a demon, John. That's the sort of thing I'm supposed to do. You? You're human, despite whatever holy rights you've given yourself." John knocked back another couple of swigs. Jace could tell the liquor was landing. A smile curved his lips. "What's the deal with you and that pretty angel?" John took another drink. It was quickly becoming apparent that John was no match for his own ability to metabolize alcohol. Jace's tail twitched with delight. Another few rounds of this, and he'd be able to sweettalk his way out of the circle to pass final judgment on John just like he had the minister. "Sariel?" Jace shrugged. "He's a drinking buddy. Nice try, by the way, but me fucking him in a cemetery wouldn’t have been the first time." John snickered and tipped the bottle back to his lips. After another long swallow, he exhaled a satisfied sigh. "So, what's it like?" "What is what like?" A smile creased John's rugged face. "You don't do naive too well, cowboy. You know perfectly well what I mean." John indulged in the rum again. "Fucking an angel. What's it like?" Jace settled back on the floor, the bottle resting on his lap. "Depends on if it's their first time or not. The best is when it is, and they still think that having sex is going to damn them." He snorted and took a drink. "They kick and scream. Feathers go flying everywhere. At least until they realize what they've been missing and that it doesn't affect them negatively. I look on it as if I'm doing them a favor. I fuck them, they learn that they won't fall from grace, we both have a good time." John tipped his bottle back. His other hand dropped to his lap, thumb lazily stroking the inseam of his jeans. "You like it when they struggle?" StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 75

Jace’s gaze went to John's crotch. "Don't you?" he asked, tongue running along his lower lip. "You never turned away when those people you called sinners were tossed into my cage. You liked to watch that, didn't you? Even then." "All things bein' equal," John said with a chuckle, "I think I would've rather watched you fuck that pretty little angel boy than rip the intestines out of that preacher." "Why watch when you can do?" John's eyes narrowed. He stopped rocking and his thumb stopped moving. "What the fuck you talkin' about?" He downed another large gulp of his rum. John had put a hurting on the fresh bottle in pretty short order, and Jace was fairly sure that John was feeling no pain. Jace knew he needed to tread lightly. John was one of those deep-in-denial cases, and if he played his fiddle too fast he'd likely find himself stuck in the circle indefinitely. "You said you would have liked to watch me with the angel, John. Why? Is it just because you hate God, or is it something more? Maybe you were just hoping to see those pretty white feathers flutter down like snowflakes?" "Can't hate somethin' that don't exist," John said, his mouth drawing into a tight, straight line. He shrugged his shoulders, the tendons in his neck audibly cracking. His lips appeared to be dry. His brow perspired. He took another long pull on the bottle and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Yeah, maybe. Maybe I would at that." "Well, there isn't an angel here right now. Sariel is back in Salem, and he won't be as easy to trap a second time." Jace capped his rum bottle. "But we could pretend." John wiped a forearm across his brow. "Pretend?" "Would you like to be the angel or the demon?" John was in mid-swig when he started to laugh, choking and sputtering rum all over his shirt. "I ain't got that good of an imagination, cowboy, nor quite that much liquor." John made a sarcastic, scoffing sound. "I'm drunk, Jace, I ain't stupid. Nice try, though." Licking his lips, he dropped one hand back down to his lap and rubbed himself with considerably less stealth than before. The outline of his erection was clearly visible beneath the thin, worn fabric of his Levis. He took another drink while he fondled himself, leering at Jace in the circle. "See what you've gone and done? Got me all worked up now." Content that he had hooked his fish, Jace lay back casually, legs lewdly sprawled. "I'm such a bad demon. Unfortunately, I can't do anything for you while I'm inside this circle. Oh, but wait... I'll bet you don't even like boys that way." Jace popped the button to his jeans and slipped his hand inside. "I guess I'll just have to play alone." Sweat dripped from John's forehead into his eyes despite the brow mopping, and it clung visibly to his lashes. "Fuck," John hissed through his teeth. He gripped and squeezed his cock through the denim. The empty bottle hit the carpet with a dull thud.

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"Oh, so maybe you are interested?" Jace purred. He tugged down his pants until he was sure John could see the swollen head of his cock as he fondled himself. "Come over here, John." John's thighs were visibly trembling and twitching so badly that Jace didn't think the man would be able to stand. With a wanton moan, John unzipped his jeans and hauled out his dick. It slapped hard against his belly. Eyes glued to Jace, John's mouth went slack. "I... I can't. I can't. Oh, God, I'm so fuckin' hard..." One leg slipped out from under John, and his foot shot forward to cross the line of salt. Jace was quick to react. Though John's slip had not marred the salt enough to break the confining circle, it had put John within his reach. Eyes glittering with triumph, Jace grabbed John's ankle and hauled him into the circle. In the blink of an eye, Jace was perched on top of John, fingernails biting into his shoulders. Jace flashed his blue eyes silver. "Going to struggle for me, John?" "I could." John's eyes bore into Jace's and his chest heaved, his breath coming harsh and ragged. Precome pulsed from the slit in his cock. "Would that make it more entertaining for you?" The lack of fear stunned Jace. Jace had known all along that John was insane. But caught under the demon he'd summoned, having seen with his own eyes what Jace was capable of, John should have been trying to get away. The only thing Jace saw reflected in those eyes was lust. Jace's lip quivered. Like the cat that'd caught his first mouse, he was unsure what to do now that he had John under him. The scent of sex was distracting. He was still recovering from his last rapid transformation, so changing back to his bestial form was impossible. His tail swished back and forth. "You let your leg fall over the line on purpose." "There are salt lines, Jace," said John, grinning wickedly, "and there are salt lines. You'll never be able to find them all, stomped down into the carpet like they are. You won't get more than a few inches in any direction." John bent one knee, scuffed at the carpet with sole of his boot until the wide line of salt had been breached. "Go ahead, give it a try if you want." John's hips lifted off the floor, and he pressed himself hard against Jace's body. "I don't think you'll be bustin' out of here anytime soon." Jace felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise. Frantic at how quickly his plan was backfiring, he looked beyond the first line of salt. The motel's carpeting was a light-colored Berber, and not having expected John to be so crafty, Jace had missed the subtle lines. "Let me guess. You were a Boy Scout?" John held up his right hand and gave the three-finger salute. "Be prepared. Hell of a motto." John smiled, the madness behind his blue-green eyes twinkling. "I ain't nowhere near as dumb as you think I am, demon." StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 77

"No," Jace said. "No, you aren't. And shame on me for thinking I could con you twice. If you'd been the one to secure our cages that night, Konnor and I would still be in that fucked-up little commune of yours. It was Matthew who neglected to see the wire handle." Jace looked around him again, realization dawning. "If I kill you, I won't get out of this room in time to save Konnor." "No, you won't." John's hands slid to Jace's thighs and he gave a hard squeeze, fingernails digging in despite the denim barrier. "Papa had good business sense. Didn't believe in puttin' all his eggs in one basket." John snorted a short laugh. "You, my friend, were sittin' on a fortune, literally. Six million dead presidents in a satchel duct-taped under the floor of your cage. I invested well after I got me and the idiot out of there." John grinned and cocked an eyebrow upward. "Seven figures can buy a lot. Like pictures. Lots of 'em. Konnor ain't been nowhere near as careful as you, Jace. Our friends at the FBI might be interested in solvin' some of them open missin' persons cases from the last twenty years." John's eyes fluttered closed and his hips rolled. His cock flexed, more slick leaking from it. Jace groaned. "If it weren't for Konnor's safety, I might actually appreciate your devious mind, John Banks. You are one sly motherfucker." With his options suddenly cut off and with John rubbing temptingly against him, Jace began to pant despite himself. They had time to kill. They were both horny. Sex might even give Konnor and the others more time to figure out a plan. Jace decided to indulge. Grinning, he snaked his long prehensile tail between his legs and coiled it around the base of John's cock. "Tell me, John. How many circles deep in hell do you really want to go?" "Deep as you're willin' to take me, demon. Not like there ain't already a special level reserved for me anyway. Pretty sure guttin' a priest and pinnin' him up like a dead butterfly counts. Go for it." John's head fell back, his body arched, and his hips rose off the floor again, thrusting his cock into the grip of Jace's tail. Jace knew that even the mere thought of that would be almost enough to get John off. *** John had spent a considerable number of hours in his youth hiding behind the ornamental azaleas bracketing the mouth of the cave where the demon twins had been kept. Watching them, Jace specifically. Jerking off into his hand as he'd watch Jace lick himself clean after a feeding. Coming so hard his vision would white out, watching Jace masturbate. The demons had been teenagers, too, with urges not so different from those of their human counterparts. John had liked it especially when Jace would jerk off, grunting and moaning softly, Jace shooting a huge load all over himself while watching Konnor sleep in the other cage. John had gotten a lot of late night masturbatory mileage out of that particular visual. The memories mingled in John's brain with the alcohol. His blood was on fire. "You playin' alpha dog with me?" John sneered at the demon. He hooked his thumbs under Jace's waistband, pulled the jeans down just below Jace's ass. The zipper slipped down and the fly StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 78

widened. John smiled at what greeted him. Jace hissed as the teeth of the zipper scraped down his cock, and he smacked John's hand away. He swept his shirt up over his head and, rolling to one side, wiggled himself out of his tight jeans. "I don’t play the alpha, John. I am the alpha." John didn't budge, didn't try to get away. He'd been waiting for this for over twenty years, and he wasn't about to squander the opportunity. While Jace undressed, John tore his own shirt over his head, kicked off his footwear and shimmied out of his jeans. His cock was harder than South Dakota granite. The heady smell of sex filled the room. Regardless of Jace's human form, John knew that Jace's primal brain was calling the shots. Jace's body shook. Powerful hands grappled John's knees and crudely shoved them apart. "Should have let me stay in my natural form, John. I bet it would have gotten you off even harder to be taken that way." "Well, if you can't feed for close to a week," John said, "then we got plenty of time to waste, and I ain't much of a TV watcher. Maybe next time." John kept his eyes locked on Jace's. He rolled his hips again, his erection rubbing against Jace's. John laughed, and with a deft move he flipped Jace onto all fours. Jace was effectively trapped, hands and legs all but immobilized within smaller overlaps of the salt circles like some perverse version of Twister. John ran his hands lightly along Jace's hips and outer thighs. "Damn, ain't no wonder that brother of yours is after you like a bitch in heat. Just look at that ass." "That’s just it, John. He's the bitch, not me." Jace looked furious and he tried to move, but invisible forces held him back. "So don't get any ideas." "C'mon, Jace, you sure about that?" John slid a hand between Jace's legs, petting Jace's inner thighs with a feather-light touch, grazing Jace's balls with a forearm. His breathing came harder, and he bit his bottom lip hard to hold himself back. "Could make it real nice for you." Sweat broke out down the valley of Jace's spine and the sight made John shudder. "With Konnor, with the angels, I'm always the one on top." "But not so with the vampires, right?" John chuckled darkly. "Saw you had no problem lettin' those bastards bend you in half and fuck you like a woman." "You were there?" John was sure he could hear Jace's heart pounding. "But you said you didn’t touch Mark! You despicable asshole! You lied to me!"

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John stuck his thumb in his mouth and sucked it for a moment, then dragged it over Jace's hole. ***

That shut Jace up pretty damn quickly. As John's thumb worked around the rim of Jace's tightly clenched hole, every nerve seemed to spark like a match against a flint. He regained control of his breathing and forced himself to relax. Being on the bottom wasn't his usual taste, but he'd done it before. From the looks of it, John had some experience. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. "If I can kill a priest, what makes you think I can't tell a lie?" John snatched his jeans from the floor and went rooting through the pockets. Finding what he sought, he flicked the cap off a small bottle of lube. Boy Scout, always prepared. "I've been watchin' you for a long while, Jace Barton." John gave the bottle a squeeze and drizzled some lube down Jace's crack. It was cold initially, and Jace gasped, cheek muscles flexing. He could put up with the cold; at least John was actually using something to help ease the passage. "How long?" Jace peered over his shoulder as he dropped down to his elbows, the pressure on his shoulders becoming uncomfortable. "What else have you been witness to that I wasn’t aware of?" "Long enough, and I've seen plenty." John gripped his own cock, gave it few tugs as if to shore up his erection, and he teased Jace's hole with the tip. "Your brother have any idea just how promiscuous you are?" "Not really, no. He knows and accepts that I have other lovers. We don’t talk about the numbers." The head of John's dick ran in slow circles around the firm ring of muscle. "If you were human, I might be inclined to be a little hesitant to ride your ass bareback." "You should be afraid. Just because I can't get a disease doesn’t mean I can't transmit. Demons do manage pestilence and plagues, after all. Lucky for you that my partners are all usually supernatural as well. But then I guess you already know that." Closing his eyes, Jace gave the slightest push back against the blunt crown, his eyelids drooping as his hormones surged out of control. "Forgot how warm a human cock is." With a slight rock of hips, the head of John's cock breached Jace's body. John groaned, one hand pushing down on the small of Jace's back, the other on Jace's hip, guiding. "Jesus, you feel so fucking good." "John, I promise you that Jesus has nothing to do with anything going on in this room right now." Jace fought to keep control, to not cry out despite the wild urge as John's cock brushed against and stretched his inner walls. The strong rim of muscle closed firm around its intruder, pulsing, gripping. "Fuck! Oh, oh fuck. More!" Jace screamed at last, his ass lifting up higher, wanton as he started to slip into that place he'd gone to with Mark. Jace groveled and began to beg. "Harder... please!" John pushed deep into Jace's ass in one sharp thrust. His fingernails dug into Jace's hips, pulling back hard into each forceful stroke as he jack-hammered into Jace. "Fuck," John snarled, "you're StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 80

so fuckin' tight." Sweat dripped onto Jace's back. Jace snapped his tail against John's face, and his wings bulged under shoulder blades as if hunting for a way to free themselves. The draining bite of a vampire usually weakened Jace enough to subdue his demonic shift. Without that it was a struggle. John seemed to swell inside him, his flesh radiating heat outward. Jace focused on that, tightened himself around it, and rocked his hips. He let out a tortured sound. With a loud moan, John fell heavily against Jace's back, clutched at Jace's waist, his arm brushing against Jace's heavy cock. John slipped his fingers around Jace's dick, grasped the shaft tightly and started to pump. His hips snapped hard; Jace took him to the hilt. "Fuck, demon, gonna come so fuckin' hard inside you," John said. Jace felt John's cock thicken and pulse inside him. Jace's body shook. His thighs quivered and spread, and he canted his hips just enough to get John's dick right were he needed it most. He screamed without restraint as they found it together. "Yes! Yes, oh God, yes, right there. Stay there, harder, slow down. Fuck!" Jace bucked; John held him. Jace's larger and stronger wing finally burst free, spattering John with blood and nearly knocking Jace over. The leathery wing beat slowly as Jace tried to maintain his balance. John moaned, and his hips pumped furiously as he came inside Jace, hot and slick and profuse. It set Jace off in turn, his head thrown back, baying as the hot spatter sailed over John's arm and onto the rug. He dropped down to his chest, exhausted at last, not caring that he was still trapped by the salt. John would have to release him eventually if he wanted more killings, and Jace knew there would never be enough of those to ever satisfy John. It was just a matter of time.

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Chapter Nineteen "Look," Logan Darcy said. "All I'm saying is that if we don't involve human law enforcement in this investigation and things go sour, we stand the chance of losing the credibility we've all worked so hard to establish." The junior member of the Council shrugged and sat back down. They'd been going at this for close to two hours. It was time for a decision. Gennady smiled at the red-haired vampire. "While I don't agree with what you said, Logan, you said it well. Is there anyone else who would like the floor before we take this to a vote?" The Salem Special Council had been given birth by the power of the words and finances of its current president, Gennady Zaitsev. It had existed in the shadows of Salem for close to thirty years with relative success. Salem had already been the home of special citizens -- the real witches who had never been caught. As Massachusetts became a more open-minded state, passing laws to protect its gay community and generally accepting its people for who they were, the supernaturals began to feel more confidence that they, too, would be accepted. Salem remembered its history. Not the quaint, Halloween-themed vision that was presented on every street in October, but the dark, soiled version. The tale told of children accused of witchcraft and locked in shackles without food or water. The senseless murders of nineteen innocent people. Shame was the motivation for Salem government and law enforcement to agree to Gennady's proposals. Shame for the blood still staining the ground at Gallows Hill. A council of twelve was formed to keep balance among the forces residing in Salem and to deal with any situations that arose. Vampires and witches, humans and angels, demons and therianthropes were each given two seats on the Salem Special Council with a rotation of half the seats every two years. Gennady's position as president was permanent unless he chose to relinquish it. Gennady scanned the faces of the eleven council members surrounding him. "Very well, then. I make a motion to vote in favor of handling the current crises as an internal matter within our community, with minimal involvement of human law enforcement and government. Do I have a second?" Sam piped up immediately. "I second the motion." Gennady addressed each remaining member in turn. "Sariel?" "Generally I would disagree," said Sariel, "but having strong knowledge of the two involved, I think outside help would only make things more difficult. Whenever religion is attacked, humans become irrational. If Jace were to be exposed to the general population, even if by accident, it could be the end of all of us. I vote in favor."

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The grizzled old werewolf, Rhett London, rose. "If I were out there, I would want this handled quietly. Jace is a good boy most of the time. A little frayed around the edges, but this mess followed him after he tried to put it behind him. I say we find this little bastard and show him some real judgment." Rhett resumed his seat. "Fiona?" Gennady turned his attention to Fiona Davies. Fiona had chosen, as she often did, to enjoy the freedom of her natural form while in like company. In her human form, she was a tall, pretty woman in her late twenties, with long, curly red hair. Fiona's true demon form was six-and-a-half feet tall, still quite humanoid, but skeleton thin with stark, chalk-white skin. Her hair remained the same in both forms, with matching horns protruding from her skull and curving inward toward each other. Her eyes were pitch black, including the sclera. Unlike many of her kind, Fiona was both proud and fond of her true appearance. She never wasted an opportunity to show it off. Fiona stood, towering over the table, her voice a dark, rumbling growl. "With all due respect, I humbly cast a dissenting vote. I believe it unwise to leave the police department and the mayor's office out of the loop in this matter. You and the Council have my full support as always, Gennady, regardless of the final outcome of this. However, I do request that my disagreement go on record." Fiona bowed her head politely and resumed her seat at table. "Thank you, Fiona. Your candor and insight are always welcomed and appreciated." Gennady moved on to the next representative. "To wrap up our demon contingent," Gennady said, smiling at the tall, elegant man with the cascading blond hair. "Mr. Swain, your vote?" The incubus Dekin Swain looked up from the laced fingers upon which his chin rested. "I am of two minds on this matter. Jace is a friend of mine, and I'd like whatever is best for him. I fear that the longer it takes for us to find him, the more chance there is for our haven to be exposed. This John... he is from South Dakota, correct? Are we all prepared to travel to the west should that be where they are headed? With the help of the full police force, we would have a better chance of corralling them here. Forgive me, Gennady, but I must vote against you today. I think we need all the help we can get." "Thank you, Dekin." Gennady gestured for one of the humans to proceed. Dr. Henry Sherman, mid-forties, was the first person of any species to graduate from the Harvard Medical School with a specialty in Supernatural Medicine. He ran a private general practice out of his home and a free clinic on Essex Street that was open around the clock. "Well, in the interest of minimizing bloodshed and casualties, I reckon we'd best handle this as a 'family' matter. No offense to my brethren, but I vote we keep the humans out of it." Gennady rested his palms on the table and leaned forward momentarily for support. He steadied himself then moved on. "The Council gives Keegan Sinclair the floor." A rugged looking man with short, wavy auburn hair pushed back his chair to stand. Keegan Sinclair didn’t fit the typical image of a witch, but his skills in the craft had saved many locals. Keegan was a firefighter. He never spoke of his special abilities, and he made sure to keep them StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 83

from sight. The man had earned more than one medal of heroism for entering infernos and rescuing those deemed hopelessly lost. "I think we can handle this," Keegan said. "With Sam's help, I see no way this character can elude us for long. We need to stop talking and get after him!" "I agree with my colleague." A tall, black woman spoke up at Keegan's side. Hallie Devonte was also a witch, but her specialty was hoodoo and medicines. Skilled in healing and empathy, Hallie used her wisdom to aid in animal medicine. Along with running her own animal clinic in town, Hallie taught twice a week at Tufts Cummings Veterinary School. "Time is running out. I felt for Jace this morning; he isn’t in Salem anymore. The signs also tell me to expect the discovery of another death. Sam? Has there been another victim reported?" Sam shook her head. "No, there hasn't been anything since--" The meeting chamber became as quiet as a crypt when Sam's cell phone rang.

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Chapter Twenty With a final vote of nine to three in favor of keeping the police and the city government out of it, the emergency session of the Salem Special Council adjourned. The witch had been right. There had been another murder in a neighboring township, gruesome and with a religious component. Konnor surveyed the room. The usual suspects remained, and the others had gone home immediately after the vote. For being mysterious supernatural creatures, they sure were a predictable lot. The human physician, Dr. Sherman, had gone home to his wife and kids. Dekin Swain never stayed late unless he had his auburn-haired angel Kelly in tow. He had bolted from the club in a flurry of sweeping blond hair and purple brocade the instant Gennady's gavel had hit the wooden sound block. Everyone else was still there, broken up into small conversation pods scattered about the spacious, torch-lit room. Konnor smiled. Apparently the Tailz inner sanctum was open for business. He used the house phone behind the bar to call upstairs and check on how things were going on the public floor of the club. Assistant manager Jane Bartholomew reported a busy evening, wellbehaved customers, and that she had everything under control. Konnor flipped a few switches on a console under the bar. Half the sconces snuffed out. Music came up: low, dark, and sensual. Jace music. Konnor swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "What are you guys drinking tonight?" he said to Sam and Sariel. "The usual," they said in unison. Sam and Sariel smiled at each other, Sam's cheeks flushing slightly. They returned to their conversation. Within ten minutes, Konnor had served up everyone in the place with his or her usual concoctions, except for Fiona the demon. She never drank the same thing twice, and it was always something with umpteen ingredients in it. Konnor swore she was just trying to trip him up to see if there was anything he didn't know how to make. Her request tonight was for a Russian Quaalude. Fiona stood at the bar, stooped over so her horns didn't tangle with the hanging glassware, and she watched Konnor intently as he mixed up the proper ingredients. He stuck a straw in the frothy white drink and slid the glass toward her. Fiona smiled her approval. As Konnor watched Fiona suck the drink down in one long slurp, he realized he hadn't seen Gennady since the meeting had adjourned. Konnor was pretty sure that Gennady hadn't gone home -- Gennady would never leave without making rounds to say goodnight -- and he was StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 85

doubly concerned since Gennady hadn't looked too well earlier. Konnor's concern turned to worry when he finally spotted Gennady standing in the back of the club partly shrouded by a heavy crimson drape. Gennady's arms were crossed tightly over his chest, cuddling himself and rubbing his arms as if he were freezing cold. Not wasting another second, Konnor picked up the phone and dialed Fallon's cell. *** With the house empty, Fallon had found himself in the unusual position of being by himself. Though being alone wasn’t a problem for Fallon, it tended to be for the house. He didn’t mean to be destructive. Within an hour of Gennady's departure, half the contents of the refrigerator had either been devoured or left out on the counter and deemed 'icky' by Fallon. Within ninety minutes, he had visited every room in the house and had discovered several new and interesting trinkets. With his pockets full of things that didn’t belong to him and his belly full of food, Fallon had just curled up for a nap on the bed he and Gennady shared when the phone rang. Stretching his long body out as much as he could so he wouldn’t actually have to move, Fallon grabbed his phone off the nightstand. "Hello?" "Fallon?" "Hey, Konnor! How's the meeting going?" Fallon's fingers unconsciously went into his right front pocket to finger a bookmark made of red ribbon. He'd found it in the living room, marking a page inside one of Konnor's books. "Almost done? I'm bored." "The meeting was fine," Konnor said. "Just about everyone is still here, though, so I opened the downstairs for business." Voices murmured, ice tinkled against glass, and music hummed in the background. "Say, Fallon? I don't want to worry you, but Father doesn't look very well, and he's not in a very good mood. I asked him if I could do anything, but to tell you the truth... the look I got from him kinda weirded me out. I think you'd better get down here." *** Fallon didn’t drive. He was certainly old enough, but there had been a terrible incident involving a car when he was four years old. His mother's life had been horrifically stolen away before his eyes. Since then, he'd avoided riding in cars whenever possible. Luckily, Tailz was only a few blocks away from the Zaitsev house and Fallon easily sprinted there in under a minute. Barely winded, Fallon barked out the password, slid his card through the reader, and dashed down the steps to find his lover. Konnor was heading back toward the bar, and Fallon ran into him broadside when he bolted into the club.

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"Hey, slow down," Konnor said, gripping Fallon's arm. "He's in the corner near the back hallway. He won't let me near him. Let me know if you need anything, okay?" Fallon stood on tiptoes, trying to see Gennady. "Give me about twenty minutes, and then swing by with some water. I always get thirsty afterward." He flashed Konnor a worried smile then started for the back of the club. "Thanks for calling me, Konnor." *** In retrospect, Gennady had decided that dismissing the entire household staff before he'd fed that morning hadn't been the brightest move he'd made recently. It hadn't left him with much of an option. Konnor was out. Gennady had a firm policy of not feeding from his children -- made or adopted -- due to the effect that feeding had on him. That left Fallon, but Gennady had just taken from him two days earlier. It was too soon. It wouldn't be dangerous, but it would make Fallon quite weak for a few days. Another of those fallacies propagated by pulp fiction regarding vampires. It was much like giving blood in the traditional sense; the donor's body required time to replenish its blood supply. Were-animals possessed recuperative powers far superior to humans, of course, but it still took Fallon several days. The music hummed in Gennady's ears like a swarm of buzzing bees. He was intolerably cold, and the sting in his gut felt as if he'd swallowed a box of pins. His eyes were lowered, his chin on his chest, but he still knew exactly who was present and precisely where they were located in relation to his current position. Gennady's senses were particularly acute when he was hungry. He could hear their hearts beating, could smell the smallest drop of perspiration. He bit his bottom lip, piercing his own flesh with a razor-sharp fang, and he swiped his tongue across the open wound. Nothing. He was bone dry, empty and starving. Gennady didn't want anyone not intimately involved in his life to see him like this, particularly anyone on the Council. A history buff, he knew full well what happened to great leaders who exhibited weakness before their legions. Pompeii. Alexander. The great Caesar with his falling sickness. Beware the Ides of March. He crossed his arms tighter around himself, shivering, and tried hard to melt into the drapes. It would all be better soon. Fallon was here. Gennady could smell him. *** Fallon had only seen Gennady in this state once before. Gennady planned; he was careful. For Gennady to be caught in such a way said volumes about how upset he was about Jace's disappearance. Fallon approached with care, could hear Gennady shivering, and knew which curtain he was behind even in the darkness. "Gennady?" Fallon whispered, fingers catching the drapes and pulling them aside. "Can't you run any faster?" Gennady's voice sounded low and raspy.

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"Tsk, you know I can if I change." Fallon pushed through the velvety curtains and slid into

Gennady's arms. He scowled, his nose pressing under Gennady's chin. "You're so cold. You've

waited too long."

Cuddling against Fallon's body, Gennady practically purred. "Too much on my mind, I suppose."

He ran his nose along the length of Fallon's slender neck and let out a cool, breathy sigh.

"Thanks for coming for me."

"Shh, no more talking. I ate well tonight." Fallon's fingers put gentle pressure on the back of

Gennady's head, pressing Gennady's mouth downward.

"I'll bet you did." Gennady smiled against Fallon's neck, a gentle scrape of teeth against skin.

"You were home alone. I'll be surprised if there's anything left." Gennady shivered again, his

whole body trembling. "I want you, but not here. Not in the open."

"One of the alcoves? You don’t have enough strength to leave the club." Fallon slipped his arm

around Gennady's slim waist and led him down the hallway to one of the small, curtained-off

rooms.

Jace had spared no expense in prettying up the place, now a far cry from the tacky little

speakeasy it had been when Gennady had purchased the property. The private alcoves had been a

sinful little touch, perfect for the ambiance of the dark lower club and its patrons.

Gennady leaned against Fallon as they made their way down the corridor. "You can be very

grown up when you want to be." He leaned into Fallon's neck again, nipped at an earlobe and

gave it a sharp tug.

Fallon's gasp ended in a whine that was decidedly not human, and he swatted Gennady on the

ass. "I'm twenty-two! I am a grown-up!" He paused to pull aside the heavy crimson curtain and

helped his lover down onto a plush, Victorian fainting couch. Each of the alcoves was different,

this one painted in a spectrum of blue, the ceiling enhanced by fiber-optic stars. With the lights

theatrically set, the whole space appeared to be part of the night sky. It was Fallon's favorite

room.

"Sit and rest," Fallon said, pulling his T-shirt over his head.

Gennady went limp against the cobalt blue fabric. He smiled weakly, gazing up at Fallon. "God,

you are so incredibly beautiful. What did I do to deserve such a thing?"

Fallon joined Gennady on the couch, wrapping his arms around him. He pressed nose-to-nose,

his fingers lightly caressing Gennady's pallid cheek. "You rescued me. You kept me safe, and

you loved me when no one else would. You put up with my... issues." Fallon lowered his

eyelashes. "When Konnor called me, I knew you were the reason even before he said so."

"Of course you knew. I'm inside your head just as you're inside mine, every day, all the time.

And I know I don't say it enough, but I really, really love you." Gennady slipped his arms around

Fallon's hips and pulled him as close as possible. He ran his face up Fallon's breastbone, dry lips

stuttering over smooth warm skin.

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Straddled above Gennady, Fallon wrapped his arms around Gennady's head, urging him closer. "It might taste a bit sweet. I kind of ate an entire carton of ice cream about ten minutes before the phone call." Fallon smiled, the fingers of one hand lightly trailing along the curve of Gennady's face. His other hand slipped lower between their bodies. "I know you're worried, but I can do this, Gennady. I can." Gennady made a small bleating sound as his fangs pierced Fallon's throat scant millimeters from the jugular. Fallon knew the smaller veins nearby were exceptional bleeders but without the risk factor of that major artery. Gennady gulped greedily. Fallon felt the blood flowing freely. Gennady moaned as he drank, and Fallon could feel Gennady's body warming up. Fallon arched his neck as goose bumps rose on his flesh, pain and pleasure wrapped neatly together. His fingernails dug into the soft damask, and his eyes drifted closed. As Gennady warmed, Fallon felt him fall into a smoother and more sedate rhythm of drinking, and Fallon's hips began to rock and grind. Fallon's fingers slipped buttons from their bindings and zippers down their tracks until flesh touched hard, aching flesh. *** The awful pins-and-needles sensation vacated Gennady's gut as he filled it with blood, the feeling replaced by a tight twist of need in his belly. His hunger for blood sated, he slid his lips down Fallon's chest, lapping up the blood trickling steadily down from the perfect twin marks in Fallon's throat. Fallon's tail swished untamed. Gennady grabbed it with one hand, running its length through his fist from black base to white tip and back again, slowly ruffling the soft, fluffy fur the wrong way. Gennady rolled his hips, pressed his groin hard into his lover, felt warm slickness smear across his belly with each random drag of Fallon's hard cock against his skin. Each stroke of Fallon's tail drew more and more caterwauling from the werefox, and Fallon covered Gennady with his own version of frantic love bites, his back end raised high, obviously wanting. His hips continuously stabbed forward, roughly seeking satisfaction. "Full moon's coming," said Fallon with a grin. "You know how I get." "Are you sure it's not here already? You seem a little..." Gennady smiled. "Anxious." With a sharp shake of his head Fallon's ears grew out: tall, pointed, and covered in fur black as midnight. Nothing else changed, evidence enough for Gennady that the moon wasn’t yet in control. "Do you know how long it's been since we had sex? With everything going on with Jace, it's been over a week!" "A whole entire week?" Gennady grinned. "Good God, Fallon, how have you survived?" He distracted Fallon with some long, sloppy licks to the wounds on his throat, grabbed onto his dick and squeezed. "Barely!" A round of squirming and giggling commenced, Gennady using his tongue playfully. The giggling turned to a sharp, deep moan when Fallon's cock pulsed in Gennady's grip. StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 89

"Oh God, Gennady..." "I love it when you moan my name," Gennady said, his voice lowering to a thick, dark rasp. He stroked Fallon's cock, slow and easy, slid pliant skin over hardening heat. With his other hand, he vigorously scratched behind Fallon's furry ears. The pace of Fallon's thrusting increased, though Gennady masterfully slowed his own motion to keep his lover on edge. Fallon's bushy tail swept side-to-side, making fleeting contact with Gennady's cock. "I'll moan it all night if you like. I need you inside me. Please, Gennady!" Strength had been restored from the feeding, as was Gennady's agility and speed. With feral quickness, Gennady flipped Fallon onto all fours on the couch. Nestling behind him, Gennady nuzzled his face in the dense, smooth fur at the tip of Fallon's tail. He nosed Fallon's tail aside and leaned his chest upon Fallon's back. "You should keep your fox ears out more often," Gennady said with a bit of growl as he burrowed his face into silky black hairs. "So soft... so hot." "You know you only have to ask." Fallon's hand thrust between his own legs, pinched at the base of his cock as if to stave off the inevitable. It almost worked until Gennady purposefully breathed warm puffs of air along Fallon's ears and the back of his neck. "No! Oh, oh no!" Fallon whimpered as he came, and he dropped his head into the cushions, defeated. Despite his accident, his hips kept close contact with Gennady's groin, pressing back, inviting. Fallon's premature firing only served to inflame Gennady further, and he smiled as he positioned himself at Fallon's opening. A thought crossed his mind. While in human form, Fallon's recovery time was normal for a male, but canine physiology was substantially different. Gennady pushed a mite harder against Fallon's tight little hole, and into Fallon's perky, furry ears he whispered his suggestion with deliciously carnal words. He reached around with one hand to grip Fallon's erection. Fallon's slender body quaked with excitement. The words had their desired effect, bringing Fallon sharply back into a state of arousal, his cock long and hard in Gennady's hand. He pushed back, slow and steady, the heat of his body teasing the tip of Gennady's cock, seducing it deeper. "I want you to know," Gennady said, speaking intimately to Fallon as he rocked himself in farther, "that you are the same to me no matter your outward appearance. You're my Fallon, and I love all of what you are, completely. Don't ever feel like you have to conceal that, my perfect little kit." Gennady shuddered and groaned, trembled against Fallon's back, and grounded himself for the impending change. Fallon reached back to touch Gennady's face. Clear blue eyes said more than words ever could, and Fallon's long, flat tongue swiped Gennady's cheek. Urgency returned, and after more caresses, Fallon turned around and dug his claw-tipped fingers into the cushions, his inner muscles tightening around Gennady's cock.

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"Love you, so much. I'd do anything for you." "Then change for me, Fallon," Gennady said, rocking his hips gently as he uttered the words. "I want to feel you like that because you want me to, not because you're being forced." Gennady rested his face on Fallon's back, curved his own body to mold as tightly against Fallon's form as possible. "Please, Fallon, please..." Fallon looked over his shoulder once more, a smile lighting up his face. "I wasn’t sure..." he whispered, nuzzling his face against Gennady's. The transformation was full of life and grace, just like everything else about Fallon. His sweet face became longer, pointed, a muzzle taking shape. Fingers curled over into paws as his body shifted, fluidly morphing from one form into the other. Gennady remained inside Fallon the whole time, joined together in the most intimate of moments for any were-animal. Fallon laid his furry head down on the arm of the couch, both ears flicking back. Gennady wrapped his arms around Fallon's torso, Fallon's soft fur tickling him into goose bumps. Fallon was so soft, so sensual like this, so... Fallon. Gennady bit his tongue and thought hateful things against those who would say this was wrong, some sort of perverse abomination. But then there were those who still insisted that sex with the undead was no different than sex with the dead: necrophilia, thus immoral and illegal. Battles to be fought another day. In the moment, all Gennady wanted was to make love to his partner, to let Fallon know that this was all right. He held onto Fallon with all his might, could still smell the blood coagulating on Fallon's skin even with the marks buried under dense layers of thick, black fur. "I love you, Fallon, God... I just love you so much." Gennady moved slowly inside him, stroking Fallon's cock. Fallon no longer possessed human vocal cords for speech, but he managed well enough without them. As Gennady moved deeper inside, Fallon turned back, nuzzling and licking Gennady's face. It was a tight fit, but certainly not impossible, and Gennady moved carefully. Fallon moaned, and it was evident in his eyes and in the little sounds he made that he loved the closeness this brought between them. Gennady knew that Fallon had never shared himself this way with another creature, and Gennady was glad he was the first and only. Gennady's fingers twined in tufts of deep, silky fur, and he moved his hips with care. Fallon's cock thickened and hardened in his grasp, the continuous spill of fluid warm and thick in his fingers. He kissed Fallon's muzzle tenderly. "Not hurting you, am I?" Fallon answered with a huffing snort, then pushed his rear back into Gennady with enough conviction to almost knock them both from the small sofa. It sent Gennady deeper, and Fallon's blue eyes fluttered to half-mast under impossibly long black lashes. Although Fallon couldn't vocally express himself, Gennady knew what was on his mind. "I'll take that as a no," Gennady said with a smile as Fallon's rump backed up and smacked StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 91

against him again. He shifted a bit, braced himself against Fallon with one hand placed firmly on Fallon's haunch. Gennady rocked his hips forward and settled in deep, tightly inside Fallon's warm body. A shiver went through him. "Fallon... Fallon, I'm--" Fallon whined, arched his back, and pushed his leaking cock through Gennady's fingers at a breakneck pace. It thickened, filling Gennady's palm. Fallon started to shoot harder, and he bit down on the arm of the couch and chewed at it uncontrollably. Gennady came hard, the dry orgasm racking every muscle in his body into tight, tense cords. He called out Fallon's name on a deep, growling moan and withdrew, collapsing beside his lover with Fallon's twitching, jerking cock still gripped messily in his fist. Fallon continued to gnaw on the arm of the couch, his lower half still rutting lazily against Gennady's hand. Gradually, he unwound and collapsed heavily beside Gennady. Nose tucked under Gennady's chin, Fallon lapped at Gennady's throat. The cloth arm of the sofa was mauled beyond repair. With one arm wrapped around Fallon's shoulders, Gennady pulled him close. His other hand he wiped on the couch, the expensive piece of furniture already well beyond reasonable salvage. "I guess I'm going to have to replace this before Jace finds out," Gennady said with a chuckle. The curtain suddenly parted. Startled, Gennady looked up. Konnor stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth agape, a large glass of ice water in one hand. "Well," Konnor said as he surveyed the mess, "I guess that explains why Fallon said he gets thirsty." Konnor gingerly set the water on a table then backed away. He shook his head. "Wow. Just... wow." Fallon wagged his tail, looking up with laughter in his eyes. Gennady chuckled. What they had just done didn’t seem all that different from what Konnor did with Jace. There were times when the sounds coming from the twins' room were certainly not human, and Gennady knew at least one of them had taken demon form for their romp. Still, for Konnor's sake, Gennady nudged Fallon and whispered, "Shift back." Fallon seamlessly transformed back into his human body with the ever-present tail. This time, though, he kept his fox ears. "I guess playtime is over?" Fallon's tail was still wagging. Under all that fur, Fallon had been sweating. Gennady smiled and took a long, salty lick up the length of Fallon's smooth, hairless chest. "Just starting," Gennady said, "but we should go home before we wreck any more of Jace's new furniture." Gennady regarded Konnor with a smile. "We're going to slip up the back stairs and head home. Have Samantha call me when she's formalized her plans." He leaned over Fallon's long, lanky body, took the glass of water from the table, and handed it to his lover. "Please say goodnight and give my apologies to the others. I'm not feeling terribly social tonight." Konnor grinned. "Will do, Father. Have a good night." He parted the curtain, but before he stepped through, he turned back to the cozy couple. "Try to get a little rest, will you?" StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 92

Chapter Twenty-One Sam parted the curtain to the back hallway just in time to see Gennady and Fallon heading up the rear stairs. Konnor headed her way. Sam greeted him with a raised eyebrow. "Everything all right?" Sam peered around Konnor toward the back of the hall. Gennady and Fallon were gone. Konnor looked over his shoulder then back to Sam. "You mean Gennady and Fallon? Yeah, they're fine. Father was... well, with everything that's going on, he hasn't taken very good care of himself the past few days. I was worried, so I called Fallon. Everything's okay now. They're heading home so Father can get some rest." Konnor smiled. "He's not as young as he used to be." "Speaking of rest--" Sam began, but Konnor didn't let her finish. "I'll rest when he's home safe and sound." Konnor looked down at the floor then back to Sam again. "I need to keep busy. Don't worry, Sam. I'm okay. You just find him for me." Sam nodded and offered a confident smile. Konnor went back to work. Sam fished her phone from her pocket and hit the speed dial. *** Jericho rolled to the edge of the bed and slapped his hand on top of the night table a few times before locating his phone. The form in the bed next to him moaned and stirred. So did the body next to that one. An out-of-town couple, husband and wife. Wealthy, with connections. Someone local was playing pleasure cruise director, bringing these sorts of people to Salem for a price. This couple had a vampire fantasy, and Jericho had gotten lucky and intercepted. Sometimes it paid off to hang out in ritzy hotel bars. He looked at the number calling then flicked open his phone. "Hey, Sam." "Sorry to be calling so late... early... whatever you want to call it." Jericho glanced at the bedside clock; it was shortly after two in the morning. He raked one hand back through his hair and his fingers came away sticky. "Middle of the night is neutral enough. What's up, Sammers?" Jericho heard Sam clear her throat and he smiled. He was pretty sure she didn't like that nickname any more now than she had back then. Significantly less, most likely. "I need you to do something for me. For Gennady, actually. Jace, ultimately." "I'm listening." Jericho climbed out of bed, saw the bloodstains all over it when he turned around StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 93

to assess the damage. He cringed and made a disgusted face, but quickly dismissed it. That's

what money was for.

"I need you to meet Sariel Harper at North Shore Medical Center. He's getting ready to leave

Tailz right now to go question Matthew Banks. I'd like you to be there."

Jericho headed toward the bathroom, padding barefoot and silent through thick, plush carpet.

"Don't you consider that a bit of a conflict of interest? Seeing as I'm Jace's lawyer." He heard a

deep sigh, and Jericho smiled again.

"Okay," Sam said, sounding somewhat exasperated. "I'll admit I need you mostly to get Sariel

inside. They'll let an attorney in at any hour to see a patient accused of a crime. You can tell

them you're Matthew's lawyer, and besides..."

"Yes?" As if Jericho couldn't guess. He could practically hear Sam's eyes roll.

"Your... your powers of persuasion might come in handy."

"You want me to lay the thrall on the country boy?" It was Jericho's turn to roll his eyes. "But

Detective Wright," he said, words dripping with sarcasm, "that would be illegal inside of Salem

city limits."

"Bite me, Jericho."

"I tried. You wouldn't let me."

"You son of a--"

"Let me guess." Jericho grinned and shook his head. "He's straight as an arrow, right?"

"Yup."

Jericho swore he heard Sam snicker. "Well, at least it'll be a challenge for me, at any rate. Look,

Sammers, seriously... isn't this all just slightly unethical? Questioning a suspect under false

pretenses and without their counsel present? Using supernatural coercion during said

questioning? Confusing a straight boy?" Jericho laughed out loud. He knew full well what was

coming. The distinctive snorting sound blasted the phone. There it was, right on time.

"If this'll be the first unethical thing you've done this week, Jericho Zaitsev, I'll kiss your bare ass

in Macy's window during the next Thanksgiving Day parade. Where are you now?"

Jericho chuckled. "On my way to take a nice, hot shower. I'm a bit on the sticky side."

"Fuck you, Jericho."

"I'll be there in forty-five minutes."

"Jericho?"

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"Yes, Sam?" Jericho rolled his eyes again. He knew what was coming this time, too. Nag, nag, nag. "If you're back in town on a permanent basis, you'll need to--" "Register with your lovely little Department of Special Enforcement. Yes, I know. Goodbye, Sam." *** Sariel sipped his Berlin Martini. "The whole thing went rather well, though I have to admit I was surprised by Fiona's vote." He leaned back against the bar, gaze wandering over the lingering crowd. "She generally doesn't want anything to do with the humans. Just when I think I have her figured out, she changes up on me." Sam tipped her bottle back and took a swig of her beer. "I know what you mean, but I think it's a good thing that she and the others aren't playing 'yes man' all the time. It gives the Council more credibility in the eyes of the human government if we're not always unanimously in favor of Gennady's recommendations." Sam snorted. "Even if he is always right." She laughed and took another sip of beer, eyeing Sariel's drink. Sam's nose wrinkled up. "How the hell do you drink that shit? It's... it's black." She glanced up as she considered the angel, himself a portrait in pale. "That just seems wrong somehow." "And that is exactly why I drink it. White wings, golden hair. I'm the stereotypical angel, Sam." Sariel sighed, taking another sip of his Sambuca blend. "Anything I can do to be just a bit renegade without being wicked is a plus. Besides, I like the taste." The witches, Hallie and Keegan, were saying their goodbyes. Sariel waved in their direction. "So, what now? Where do we go from here?" "I've got to go check out the latest crime scene. They won't let me near it until the CSI guys are done." Sam smirked a bit. "I think they're a little worried about evidence tampering at this point." She shrugged and polished off her brew. "Can't say that I blame them." Konnor emerged from the back of the club and went behind the bar. Sam smiled and waggled her empty bottle at him. A cold one instantly replaced it. Sam's focus returned to Sariel. "I need you to go the hospital," she said, taking another drink. "With Jericho. See what you can get out of the guy." Sam looked out over the club, at the array of beings still there. Angels, demons, vampires, shifters. Sam shook her head and sighed. Sometimes human laws didn't -- couldn't -- apply to them. It pissed her off when she felt like she was the only human who could see that. "This is not official police business, and I won't know anything about it." Sariel's eyebrows rose. "You mean Matthew Banks? I did tell you that he and his brother had me strapped down to a tombstone as bait for Jace, didn’t I?" Sariel smirked, but a look of recognition quickly came over his face. "You need me to be an angel. You figure the ol' light and smite, wrath of God judgment routine will coerce the boy into telling us all he knows about his StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 95

brother." Sariel clucked his tongue. "I had high hopes for you, Samantha Wright. I'm just an icon to you after all." "Nah, you're more than that." Sam laughed and she felt her cheeks grow warm. "I mean..." She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Anyway. Jericho should be there any minute now. North Shore Medical Center, Salem Hospital. Matthew Banks is in the intensive care wing, the Davenport building. Fifth floor, Room 537 in the northwest corner." Sariel lightly touched Sam's cheek. "Be careful at the crime scene. I wish I was going with you, but I know we're each needed in our own ways." Sariel smiled at Sam. "Jericho, hm?" Sariel's touch, albeit fleeting, was enough to make Sam shiver like a cool morning breeze had just kissed her. The nice feeling quickly soured when she thought of her recent phone call. "Yeah, Jericho." Sariel took his leave, and Sam went back to nursing her beer.

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Chapter Twenty-Two Sariel knew the layout of the North Shore Medical Center like the back of one of his own pinfeathers. He went there often, special visits to those in need of his guidance. While he couldn’t actually lead people to heaven's rumored pearly gates, he found that his presence brought a sense of peace and acceptance to those whom he comforted. Though he often resented his angelic image, he realized it filled those people with the hope and strength they needed to cross over into their next life. The clouds parted below him and Sariel circled, counting the windows in the Davenport building. Five rows up, back corner, left side, and Sariel gracefully perched. With barely any ledge to stand on, he kept his wings in motion with a light downward stroke, and he knocked upon the safety glass. The room inside was dark, but he trusted Sam. Jericho would be there. *** In the middle of the night, only the gauges and readouts on the medical equipment to which Matthew Banks was attached lit the private intensive care room. Automatic blood pressure, heart rate, the dose meters on the IVs dripping Ringer's lactate and morphine into Matthew's arm. Soft beeping noises and deep breathing were the only sounds in the room. Arms folded over his chest, Jericho stood at the foot of the metal bed. He studied Matthew's face. Funny how peaceful sleep and a strong narcotic could make most anyone look innocent. Jericho saw a shadow outside a nanosecond before he heard the tap. He went to the window, flipped the lock, and pulled the sash wide open. Jericho stuck his head out and looked to one side. He smiled at the new arrival. "It's good to see you again, Sariel." "And you, Jericho. Could you make sure there isn't anything directly in front of the window, including you? Hovering isn't one of my better skills." Jericho moved the visitor's chair that was underneath the window, and a moment later Sariel crawled inside. He folded his wings, but left them visible as he walked toward the bed. "You might want to close your eyes, Jericho. While it won't burn you, my light may be painful." Jericho closed his eyes, and he heard Sariel spread his wings, a soft brushing sound as they apparently dusted the walls. A soft light began to filter through Jericho's eyelids and the intensity quickly grew. Jericho opened his eyes gingerly to let them gradually adjust. Matthew stirred and moaned, twisting his head to the side. Jericho presumed the drugs were resisting the angelical call to wake up. Sariel stepped closer to the bed, his eyes burning with blue fire. "Matthew. Matthew Banks, you StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 97

will awaken." Matthew's eyelashes fluttered and lifted. Upon seeing Sariel, Matthew backed himself against the headboard. "I didn't mean you any harm, angel! John promised me you weren't going to be hurt!" "Hush, child," Sariel said, lowering the boldness of his luminosity so Jericho could fully join them. "Despite what happened in the graveyard, I know your brother was the one responsible. You were just following his orders out of love and respect, am I right?" Matthew nodded. "My friend has some questions for you. I want you to answer them truthfully, Matthew. Do you understand?" Again, Matthew nodded. Squinting a bit until his eyes completely adjusted to Sariel's light, Jericho approached the bed. "Hello, Mr. Banks," he said, offering a closed-lip smile. "My name is Jericho Zaitsev. I'm a lawyer. I'd like to see if I can help you out with this trouble you've gotten into. Is it all right if we talk for a while?" "But it's the middle of the night!" Matthew pulled the sheet up close to his chin, his eyes still on Sariel. Sariel flexed his wings aggressively and Matthew cowered. "I don’t know nothin'. I just do what John tells me to, is all." "What were you doing in the cemetery, Matthew?" Jericho pulled a guest chair closer to Matthew's bedside. He took a seat, leaning back in a relaxed, casual manner. "Can you tell my why you and your brother were there?" Matthew sank down into his pillow. "We've been lookin' for the demon brothers ever since we left South Dakota a long time ago. The twins, the ones y'all call Jace and Konnor? They were ours. John says they still are, and he's got plans for 'em. So we set this trap." Matthew shot Sariel a frightened look. "I'm sorry, Mr. Angel." "Sariel." "Sariel, sir. I'm real sorry." Matthew spoke through a sudden case of the sniffles. "I like angels. My momma liked angels, too." "It's all right, Matthew. Finish telling Jericho what you know about the cemetery." Matthew sighed, shoulders riding up to shrug. "We just wanted Jace. John says it was gettin' too hard for him to do the killin' alone. Jace, he's big and fast. It ain't nothin' to him, and if he got caught, the police wouldn't be able to do nothin' to him on account of what he really is." Jericho looked to Sariel for a brief instant, one eyebrow arched up. "What killing, Matthew? Who is John trying to kill that he needs the help of a demon?"

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"People who done us and our daddy wrong. He says they were wicked not to help when we needed it. John wants to bring Jace back home and let him finish off the rest of the Congregation for what they done to us. He's been marking 'em off on the map when he finds 'em, one by one." Jericho shifted in his chair and leaned in just a bit closer to the bed. "Matthew, how do you feel about killing these people? Do you think it's a good thing to do?" Sadness crossed Matthew's face. "No. I never liked it. Not even when we kept the demons in the cages and passed judgment on our wicked. But John says we have to finish our daddy's work to earn our place in heaven." "Matthew," Sariel interrupted softly, "your brother is following the wrong path to enlightenment. He's fallen into darkness. Dealing with demons -- even to punish the wicked -- is forbidden." "'Even the devil can cite scripture for his purpose'," Jericho said in a low, hushed voice. He looked up at Sariel, who nodded in agreement. "Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice. I always suspected that William was one of us." He turned back to Matthew. "We can help you. There are others who can help, too. Like that nice police lady who tried to help you at the cemetery -- do you remember her? There's no need for you to go to prison, and there's no need for anyone else to die. But you're going to have to help us out. We need to see that map." Matthew agreed. Bit by bit, Sariel and Jericho extracted the information they needed, and within the hour they had the address of a rented house downtown. Matthew was also able to inform them that John had indeed picked out his next victim, and that he and Jace were probably already in transit. Sariel pressed the palm of his hand over Matthew's forehead and dragged it slowly over Matthew's eyes. Matthew groaned, the heart monitor quickening. "Sleep now, Matthew. You've done well. Sleep." Gradually, the rhythm of the electronic ping slowed and became steady. "The night has a little more life in it," Sariel said to Jericho once Matthew was fast asleep. "But I can go to the house alone if you need to seek shelter from the sun. Either way, we need to call Sam and let her know what we've found." Jericho consulted his watch. Less than an hour until sunrise -- that would be cutting it close. He had no desire to have to hole up in the Banks brothers' house should he suddenly get caught short. It would be hard to explain, Sam would get into hot water, and it could conceivably hurt Jace's case in the long run. Not worth the risk. Jericho pulled out his cell phone. "You had best go alone," Jericho told Sariel as he dialed Sam's number. "I'm not concerned for my safety, but if I should get stuck there, it might cause--" "How'd it go?" Sam's voice was mingled with the noise of her police radio squawking. "Quite well," Jericho said. "We've got the address of a house here in Salem that John Banks has rented. There is allegedly a map." "A map? Of what?" StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 99

"Past and future victims." "Ah. Give me the address."

Jericho heard wheels squeal in the background. He rattled off the location to Sam.

"I'm heading back to Salem now. There's nothing new to be learned at the Nashua scene anyway.

One dead Christian clergyman, no significant remains, and some big-ass, taloned footprints."

"Jace." Jericho shook his head and swore under his breath.

"More than likely. I'll meet you at the rental house in about thirty-five minutes."

"Sariel will be there," Jericho said. "Too close to sunrise for comfort."

"Right. Okay, then. Tell Sariel I'll meet him outside the place. Tell him not to go inside under

any circumstances. I'll talk to you later."

"Sam, I--" The line clicked dead. Jericho stared at his phone for a second before dumping it back

into his coat pocket. He looked at Sariel and shrugged. "She's on her way."

Sariel settled into the bedside chair as Jericho left the room.

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Chapter Twenty-Three Jace pushed his face into the soft pillow and moaned. His hips shifted and he became aware of an ache that hadn't been there before. He grunted lightly, smiling. Konnor had finally gotten up the balls to take control and fuck the shit out of his older brother. He'd always known that one day... He nuzzled his face into the pillow again, hunting for his brother's familiar scent. It wasn’t there. Eyes opening, Jace lifted his head from his belly-down position and looked around. Reality hit him hard as he cast his eyes on the small hotel room. He rolled over, looking for John. Moonlight streamed in through curtained windows. It wasn't even morning yet, though he felt as if he'd slept through the rest of the night. John was nowhere to be seen. "Hey, Banks?" Jace called out, sitting up. He prepared to swing his legs over the side of the bed, but stopped short at the sight of a fresh, thick line of salt surrounding the perimeter. Growling, he dropped back down to the pillow. John stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel hitched around his waist and another ruffling through his damp blond hair. "Now, that's a fine sight to behold on this glorious mornin'," John said with a leering grin as he blatantly checked out Jace's bare ass. "Pretty as a picture." "There you are." Jace didn’t bother lifting his head, glad to let his hair cover his face from John's gaze. "Almost thought you'd gotten what you needed from me and gone." "I ain't goin' nowhere anytime soon, cowboy. I'm kinda likin' how this is all workin' out." John stepped carefully over the randomly placed salt lines to avoid breaking any of the numerous circles. He sat on the edge of the bed and gave Jace's rump a playful smack. "How you feelin' this morning? Tummy all better?" Jace's expression soured greatly. His belly felt much better, but he wasn’t sure how long he could play off that it didn't. The slight bulge that had been there the night before was gone. "It's manageable." "Good to hear, though I've reconsidered my tactics. A full belly won't be a hindrance." John swatted Jace's ass again. "Get your clothes on. Time to hit the road." Jace didn’t like the sound of that.

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Chapter Twenty-Four The stainless steel shades had just been secured on the mansion's windows when Konnor ventured out of his room. The house was brightly lit, of course. It always was, day or night. Strange for a vampire, but Gennady wasn't terribly fond of the dark. Konnor had held it together pretty well so far. He was rather proud of himself for not having fallen apart from worry or buckling under the pressure. But it was getting harder. The night had been hardest, once he'd shooed everyone out of the club and gone back to Gennady's house. Even as exhausted as he was, sleep had still been elusive. He'd spent most of the night hours wandering the house and pacing the gardens. He wasn't used to sleeping alone. He was worried about his brother, scared enough for them both, and he missed Jace more than anyone could ever imagine. Well, just about anyone. He hated to rouse anyone at this ridiculously early hour after such a rough night, but Konnor really needed his closest friend right now. After throwing on a pair of old, ragged jeans he headed for Gennady and Fallon's bedroom to wake up the werefox. *** Fallon's night had been rough as well, but in a totally different sense. The feeding at the nightclub had been sufficient, but with the situation mostly out of their hands, Gennady had needed distraction. Fallon was perfectly willing to be that distraction. Once home, they'd cuddled and watched almost twenty minutes of the latest Star Trek movie, and then had grappled one another onto the bed. Hours later they'd fallen asleep, Fallon spent and exhausted. But Fallon's fox senses never truly slept, and as Konnor approached the door with hesitation, Fallon's eyes shot open. He bounded from the bed, grabbed his black silk robe, and padded to the door. He'd changed back into his human form again, though the fox tail and ears remained. The latter drooped as he opened the door, the expression on his friend's face making his heart ache. "Are you all right, Konnor?" Konnor shook his head and replied in a quiet voice, "I couldn't sleep." He let out a long, breathy sigh, his gaze dropping to the carpet. "I'm so scared, Fallon." Fallon cast a glance back over his shoulder; Gennady appeared to be sleeping soundly. Joining Konnor in the hallway, Fallon closed the bedroom door behind him. "I know. I would be, too, if I were in your place. Let's go talk downstairs? Maybe something to eat will help. It always helps me, even if only a little."

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"That sounds good." Konnor walked close to Fallon as they headed down the staircase. *** When they arrived in the kitchen, Konnor headed straight toward the refrigerator and tugged the door open. He looked around inside it, pondering the myriad choices. "How come you can eat nonstop and not gain an ounce, and I put on weight just by looking at food? Not fair." Konnor smiled over his shoulder and tossed a large, ripe peach to Fallon. He snagged one for himself as well. "Because I have a fox's belly." Fallon caught the peach and took a bite, sucking at the juices to keep them from rolling down his chin. "Our stomachs can't handle much in one sitting, but it digests quickly so we're always hungry." He moved close to Konnor, brushing body against body. Theirs was a comfortable friendship. "You know, Jace is tough. He'll be all right. You'll see." Konnor leaned back against the center island. "I guess I'm doubly worried because it looked like he went off with John Banks voluntarily. I mean, you know Jace. You and I both know how much he misses hunting. I never really had the stomach for it or found it entertaining, but Jace? That instinct runs deep with him, just like all his instincts do." His shoulders drooped and he looked down at the stone-tiled floor. "I'm a really sorry excuse for a demon, when it all comes down to it. But Jace isn't. He's never said anything to me, but I get the distinct impression that he's not as on-board with this new, civilized society we've become as he lets on. I think that deep down he misses the good old days. With him missing like this, that worries me. A lot." "You think that all he really needed was an excuse? Maybe. Except for one thing: he loves you, Konnor. Do you really think he would give up his life here with you so he could go romping around the world to kill? I don't think so." "No, of course not." Konnor leaned his head on Fallon's shoulder. "But I am worried that if he's gotten a taste of it again, that he'll be tempted more easily to do it. It took a long time for him to successfully fight off those urges. I'm afraid he'll react like an alcoholic or a drug addict. One drink, one shot is all it takes." Konnor sighed and swiped at the corners of his eyes with the back of one hand. "I miss him, Fallon. I'm afraid for him, and I want him back." "We'll help him, Konnor. When he comes home, we won't leave you alone to deal with that." Fallon leaned his head against Konnor's, his fingers moving softly down Konnor's back. "You know, Jace and I have never been as close as you and I are, but I miss him, too. He's loud. He's annoying. But he also makes this house feel alive." Sighing, Fallon patted Konnor's head and pulled away. From the refrigerator, he grabbed a bottle of unfiltered sake. He poured two glasses and passed one to Konnor. "If we had some idea where they were, we could move on it. I hope Sariel and Sam have found something out."

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Chapter Twenty-Five It came as no great surprise to Sariel that John and Matthew Banks had rented a place relatively close to Gennady's home. Sariel tried the front door of the Laurel Street colonial, but found it locked. He knew he should wait for Sam; she would have the authority and warrant to enter the house legally. He went around to the back door, braced his shoulder, and slammed his full weight against it. The place was barely furnished. A Goodwill sofa and a thirteen-inch television rested on a crate in the living room. A cot sat under one window. There were piles of boxes full of newspapers, files, and photos. Sariel knew the police would scour through all that, so he left it alone and went straight for the spot Matthew had broken down about after Jericho had departed from the hospital. Removing the TV from the crate, he flipped the rough pine box over. Duct-taped to the inside was a business-sized envelope. Sariel tore it from its hiding place and slipped a finger under the yellowing transparent tape. Six Polaroid photos fell out into his hands as he upended the envelope. The one on top was a black-and-white, very old, of a caged Jace and Konnor in their full demon forms. They were but children, much smaller even than their human forms now. Sariel moved on to the other five pictures. Those were even more horrible, and Sariel blanched. Each one depicted a murder in progress, and in all but one it was Matthew Banks committing the crime. But it was the last photo where the elder Banks brother had made his mistake. Matthew hadn't been strong enough to lift the obese priest off the ground, and pride had won out. The image of John Banks with his hands covered in blood as he strung the priest up on the church door was as clear as a bright sunny day. Outside, a door slammed. Taking a deep breath, Sariel quickly put the television back in place and went to the front door to let Sam in. *** Sam had her pistol cocked and on the ready, and she was about to put her other hand on the doorknob when the door swung open on its own. Her arms went straight out in front of her, both hands gripping the Walther as instinctive reaction took over. "Police!" "Whoa, don't shoot!" Sariel shouted, hands up in front of him. "Just me, Sam. Sorry. I know I should have waited, but I was anxious to get this moving." Sam's shoulders slumped and she lowered her arms as she exhaled a long, slow breath. "Jesus Christ, Sariel, I could have--" She holstered her weapon. "Never mind." She stepped inside the house, quickly scanning the sparsely furnished room. "Please tell me you haven't touched anything." StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 104

"I don’t have fingerprints, Sam." Sariel handed her the envelope. "Matthew Banks' mouth flowed like the river Euphrates once Jericho left, and I turned up the angelic bling a few notches. I found out the location of several documents that should help us, including a map that pinpoints all of their intended marks. It should be in the kitchen, inside the upper cabinet to the left of the stove. Another file is locked in a post office box at the Margin Street post office." Sam took the envelope from Sariel, shone her flashlight on it and examined the contents, brow furrowing. "These prove Jace's innocence. Unfortunately, they also condemn Matthew." "Only if someone else sees them. We know that Matthew was only acting as his brother's hand. He's an innocent, Sam." "The courts might not see it that way." "They only need to see one of these photos to clear Jace." Sariel leaned close and snatched the one and only photo of John Banks. Sam smiled. "Let's see if we can figure out where this creep is holed up." She dug in her jacket pocket and came up with a set of latex gloves. En route to the kitchen, she snapped on the gloves, flipped on lights, and examined a few items. A stack of magazines. A week's worth of unread newspapers. Nothing of interest until she discovered a pile of unopened mail in the trash can in the corner of the kitchen. She read one of the address labels aloud. "Mr. Patrick Karson, care of Salem, Massachusetts, General Delivery." Sam tapped one edge of the envelope against her other hand. "Hm. Well, I guess we know what alias John Banks is using. That should help." "Did you notice? Salt on all the windowsills." "Yeah," Sam said. "Doorways, too. Awfully paranoid for someone who went out of his way to summon a demon on purpose. I don't get it. Hey, Sariel, grab the map for me, would you?" She flipped through the rest of the discarded mail. Mostly forwarded junk mail, it was all addressed in the same basic manner. Patrick Karson. Mr. Patrick Karson. Pat Karson. P. Karson. Sam held onto the last one, leaned against a counter, and tapped her temple with the corner of the envelope. "Damn, why does that name seem so damn familiar?" The map was pinned up on the inside of the cabinet, just as Matthew had said. Sariel carefully plucked the clear posting pins from it and laid the well-worn paper down on the kitchen table. "It doesn’t mean anything to me, I'm afraid. Something from another case, maybe?" "No, I don't think so." Sam pulled a zip-lock evidence bag from her pocket and slipped the lone picture of John into it. The envelope with the remaining photographs disappeared inside her jacket. "I don't know. It'll come to me if it's important. Let's take a look at that map." She sidled up to Sariel, accidentally bumping against his hip. Sam looked up at him and smiled, her cheeks warming. "I wish I knew why the hell I blush so easily when I'm around you. I don't blush. Ever." Sariel returned her smile, bouncing his hip back against hers. "Because I'm an angel. I have that StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 105

effect on people." His hip remained pressed close to hers. Sam snorted. "Yeah, I'm sure that's it." She leaned over the map, her palms flat to the table on either side of it. "It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you look like you just walked off the cover of Rolling Stone." Sam slid Sariel a purposeful, flirty little glance then quickly got back down to business. "Sam, these events worry me. We've come so far with the humans, but one slip..." Sam sighed heavily. "I know. I'm worried, too. Everyone's worked so hard and for such a long time, and still our hold on what little progress we have made is tenuous at best." Sam chuckled, the sound a light scoff. "We." Sam sighed harshly. "You know, there are people -- humans -- in the community at large, even in the goddamn department, who won't speak to me because of the work I do for our supernatural citizens. They call me horrid names. They spray-paint obscene graffiti on the side of my house. This is the third paint job my car's had this year." "There will always be those people, Sam. One more type of discrimination in a long history of it. We probably will not be the last." Sam pushed away from the table, one hand going to her hip and the other brushing wayward wisps of hair away from her eyes. "Sometimes I really regret not taking Jericho up on his offer. I've become more one of you than I ever was one of them." Sariel grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to face him. "Jericho? He offered you his immortality?" The anger in his eyes was obvious, the tone of his voice probably sharper than he'd intended. Sam knew it was difficult for Sariel to hide that angel-fire when it burned that brightly in him. She nodded. "We talked about it, yes. I had a problem with him wanting to screw around with everything that does or does not have a pulse. He had a problem with my -- as he referred to it -blink-of-an-eye life span. His argument was that we'd have plenty of quality time together over the millennia if only I were immortal. My argument was why should I want to spend millennia being pissed off over a two-timing cheat of a man?" Sam sighed hard and shrugged. "Needless to say, we didn't work out. It wasn't a good enough reason for me to give up my humanity. This might be. I don't know." "I had no idea, which I suppose shouldn't upset me. You don’t have to answer to me." Sariel still held Sam's wrist, though not with the same bone-crunching grip. "I... I don’t think becoming a vampire is the answer for you, Sam. Immortality is not all that it seems. There can be a great deal of sadness involved." Sam tilted her head. "Under ordinary circumstances, I would agree with you completely, Sariel. I would imagine it's a horribly sad experience for an immortal to live on and on and watch people they care about die. But what about people like me? I have to go through the next, oh, maybe sixty years if I'm really lucky -- and my chosen profession has a significantly lower life expectancy than that -- knowing that almost everyone I give a damn about is going to go on forever without me?" StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 106

She lifted one shoulder, then the other, to wipe at her wet, stinging eyes. Sariel's hand still grasped her wrist; Sam didn't try to remove it. "How long, Sariel? How long does it take for you people, for the mortals in your life to become nothing but distant, faded memories? Or forgotten entirely?" Sariel gently pulled her against his chest, his cheek pressed into her hair. "I never forget any of you, and especially not those who are so special to me. I have eight hundred years of memories." *** He felt his throat tighten. As part of his responsibility of guarding over Samantha, Sariel knew exactly how long her life would be barring any tragic mishap. It wasn’t something he ever allowed himself to think about, but that knowledge now rushed to him hard, stealing his breath. No matter how long she had, it was never going to be long enough. He brushed along the nape of her neck with his fingers, feeling her strong, vibrant pulse. "We need to get back to finding Jace," Sariel said. "Every second could count. But I promise we'll talk about this again. Soon. All right?" Sam nodded, laughing a little through her tears as she pulled away from his embrace. "I think I snotted on your shirt." She chuckled and dragged a forearm under her nose and turned back to the map. "The cities are clearly marked, but I'm not seeing anything to indicate a specific order. Am I missing something?" Sariel watched Sam as the strength she'd always displayed resumed. It was magnificent to see, but Sariel wished she never had to show it. He stayed close to her, inside of what was considered personal space by most, and peered over her shoulder. "We know he hit Nashua yesterday," Sariel said. "That leaves Danbury, Connecticut, then Scranton, Pennsylvania, and Fall River, Massachusetts. He isn't going to want to backtrack. Didn’t you say he was from the Dakotas? I'd be willing to bet he's heading back there. Logically, Fall River would be my guess for the next hit. It's the closest to Salem of the three." "Yeah," Sam said. "I think you're right. I'll get on the horn and see if there's a credit card trail under the alias I found on the mail." Sam's nose scrunched up. "Karson. Patrick Karson..." Sam shook her head, but then she spun around so fast she toppled into Sariel. "Patrick Karson," she said, her voice betraying panic, "was a serial killer in the 1970s. Southern California. He would pick up men in gay bars, then pull over once he had them on a remote stretch of highway. He was a necrophiliac. He'd kill and dismember them, and then fuck the corpse before he dumped it roadside. A real sicko." Sam dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, rubbing. She gasped when the pertinent info apparently hit her. "Oh, shit, Sariel. No one has ever figured out why, but Patrick Karson had a very specific type. Almost all of his twenty-one vics fit the same general profile. Mid-thirties, tall, dark hair, handsome men of Mediterranean extraction, Greek or Italian. Athletic build. Fuck. I've got to tell Gennady." Sam fished her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed it. "This is not good, this is not good." StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 107

Sariel listened with horror, but when she finally paused, he shook his head. "I don’t understand. John Banks would have been an infant in the seventies. And even though Jace fits that description, John's pattern doesn’t. What are you seeing that I'm not?" Sam shifted from one foot to the other while she waited for Gennady to pick up. "I don't mean that John Banks is Patrick Karson. Karson is in prison, on death row at San Quentin. Banks is just sending us a message by his choice of alias name. The message being that Jace fits Karson's victim profile, which implies that John really is planning to kill Jace. We've got to find them, Sariel. We've got to find them now! No answer. Damn it." Sam, stuffed her phone back into her pocket. "I hope Fallon didn't bury Gennady's phone in the yard again." "Sam," Sariel said softly, "we'll never find Jace in time. The city of Fall River is more than twice the size of Salem, and it must have at least forty churches. However... there might be a way. We need to get to Gennady's place, now."

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Chapter Twenty-Six Jace stood on the crest of the hill overlooking the park that stretched through the city of Fall River. He could see the ocean from there, the steep incline of the city allowing quite a view. The sun was just coming over the horizon, rising over the bay with a gaudy explosion of orange and purple. It would have been beautiful, peaceful, if not for the ominous purpose of his presence. He glanced over his shoulder at John, who was rocking back and forth on a child's swing, smiling. Behind him loomed the church of St. Veronica, her magnificent twin towers seemingly reaching toward the heavens. Inside her sanctified walls, their intended victim. He had his orders. As the last of the nightshift custodial workers left the Catholic church, Jace made his way casually toward the great stone building and slipped inside. Most of the lights had been turned off, but the main sanctuary was still lit. He could see young Father Fernandez inside, placing the new day's church bulletins in the holders on the back of each pew. Jace found a dark corner under the stairs, stripped his clothing, and began his transformation. *** Father Fernandez looked up at the sound of a floorboard creaking near the rear of the long Gothic church. He cocked his head and listened carefully. His heart was pounding already. The police had alerted clergymen all over the state to be on their guard. He quickly stuffed the last bulletin into its place on the end of the last pew and straightened a hymnal that sat cockeyed. He rushed down the main aisle to the back of the church, the swish of his heavy cassock echoing from the vaulted ceiling. He scowled as he locked the main doors. Churches were meant to be open for all, and open all the time. *** His change complete, Jace swished his tail impatiently through the pool of his own blood under the stairs. He watched the priest rush by. The sound of the doors locking surprised him, but he remained hidden, waiting to see where the human would go. *** Father Fernandez looked about warily, listening for unfamiliar noises over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He shoved his hands into the roomy pockets of his cassock, drew some comfort from fingering the flask of holy water and the large vial of salt. From what he'd gathered from hearsay, it was a demon terrorizing New England clergy. The items he carried wouldn't kill the beast, but they should certainly slow it down. He took a deep, steadying breath and headed down the center aisle on his way to the sacristy. When he reached the crossing, he genuflected before the altar and made the sign of the cross on his chest. He stared up at the large, wooden crucifix suspended from the ceiling, praying silently StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 109

to the Lord. He again made the sign of the cross, bowed his head reverently, and then rose to his feet. A shadow played across the wall in front of him, large and ominous before disappearing. A moment later, all the candles down the right-hand side of the church flickered and died. Within a heartbeat, the left side did the same. Father Fernandez spun on his heels. The doors were closed and so were all the windows. There was no place for a draft to come in. He swallowed hard, clutching the holy water flask tightly in one hand and the container of sea salt in the other. *** Agile as a cat, Jace followed Father Fernandez, crawling along the choir loft railing high above the pews. Long talons curled around the polished wood, leaving gouges in their wake. *** Father Fernandez squinted his eyes to adjust them to the sudden dimness. "Hello?" His soft voice echoed through the cavernous sanctuary. "Is someone there?" Nothing. No sound at all, not until the massive, suspended cross began to rock. The chain supporting it creaked with the weight of the hideous gray demon that had leaped onto it. The demon hung upside down, clawed toes locked into the chain links, one large wing extended outward. Its horns shone like polished ebony. "Father Fernandez." The demon chuckled. "For a man so devout and trusting in your God, you seem quite worried that he won't be able to help you." Father Fernandez was Catholic and indeed devout, but he was a Jesuit. Logical. Practical. Highly educated. A man of science every bit as much as he was a man of the cloth. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and goose bumps rose up all over him. He was petrified, but he knew that running was futile. The thing would just follow him. At least this way he knew where it was, and he could perhaps keep it from harming anyone else. It might even be worth something at St. Peter's pearly gates to make up for all his worldly vices. Good Samaritans and those who sacrificed themselves for their brothers always got a free pass, or so Father Fernandez hoped. With as much courage as he could muster, Father Fernandez stood his ground even as he shook inside his black lace-up oxfords. "Do you have a name?" Father Fernandez toyed with the flask in his left pocket, loosening the cap with his thumb and forefinger. *** Harassing the clergy was new to him, and Jace had to watch his step. The priest was most likely referring to his true demon name, which was unknown to Jace himself. The occasional use of it had occurred long before he had mastered speech. His name, if it had ever been used, on John and Matthew Banks' lips would have been just one more useless sound among many. Not StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 110

knowing made Jace feel cheated and inadequate, so he lied to Father Fernandez as he slithered down the length of the cross. "Of course I do, but I don’t think I want to tell you." *** Father Fernandez loosened the cap on the vial of salt inside his right-hand pocket. Sweat rolled off his brow and into his eyes, making them sting and blurring his vision. "What do you want, demon?" "I have a message for you from John Banks," the demon growled, dropping down to the altar with remarkable grace for a creature so bulky. "You do remember him and his papa, don't you? The Black Hills Congregation, who took you in and raised you as a little boy?" Father Fernandez felt sick to his stomach. "Of course I remember. Kind of hard to forget." He screwed the caps back onto the vial and flask, and he removed the containers gingerly from his pockets. "I'm just going to put these down, if that's all right. I don't want to hurt you." *** Jace swung his tail back and forth. He didn’t want to let his guard down, mostly because he knew that the outcome of this required that the priest end up dead. Unlike the demons and devils described by scripture, Jace -- and most demons that he knew -- were not uncompromisingly evil. The kind gesture and mention of their shared, terrible past threw Jace off-course from his task. "You're very trusting." "No. I'm a realist." Father Fernandez set the holy water and salt on the closest corner of the white marble altar and then took a few slow steps back. "I see no sense in making this any more difficult than it has to be, for either one of us." His eyes met Jace's. "You're Jace Barton, aren't you?" Jace bared his teeth, flinching back as if he'd been hit. Given to him by Gennady, the name held no power over him, but it stunned Jace just the same. Sides heaving, he jumped down from the altar and stalked slowly on all fours toward the priest. "Realist," Jace said with a sneer. "You know I'm here to kill you, then?" "Yes," Father Fernandez said, mopping his brow with the sleeve of his cassock. "I'm Father Elian Fernandez. My parents died in a car crash when I was two years old. I don't remember them." He spoke rapidly, emotionless, like he was trying to get the facts out before Jace struck. "I was sent to live in that religious commune with my mother's cousins. I hated it and them, and I ran away as soon as I could. I was fifteen years old, same as you, when I took off. I left the night they discovered you and your twin were missing. They lost track of me and several other young people during the confusion."

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Father Fernandez mopped his forehead again. "Banks is outside, right? He's got you bound, and I'll bet my last breath he's threatened you with harm to your brother if you don't do what he commands." He blinked hard and a single tear crept down his face. "I've made peace with my Maker. Go ahead; do what you have to do. I understand." The click-click of claws on marble ceased as Jace came to a halt. Everything John Banks had been doing suddenly made sense. "He's tracking each of you down, the ones who escaped that night. He's tracking you down, and he's using me to kill you all because I was your means of escape." Jace cut loose with a loud, unearthly whine, and he sat back on his haunches. "I promise I'll do it quickly for you," Jace said more softly. "Perhaps death might even be a relief." Jace lunged without warning, hoping to catch Fernandez off his guard, but the priest was quicker than he'd anticipated. Father Fernandez turned just enough that, although Jace sank his teeth deep into the flesh of his throat, it was not a killing strike. As Father Fernandez cried out in surprise and pain, a deep, booming voice came from the other end of the church. "Adjuro te, serpens antique, per judicem vivorum et mortuorum, per factorem, per factorum mundi, per eum, qui habet potestantem mittende te in gehennam, ut ab hoc famulo Dei, Veli, qu ad Ecclesiae sinum reccurit, cum metu, et excercitu furoris tue festinus descedas!" St. Veronica's rector, the aging Father Gerald Hanson, came ambling out through a confessional curtain. He read from a worn, abbreviated copy of the Rituale Romanum that most priests had been carrying around lately. Pain, searing hot, flooded Jace's chest. He howled, enormous jaws parting, dropping Father Fernandez to the blood-spattered marble tiles. He fell back, swinging his head around to face Father Hanson, eyes narrowed. "He's made his peace, old man! Stay out of this, or I'll take you down as well!" Father Fernandez scrambled backward, putting a hand to one of the many puncture wounds in his neck. The blood poured profusely, and he could only apply pressure to one hole at a time. Jace's bite had been massive. Father Fernandez looked as if he were trying to call out to Father Hanson, but it was obvious too much damage had been done to his neck. Jace's long sharp teeth had sliced clean through his vocal cords. All that spilled from his mouth were muffled, gurgling sounds and a frightening flow of blood.

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Chapter Twenty-Seven By nine in the morning the entire household was awake and out of bed, though none had gotten much sleep. It was quieter than normal -- Gennady had not yet recalled the staff back to work -but the house still buzzed with activity. Gennady had joined Fallon and Konnor in the kitchen, Gennady watching with some amusement as they tried their hardest to empty the fridge. Jericho had trundled in sleepily a few minutes later, yawning and rubbing his eyes. There was nothing else to be done by anyone at this point, nothing except wait for word from Sam and Sariel regarding the alleged map. So they waited. Fallon and Konnor grazed. Gennady drummed his fingernails on the heavy butcher-block table. Jericho stared longingly at the coffeemaker. When Sariel and Sam arrived, Sariel was like a whirlwind. He led the way, out of breath as he burst into the kitchen. His face lit up when he found all of Jace's family in one place. "I figured out a way to save Jace, but it will require you all to help!" Sam started to explain, Konnor and Fallon began spouting questions, and Gennady looked irritated. "Please, everyone!" Gennady shouted, an unaccustomed sound to those who knew him. It had the effect of silencing the room. "Now, tell me what you found at that house." Sariel looked to Sam to find that she was looking back at him expectantly. "We found the map," Sariel said, "and it did have John's intended hits on it. Unfortunately, there was nothing to indicate his next target, and there are too many possibilities to take a wild stab at it. If we're wrong, we might never catch up to them in time." Jericho poured Sam a coffee and took a sniff of it before handing her the mug. Sam took it, evading his eyes even as hers skimmed over him. Sariel felt himself tense. "To make a long story short," Sam said, "John Banks' choice of alias -- we found unopened mail at the house -- has led me to believe that Jace is in a lot more danger than we had assumed. We need to get him away from Banks, now. Sariel's got an idea. A good one." Konnor grabbed Fallon's hand and they looked at each other. "What's your plan?" Gennady asked. "Sam tried to call here with that information, but she couldn’t get through," Sariel said. Fallon's eyes went wide and his cheeks reddened. Sariel smiled at Fallon and winked. "The failed call gave me an idea. If we can't risk getting to Jace in time, we have to bring Jace to us." Sariel paused to let it sink in, and he watched as StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 113

expressions transformed from despair to hope. "We'll use a summoning spell to instantaneously pull Jace to us from wherever he happens to be." He was met with dead silence, and then Gennady finally spoke. "Ordinarily," Gennady said, raking his hair back, "I would say we need a Council vote for such an excessive use of magic, but under the circumstances there's no time. I'll take full responsibility for the decision should there be any backlash. Tell us what we need to do, Sariel." Sariel smiled. "I won't let you take that fall alone, Gennady. We have three Council members present. I know that I'll stand beside you unconditionally in this, and I'm sure Sam will as well." Sam nodded. Sariel continued. "I've seen what this John Banks can do. We need him off our streets." Taking a deep breath, Sariel peered around the room. "Three things are needed to summon a demon. A visual representation of him, an item that the demon might covet, and an item representing your personal reason for summoning him. It's the last two where the rest of you come in. I need each of you to offer an item that represents some common thread between you and Jace, and something he covets. While any one individual has the capacity to summon a demon, I think our chances of success will increase if we all participate." Gennady tilted his head and looked toward the ceiling, toying with a fang with the pad of his thumb. "I'll be back in a moment," he said, and he quickly left the room. Sariel watched him leave then returned his focus to the group. "A common thread." Sam chuckled. "That's easy." She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a rumpled pack of Marlboros, along with a disposable lighter emblazoned with the Boston Red Sox logo. She tossed both onto the table. "If Banks isn't letting him smoke, Jace is probably one cranky son of a bitch by now. I can relate to that." "A common thread and something coveted then." Sariel laughed as he extended one wing, preened it quickly, and plucked a feather from it. He shrugged, setting the feather alongside the lighter and smokes. "He's obsessed with feathers. So am I. Another two-for-one." Fallon dashed off, and when he came back moments later a homemade doll was clutched in his arms. It resembled Gennady with its long black hair, little white fangs, and the trendy little Tshirt that read I BITE BACK! printed on the front. Fallon added it to the growing pile. Odd looks greeted Fallon's contribution. "It's a worry doll," Fallon said, an awkward sort of smile on his face. "Jace made it for me to keep nightmares away when Gennady isn't home. I wasn’t supposed to ever show anybody, but I think he won't be too mad about it now." Jericho slipped the gold watch he wore off of his left wrist. "He's been ogling this for years." He set the vintage Rolex carefully on the table, and then took his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He slipped a small picture from a plastic sleeve and smiled at it with a fond expression. "Jace and Konnor's twenty-first birthday party. Two shit-faced demons and a whole houseful of vampires who suffered greatly that night because a certain seven-year-old werefox spiked the StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 114

blood punch." Jericho chuckled and tossed the photograph onto the table. "A common thread. Family." With the most sizable offering so far, Gennady re-entered the kitchen lugging the huge, baroqueframed magical portrait that Jace had painted of Fallon. He set it on the floor and leaned it with care against the edge of the table. "One of the many great gifts that I've been privileged to receive." Gennady chuckled as he pulled out his wallet. He tossed a plastic, silver-colored card onto the table. "American Express, platinum. I think that should take care of covet." Sariel heard Sam sigh and sniffle, and saw tears brimming in her eyes when he looked at her. Her eyes met his and she blinked. "I hope to hell this works," Sam said. "Have faith, Sam," Sariel whispered, kissing her forehead. He turned to Gennady. "I'll need salt." Gennady opened a tall cupboard over the sink and gestured inside. There were several large glass canisters filled with salt from the Dead Sea, which Sariel knew were arguably the most powerful of all purifying salts. He knew it was also an important ingredient for gourmet cooking, the usual purpose it served in this household. "Take whatever you need," Gennady said. Sariel began the detailed task of drawing the summoning circle. As an angel, he was unable to perform the actual ritual to call forth a demon, but he had gone over the procedure with Sam on the way. "It's ready. We should start now." He watched as Fallon slipped one hand into Gennady's, the other into Konnor's. "Wait," Konnor said. "I didn't contribute anything yet." He slipped his hands from Fallon and Gennady's grips, and snatched a carving knife from a wooden holder on the counter. Konnor pushed up his left sleeve as he approached the table and ripped the blade quickly across the palm of one hand. Blood dripped onto the table, and he smeared more onto the wood with his bleeding hand. Konnor took a deep breath and went to Sam. He wiped the knife on his shirt and offered it to her. "You've got to mark the signpost of --" "Yes," Sam said. "I know." She took the carving knife from him with one hand and gripped the front of his shirt with the other, twisting her fingers in the fabric to pull his face down to her level. She kissed Konnor hard on the cheek. Konnor gave her a hopeful smile and stepped back out of her way. Sam walked to the circle of salt and, with no further ado, drew the knife sharply across her own palm. She hastily marked five points on the surrounding floor to form the invisible pentagram. "The blood of Samantha Wright to mark the demon's signpost," she said in a clear, strong voice. She returned to the group and took a deep, shaky breath. She set the knife down on the table and snatched up the photograph Jericho had contributed to the pile. Locating Jace on the picture, she StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 115

touched her finger to his image and dabbed it with her blood.

Sam held the picture high above her head and shouted, "Demon, come to me!"

Sariel held his breath.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight The air around them crackled with energy, building with intensity until in the center of the room there appeared a long, jagged line of light. The light grew bigger, brighter, until finally it filled the entire volume of the salt circle. The air roared as it got sucked into the circle, nearly dragging lightweight Fallon into the line of salt. Gennady grabbed him and hauled him back. The light died down, gradually taking form. The light became Jace Barton. Engulfed in flames, Jace dropped to the floor, writhing in agony. Konnor rushed forward, ending up flat on his ass on the hard stone floor when he ran into the invisible wall created by the salt. It was as if Jace were confined in a Plexiglas tube. Jace couldn't get out; Konnor couldn't get in. Konnor climbed to his knees, banged on the magical wall with both fists, screaming back over his shoulder. "Somebody help him, I can't get through!" His eyes were on Sam and Sariel, beseeching the only ones present whom he knew could help. No one else could cross the salt. He saw Gennady draw his arms around Fallon and Jericho's shoulders, steering them to look away. Sariel threw his arm out in front of Sam as she stepped forward, and with Jace still flailing about with flames licking over his flesh, Sariel crossed the white line. Eyes rolled back white and mouth foaming, Jace thrashed about wildly. "Jace!" Sariel called, leaping back as the whip of the demon's tail lashed him across the face. He straightened up, his wings unfurling full behind him as he recited what Konnor recognized as Psalm 104:4. "Deus planto ventus suus angelus, quod flamma incendia suus vernula!" God makes winds his angels, flames of fire his servants. Konnor had heard that one often at the Black Hills compound as a youth, though he hadn't discovered its origin until years later. Silence filled the room, and Konnor watched with awe as Sariel brought his massive wingspan down upon Jace, smiting out the fire. The flames flickered between Sariel's feathers, singeing the tips. Jace snarled and struggled, and Sariel covered him with his body. "The love and affection of the angels forgives you, the love and affection of your family comforts you. Though you have stumbled, you shall not fall. Easy, my friend, you are safe now." Sariel looked over his shoulder, worry on his beautiful face. "Sam, break the salt away. Let Konnor in." Sam rushed forward, skidding one foot through the line to break the binding circle. Konnor scrambled on all fours, pushing Sariel roughly away, mindful of nothing but getting his brother into his arms. With difficulty, he pulled Jace onto his lap as well as he could, the demon StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 117

form they shared and that Jace now inhabited so much larger, so much taller and heavier than Konnor was at the moment. Konnor cradled his brother's head with both arms, petting Jace's horse-like ears and his long, spiraled horns. He felt tears streak down his face, sizzling and evaporating as they trickled onto Jace's hot skin. Konnor rocked back and forth with Jace in his arms, hardly able to speak past the lump in his throat. "It's okay, Jace. I've got you. I've got you." The flames extinguished and Jace's violent movements ceased. Jace collapsed limply against Konnor. Unable to speak, barely able to move, Jace's eyes settled unwaveringly on Konnor's face. Konnor watched dumbly as Sariel cleared away the rest of the salt with Sam's help. "Someone should call Henry," Sariel said, coming to stand by Sam, his arms wrapping around her. "Jace will need a doctor to tend to his wounds." "You should see the doctor, too," Sam said. She reached out to touch Sariel's face with her fingertips, but she drew her hand quickly back. "That looks pretty bad." Sam dug her phone out of her jacket, presumably dialing as she bolted for the door. "I'm going after this son of a bitch. Don't anyone leave this house until you hear from me!" Fallon went to the kitchen sink and filled a glass with water. He trotted close to Konnor, gently setting the tall glass on the tile. "You should give it to him, Konnor," Fallon whispered. Konnor kept stroking Jace's head with one hand and took the water glass with the other. He put it up to the end of Jace's muzzle, careful not to spill. "Come on, big brother, take a sip." Jace whistled softly through his nose, his long pink tongue slithering out, curling around the glass to lap at the water. He managed a few small swallows before drawing back and pushing his face into Konnor's lap. A huge hand covered Konnor's comparatively small one and closed around it tenderly. Jace's eyes were locked on Konnor as he closed them, silver slivers disappearing into the darkness of pure exhaustion.

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Chapter Twenty-Nine Sam flicked on the police lights in the front and back windows of her unmarked car and turned on the sirens. Once Jace had been summoned home safely, she'd left melted rubber on Gennady's driveway as she'd peeled away from the house. Before she'd gotten to the first intersection on Lafayette, she'd already radioed the Fall River PD for backup at the little fleabag motel room rented by one Mr. Patrick Karson. Her heart pounded furiously. Sam wanted more than anything to light up a smoke, and she smiled ruefully when recalling that they'd been her charm contribution to the summoning pile. She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white for lack of something else to do with her hands. By the time she reached the motel, it was already surrounded by black-and-whites. A SWAT team -- imported from nearby Providence, Rhode Island -- stood on the ready, donned in full riot gear. Snipers were in position behind the squad cars and on the rooftops of three neighboring buildings. If John Banks was inside, he wasn't going anywhere unless it was in shackles or a body bag. Sam pulled in behind the bank of squad vehicles, hopped out of her car, and popped open the trunk. She shucked off her jacket and holster, replaced them with body armor, and covered the vest with a T-shirt emblazoned with SALEM POLICE. She easily picked out the officer in charge from the group and nodded in his direction. No spoken words were necessary. Everyone knew his or her part. Sam took up her pistol and flicked off the safety. The captain in charge waved two fingers toward the motel door. In pairs, the riot-geared officers took their positions. Alpha Team at the front, Bravo to the left side of the building, Charlie in the rear, and Delta on the right. The actual entry team of four officers, with two in charge of the battering ram, lined up silently at the front door. The captain pointed to Sam. Sam nodded. The captain clicked a button on his shoulder radio. The SWAT team moved in sync the instant the word was given.

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***

Three hours later, Sam stood with her good shoulder braced against the precinct lobby wall, a lit cigarette between two fingers and a curl of smoke wafting up from her lips. Her left biceps muscle was wrapped in gauze, dried blood staining the white cotton fibers where a stray bullet had grazed her. Luckily for her, John Banks was a lousy shot. She blinked when a flash bulb snapped and flashed brightly. "Turn to the right, Banks," said a male voice belonging to the booking officer. Sam blinked again. "And to the left," the booking officer said. Sam blinked a third time and kept her eyes closed. The Rhode Island SWAT captain had graciously provided transport back to Salem for the prisoner. He sidled up to Sam, his bullet-resistant vest clanking noisily against the plaster when he leaned back against the wall next to her. "You okay, Detective?" Sam sighed, opening her eyes. She smiled tiredly at her fellow officer. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just glad it's over with. You and your boys did a good job, Captain. Thanks." The captain smiled and tipped the bill of his Providence PD baseball cap. "My pleasure, ma'am." He took his leave quickly. John Banks was noisily escorted from the room in a clattering rattle of manacles. Sam slipped a hand inside her blazer, fingers rubbing against the envelope Sariel had found. She headed straight for her office to make use of the shredder. *** With the photographic evidence against Matthew destroyed, Sam made her way out of the station. All she wanted to do was go home and wash a few Percocets down with a couple shots of whiskey to dull the pain in her arm and quiet her mind. She had one stop to make, though, before she could relax and head home. With a signed warrant in hand, she walked the few blocks to the post office. Within minutes, she had latex gloves on and the P.O. box registered to John Banks' alias opened and emptied. She smirked at the compartment's number plate -- 666. A smile spread across her face when the box's contents greeted her. There was nothing incriminating about Konnor Barton inside. In fact, there was nothing related to Konnor at all. The small metal box's only contents were a silver cross with the inscription To Momma, With Love from John and Matthew engraved on the back, and a sealed manila envelope. She pocketed the cross. She tore open the envelope and skimmed over the documents it StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 120

contained. Stock certificates. Bearer bonds. Swiss bank account numbers. Sam grinned. Matthew Banks was now an extremely wealthy man.

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Chapter Thirty Dr. Henry Sherman gathered up his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff and packed them carefully in his valise. The physician smiled at the Barton twins and gave Jace's foot a gentle pat through the thick quilt. "Take it easy for a few days, Jace. You have no broken bones, and I don't think you'll have any permanent scarring from the fire." Dr. Sherman zipped up his bag and lifted it from the bed. "You boys have pretty thick skin when you're in your natural form. The cuts and scrapes should be gone in a few hours. But that kind of ordeal can take a lot out of a body, even a demon. That was a mighty close call y'all had. So, no workin' crazy hours at the club, and no bungee jumping or anything too wild for at least a week. Sleep. Eat. Drink plenty of fluids." Dr. Sherman smiled kindly at Konnor. "Snuggle." Dr. Sherman's gaze went back to his patient along with his gentle smile. "Doctor's orders. Call me if you need anything, otherwise I'll stop by in a few days to check up on you." "Thanks, Doc. I'm sure Konnor will look after me well," Jace said, his voice still a bit scratchy. He pressed his nose under Konnor's chin. "A few days in bed sounds like a good deal to me." The doctor collected his overcoat and hat, offered one more pleasant smile before taking his leave, then closed the door behind him. Konnor kicked off his shoes, climbed onto the bed belly down, and propped up on his elbows. His fingers toyed with the sheet bunched up at Jace's side. "You want to talk about it?" "He was just a human, Konnor. A fucking human, but he got the best of me. He's hated us all these years." Konnor winced. "I know that much." Konnor dug his fingers slowly through the bedclothes. The motion didn't stop until his hands were resting lightly on the crisp cotton sheet that covered Jace's belly. "What happened to you? Where have you been for the past two days? And as bizarre as this is to say out loud, why the hell were you on fire?" Although it hurt to move, Jace rolled onto his side and tried to crawl under Konnor. He felt vulnerable and needful, and even the scant few inches that separated them seemed far too great. It was awkward; he was sore and stiff. "He wanted me to do his dirty work," Jace said. "John hated more than just us. He has a list of kids from Black Hills who escaped the same night we did. Kids who probably got John and Matthew into even more trouble because their parents blamed them for allowing us to get away." Jace sighed. "John wanted them all dead. Most of them sought refuge in the church in one form or another. It was all they knew. One by one, he's been knocking them off. He wanted to ramp it StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 122

up, so he figured out how to con me into doing it for him. This last one had a friend who tried to exorcise me. A few minutes more and I would have been in--" A comforting nuzzle from Konnor went a long way to soothe Jace's wildly flitting emotions. "I've been so worried about you," Konnor said. "I can't even remember half of what I've done the past two days. I was afraid I was never going to see you again." Konnor's embrace tightened. "I think we should talk to the Council once you're feeling better. It never occurred to me that either one of us could be snatched up like that against our will. There's got to be something we can do to prevent it from happening again in the future. Some sort of spell, or a talisman, or... something. I'll be a nervous wreck from now on, always wondering if somebody's going to snag one of us out of thin air. We've both done some... well, by human standards, unspeakable things." Konnor's voice lowered to barely a whisper. "What if relatives of some of those people get the idea to do that? Summoning, I mean. I'm scared, Jace." "The Council." Jace shook his head. "Konnor, the Council might not be on my side once they find out I killed and ate a man. They aren't going to care that John held you in front of me like a carrot on a stick to drive me to do it." Jace brushed the pads of his fingers along Konnor's collarbones. "I found out just how vulnerable we are, and it's more than just the summoning spell. Salt lines. Words. Konnor, the exorcism burned me from the inside out. It was horrible." Jace sighed hard and shrugged. "Maybe the Council can help. I suppose it can't hurt to ask. Maybe Sariel or one of the older demons will know a way to prevent this from happening again." "The preacher in Nashua." Konnor let out a sigh. "Yes, it was me," said Jace. "I won't lie to you, little brother. Though I never would have broken the rules by choice, it felt good to hunt again. I can deny it all I want, but I like the way it feels when I sink my teeth in and their bodies are still jerking, their blood running hot down my throat." Konnor nodded, but he didn't press the issue. "What do you mean, John held my safety in front of you?" One of Konnor's legs slid between Jace's. "John threatened to hand over a file of photos -- photos of you -- to the FBI if I didn’t do exactly as he asked. He may have been blowing smoke up my ass, but I couldn’t take that risk." Jace arched his back, pressing himself against Konnor's thigh as it parted his legs. Visions of John blindsided him, and he tensed. With a gentle hand on Konnor's knee, he said, "Konnor. While I was with John, we--" Jace paused, his stomach twisting in knots, his voice thick with emotion. "It started out as a possible way for me to overpower him and escape, but it didn’t end up the way I planned." Not even he could fully comprehend why he'd done what he had. "I didn't want you to find out some other way." Konnor's tail threaded between Jace's legs and curled snugly around one of Jace's thighs. "I don't care about any of that," Konnor said against Jace's neck. "I'm just glad to have you back where you belong." That was good enough for Jace. He mirrored his brother with his legs and tail, finding simple joy in being reunited. "I'm never leaving your side again, Konnor." StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 123

Konnor chuckled, and then licked Jace's throat. "I'm going to make you an appointment for later this week with Dr. Devonte." "With Hallie? The vet?" Jace asked, lifting his head enough to see Konnor smiling. He snorted. "What for?" "To get you micro-chipped and registered with Find-A-Pet. In case you get lost again." Jace let out a sigh of relief. "For a moment, I thought you wanted to get me neutered." Laughing for the first time since they had been parted, Jace rested his head against Konnor's chest. He listened to Konnor's steady heartbeat as his own matched it, gradually slowing as the tranquility of a healing sleep settled blissfully over them both.

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Chapter Thirty-One The exclusive basement level of Tailz had been bustling from the time the doors had opened until the last of the friendly faces had stumbled to the cabs waiting outside. News of what had happened traveled fast among the supernaturals, and those who knew Jace and Konnor had come out to offer comfort and good cheer. It had been nice for the brothers, stealing them away from their brooding thoughts, giving them an excuse to laugh and remember that they had friends here no matter what might happen. The last patron gone, Jace locked the doors and joined Konnor by the bar. "Felt good to get back to something normal tonight, didn't it?" Jace bumped hips lightly with Konnor. Konnor popped the caps on two imported beers, a closing custom they'd developed soon after they'd taken ownership of the business. A little sit-down-and-take-a-breather time for the two of them to discuss the day's events and plan ahead for the next. It had become a very special time for Konnor, just him and Jace alone in this place that belonged to them together. They'd come so far from where they'd started out in life. This time always reminded Konnor of how lucky they were, how amazing it was that they'd stuck together through such unimaginably difficult times. Not everyone was so fortunate. He handed Jace one of the bottles and clinked the neck of his against it. "It felt good. Almost surreal, like the past couple of weeks were some sort of bad dream. I'm glad it's over and that we're back into a routine. There's something to be said for monotony." Konnor smiled and took a long guzzle of his beer. "Almost the same way it felt after we escaped John and the rest of them the first time. I think the mind does that so we don't go completely insane from the bad things that happen to us." Jace dropped down into one of the bar's many couches. Settling back, he took a long drink and patted the empty place beside him. Konnor reflected on the past few days. Three days prior, Jace had been healed enough to leave the house. He'd been called before the Council. Konnor almost felt like Jace had been trapped in a salt circle again as Jace was pinned by the stares of his peers, questioned for hours about the happenings and what part he'd played in them. In the end, the Council decreed that Jace had indeed been forced into his crime and he was cleared of all charges. The Council, however, recognized that Jace was capable of murder -- some even accusing Jace of taking pleasure in it -and sentenced him to six weeks of community service under the care of the local churches. He was to be chaperoned by one of the Council members to work side-by-side with those he was most likely to harm. Konnor had watched Jace chew on his bottom lip in order to refrain from some snarky remark, but ultimately Jace had accepted the terms. Konnor sank into the soft cushion beside Jace. "Any word on that priest? The one from St. Veronica's? I saw that Sam stopped by late last night, but I didn't get a chance to talk to her StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 125

myself." Konnor grinned. "It got kind of crazy-busy in the back last night. I think a lot of people needed to work off some tension." "Father Fernandez." Jace flicked a fingernail against the neck of the bottle. "Sam said they expect him to make a full recovery, and that he'll be sent home from the hospital in a week or so. I tore some ligaments in his neck and shoulder and crushed his windpipe, but I missed the main artery." Grimacing, he drank the rest of his beer. "Council wants me to go see him before he gets out. Apologize to him and then work with him when he's well enough." "Beats going back to a cage." Konnor finished his beer and set the empty bottle down on a side table. He snuggled closer to Jace, leaning his head on his brother's shoulder. "You haven't talked much about what happened while you were gone, and I'm not going to pry." Konnor rubbed his head under Jace's jaw, nuzzling. "But if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here. No judge. No jury." Jace's arm went easily around Konnor's shoulders, pulling him close. Since Jace had returned home, the two of them had been barely a yard away from one another at any given time. Already close, they now clung to one another with a fierce sort of desperation. "I'm ashamed, Konnor. After all Gennady has taught us, after all the good that has come into our lives, it was so easy for me to slip back. John angered me because he held what I cherish most in peril, but his wickedness also excited me." Konnor chuckled darkly. "I suspect the feeling was mutual. When we were kids, I used to catch John staring at you. And not in an 'oh shit, look at the scary demon' sort of way. I always hated him for that as much as for anything else. He made me feel--" Konnor tilted his head, his eyes catching Jace's. "--jealous. I didn't like feeling that way." Konnor plucked idly at a button on Jace's shirt. "Still don't." Jace smiled. "You shouldn’t ever feel jealous, Konnor. No one else fills my soul the way you do." Jace gently tugged Konnor to straddle his lap and his lips brushed along Konnor's. "I need you more than the air I breathe. It's your love and your gentle spirit that keep me from going over the edge. I need you, little brother. Waking up somewhere else, not having you beside me... that was worse than any death." Settling down on Jace's lap, Konnor went to work on the rest of Jace's buttons. He pressed their foreheads together and looked into Jace's eyes as his fingers deftly moved. "Jericho said the district attorney's office is considering a request for John's extradition to New Hampshire." The last button was undone and Jace's shirt fell open. Konnor ran his hands over Jace's chest. "Massachusetts doesn't have the death penalty; New Hampshire does." Jace's hips rolled upward, lifting Konnor slightly and pulling a moan from them both. "Good," Jace said. "John is a confused, angry soul. He's out of control. Putting him down will be a kindness to him and to everyone around him." Heat quickly gathering between them, Jace slipped his hand between Konnor's spread thighs and cupped Konnor's hardness. "I'm not in any pain anymore, Konnor. Didn’t even take any of the painkillers Dr. Sherman left me." "You trying to tell me something, big brother?" Konnor grinned, pressed his hips downward, and StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 126

gave Jace more of a handful of what was taking up increasing space in his jeans. "I was never good with the subtle stuff." Jace laughed, rolled to his left, and took Konnor with him, pinning Konnor to the sofa. "Nice big couch, an empty bar. Seems a shame to waste it, don’t you think?" Still rounding his hand along the outline of Konnor's cock, Jace shed his shirt like an extra skin. He ripped open Konnor's jeans and tugged them just under the swell of Konnor's ass. "Too many clothes," Jace growled, working himself frantically out of his own. Konnor kicked off his shoes and toed off his socks. There wasn't much else he could do, pinned by his brother's weight with his legs trapped by his own jeans. "It's like they say: all the best things in life are worth working hard for." His hands went to Jace's hair, fingers threading in soft dark locks, encouraging. Jace's breathing had already become panting, and as he worked Konnor's jeans down his legs, it gave way to the dark, low rumble that Konnor knew always foreshadowed sex. Nude, and with Konnor bare below the waist, Jace dropped to his knees. Jace smiled up as Konnor looked down at him, and Jace's delight was apparent as he ran the flat of his tongue along the length of Konnor's cock. Jace took his time tormenting, and when he reached the tip of Konnor's dick, he plucked at it with his lips and teeth. "Missed you," Konnor said, fanning his eyes shut. A soft moan crossed his lips. "Missed this." He pressed his hips upward to meet Jace's mouth, and his fingers twisted tighter in Jace's hair. "Want you, Jace, need you so much." Jace swallowed Konnor's dick, and Konnor felt the sensitive head of his cock hit the back of Jace's throat and go straight down. Jace's rumbling purr continued, wrapping around Konnor like a warm, vibrating blanket. Konnor smiled as Jace's eyes flicked upward at him, Jace smiling at him as much as he could with a mouthful of cock. His back arched involuntarily off the couch as Jace took him in, so deep. "You know how that gets to me," Konnor said. "Those, ah, Jace, those sounds you make. I think you could growl me into coming." Jace cranked up the volume and started to pump his mouth up and down the length of Konnor's cock. Tongue and teeth glided over taut flesh with ease. Drawing off, Jace's tongue plunged into Konnor's ass, a thin strand of slick sticking to Konnor's inner thigh. "Need to feel you around me, Konnor. Need to feel you clenching me." Jace growled louder, one of his fingers joining his tongue. Konnor hissed and moaned, wriggling under his brother's skillful work. He dug frantically under the cushions. It had been a wild weekend at the club, and he wasn't at all surprised when he came up with a small bottle of lube wedged under the seat. He grinned and held up the bottle. "You lead a charmed life, Jace Barton. Must be from all that clean living."

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Jace's reply was a snort and he snatched the small bottle from Konnor's hand. He squirted the remaining liquid onto two fingers and eased both of them inside Konnor, obviously taking his time. Surprise hit Konnor, then mild discomfort, and then pure ecstasy. The air around them changed, filled with the carnal scent of sex. "Fuck, you feel so good, Konnor. Soft. Warm." Jace rubbed his enveloped fingers together, creating a subtle motion inside. "Yeah," Konnor cooed. "Oh, that's nice." He felt his cock twitch against his belly, a steady stream of precome slicking his skin. Wanting to give something back, he purposefully clenched his muscles, tightening his hole around his brother's petting fingers. Jace withdrew his fingers and crawled up Konnor's body, hooking Konnor's thighs with his elbows as he went, spreading Konnor's legs enough to wrap around his waist. Nose to nose, Jace swiveled his hips and ground his cock against Konnor's ass, then reached down to help guide it in. Everything was so slick that the crown of Jace's cock kept slipping away from Konnor's hole, and Konnor tensed. Jace grew more and more desperate. Finally, Jace nudged his way in and sank deep, fast. "Ah! Fuck! Konnor!" Jace yelled, his hips bucking roughly and out of control. Konnor winced, backing away as Jace thrust forward. His hands went to Jace's face, palms capturing Jace's cheeks and holding him firmly, eyes locked. "I'm not going anywhere," Konnor promised on a whisper, "and neither are you. Slow down, Jace... slow down." Konnor's touch and calm words captured Jace. Jace blew out a tense breath, nodding, and he kissed his brother sweetly. "I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you," Jace whispered. "I wasn’t sure I would ever see you again, Konnor. He wanted to take me back there. Put all that distance between us." "He'll never hurt us again, I promise you that." The fire in his blood warmed Konnor's cheeks. He moved with Jace deep inside and began a slow, rocking pace. Konnor kissed the tip of Jace's nose and drew his legs tight around Jace's middle. "You feel so good. Come on, move with me." With steadfast care, Jace quickly matched Konnor's rhythm. Rise and fall, in and in deeper, they lost themselves in one another. Sweat glistened on their bodies, shining in the flickering torchlight, a building tempo of grunts and moans filling the room. Wet flesh slapped flesh, harder, faster, Konnor acknowledging with soft sounds as Jace constantly tried to remain in control. But Jace was beyond the ability to make sentences, whispering Konnor's name on his breath over and over again. It was all Konnor could do to keep a lid on his emotions. Nothing worse than a grown demon crying during sex. He gripped his strong legs tighter. Words he'd thought to himself a million times over, Konnor allowed himself to utter aloud. "Can't ever get close enough to you, big brother. God, Jace… I love you so damn much." Jace broke; Konnor felt it. With his fingers curled tightly in Konnor's hair and his hips jerking in time with the rush of his release, Jace began to sob. Jace pawed at Konnor. Both of them StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 128

desperately tried to get closer, as if only crawling inside of one another's skin might be enough to ease the terrible ache. "I love you, too," Jace said. "I know I haven't always been good to you, but I swear, Konnor, I will be. I will be. I can't lose you." Konnor held Jace with all his might as Jace came inside him, the deep spill flooding him with warmth. He murmured low in his throat, sounds of I know and love you and not gonna let you out of my sight rumbling as he peppered Jace's face with frantic kisses. Konnor tilted his hips, ground his cock into his brother's firm belly, but they were wrapped so close together it was all pressure, no friction. He stopped moving and held on fast to let Jace ride out the tremulous waves of orgasm. Jace finished, coaxing Konnor along to his own release. Jace's deep trill encouraged, his thumb running along the soft underside of Konnor's cock, both their tails twisting together with an apparent agenda of their own. Konnor thrust himself into Jace's hand, his cock gliding easily in mingled lube and sweat. His heart rate increased, his ribs heaved as he tried to take in air. Konnor whimpered as he climaxed, the soft, mewling sound announcing the warm, sticky spill of come that pulsed over his brother's fingers. Jace milked Konnor's orgasm, not stopping until Konnor physically pushed him away. Panting hard, Konnor curled around his twin, sweat and come practically gluing them together. "Whew." Konnor sagged back into the couch. "Welcome home, big brother." "Never let go?" "Never," Konnor said. He snuggled up under Jace's chin, feeling worn out, his eyes heavy. "Let's just snooze here for a while, okay? I don't want to let go just yet." Jace smiled at him and Konnor nearly melted. "I don’t care if we never leave," Jace said. "As long as I have you beside me, I'm exactly where I belong."

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Chapter Thirty-Two The Council had come to an amazingly quick decision, the vote a nearly unanimous eleven to one. Logan Darcy, the red-haired vampire, had recused himself from the vote. As he'd been a priest when he was still human, Logan had expressed that he couldn't be impartial in his decision. Less than thirty minutes later, Matthew Banks had been found not guilty. There wasn't a single member of the Council who didn't at least feel pity for the young man's predicament, and most had expressed extreme sympathy for what Matthew's brother John had put him through. Neither the Salem district attorney's office nor the Council believed that Matthew deserved to share John's fate of life behind bars or a lethal shot to the arm. Unlike his brother, Matthew Banks was now a free man. *** Matthew clicked off the television hanging on the opposite wall and tossed the remote onto the bedside table. After three weeks, the endless stream of soap operas, game shows, and Court TV reruns had become more torture than entertainment. With no family other than his brother, Matthew had few visitors, and most of those came to question him about John or to ask how he intended to pay for his stay. They'd caught John, he knew, and had thrown him in jail. There was talk of the death penalty. Matthew had no one, and he had nowhere to go. No money. No job. Nothing. He was starting to wish that lady police officer hadn't saved him that day at the graveyard. It seemed ironic then, when the door opened and she walked in. A man who seemed familiar to Matthew followed her, and he soon recognized him as the angel. Matthew's palms began to sweat, and he pulled the thin hospital sheet up high on his chest. "Are you here to take me away like you did John?" He knew the angel had something to do with it all. John had been fine until Matthew had spoken to the angel about the map and the rented house. "No, Matthew, we're not here to take you away. Please don't be afraid." The legs of the guest chair screeched noisily as the lady police officer named Sam dragged it closer to the bed. She sat immediately, fingers laced together and her forearms resting on her knees. "We have a group here in Salem, Matthew. A kind of a committee that works with the regular government, but also separately from it. This committee represents all the different types of people who live here in Salem, together in peace." Sam smiled at him and gestured toward the beautiful, blond-haired angel. "People like Sariel."

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Sariel remained standing and silent, but he did offer a smile to Matthew. Matthew ran his gaze over the angel. "There are more of them?" Matthew asked. "More angels and demons?" Sam scooted her chair a bit closer. "Angels. Demons. Shapeshifters. Vampires and witches. All those things they used to scare you with, Matthew, aren't really so scary at all once you get to know them. They're a lot more like us than you can imagine. They have jobs, and homes, and families. They laugh when things are funny, and they cry when they're hurt or sad. They read books, and they go grocery shopping. They go to the movies. They care for their children, and they fall in love." Sam's gaze slid to Sariel then quickly returned to Matthew. "They take care of each other, Matthew. That's why we've come here to see you." Sam took Matthew's hands gingerly in hers and she gave them a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Matthew swallowed hard. "The district attorney's office and the special council I just told you about have both decided that you haven't done anything wrong. That you were forced into a position where you felt you had to obey your brother. That you didn't have any choice. You're not going to jail, Matthew. There's not even going to be a trial. As soon as the doctor finishes signing your discharge papers, you're completely free to go." Matthew focused on Sam's hands as they held his own. "Go where? John was all I had." His throat grew thick with sorrow. "He's my brother. No matter what, he's my brother." "I know, Matthew." Sam stroked Matthew's hands with her thumbs. "He's your brother, and because of that you love him and you care about what happens to him. But he did some terrible, unpardonable things. He took away the lives away of people who did nothing more than live their own lives in peace. They didn't deserve to die, and their families and friends didn't deserve to lose them." Sam took a deep breath. "And Matthew... you don't deserve to be thrown out on the street with nothing, just because your brother made poor choices that affected you. At least John didn't leave you a pauper; he's left you a lot of money. We'll talk about that later, though. Right now, we have more important things to take care of." Sariel stepped closer and unfurled his wings. Matthew flinched. "Matthew," Sariel said. "We have found a place for you. One of the members of the Council has generously opened his home to you. He is a kind man, and I think that you will learn a great deal from him and his partner. They are themselves a living testimony that even those of us born to be enemies can learn to overcome our differences." Matthew curled his hands around Sam's. "Thank you, I guess. I don’t understand why someone would want me in their house, knowing what John and I did." Sam smiled. "I think you'll find that if you judge people on their own individual merits, they'll offer you the same courtesy." She looked up at Sariel and winked. "Even people with wings." Her words hit Matthew's heart with some degree of hope. He was still terrified, surrounded by those whom he and John had done their best to harm. Maybe now that he was out of his brother's overbearing shadow, he might be able to make a life based on his own thoughts and feelings. StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 131

Even as a teen, Matthew had never really liked what had gone on at Black Hills. Matthew played with the satin ribbon that lined the edge of his blanket, and he looked up at Sam. "What about Veli? Is he all right? You said you caught John, and Veli was with him." With a puzzled look on her face, Sam looked first to Sariel then back to Matthew. She cocked her head to one side and shrugged. "Veli?" For a moment, Matthew returned the baffled expression, but then realized his mistake. "Jace. You know him as Jace Barton. His name -- the one his momma gave him -- is Veli. We didn’t call him that much, though. Papa said that keeping a name from a demon keeps it unbalanced and weak." Sam's face broke out into a wide smile. "I think Jace will be really happy to know that, and I think he'll be grateful to you for telling us. Do you know his brother's name, too?" "Yes. Konnor's real name is Anula," said Matthew, happy that he could offer the demons this small token of restitution. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. "Veli and Anula: brother guardian and gentle one," Sariel said with a laugh. "Perfect." A sandy-haired doctor stuck her head in the door, a clipboard in hand. "Pardon me, but we need to get this young man checked out now. It should only take a few minutes, so if you'd like to bring your vehicle to the lobby doors, we'll be wheeling him down shortly." *** Matthew sat in the front seat of Sam's patrol car, a small duffel bag between his feet containing the few remnants of his old life. A few changes of clothes, some small personal items, a tattered photo of his brother with the address of the jail written on back along with John's inmate number. Matthew was silent for most of the ride. "Dekin and Kelly are both very sweet, Matthew," Sariel said from the back of the car. "Kelly is an angel and quite a bit more mellow about it than I am. I think you and he will get along well." Sam's gaze flicked to the rear-view mirror. She smiled softly, catching Sariel's face in profile as he looked toward their passenger. There was no sign of the mark on Sariel's face from Jace's fiery tail-lashing. Sam patted Matthew gently on the leg. "Dekin is a demon, but don't let that put you off. He's an incubus, which is quite different than the type of demon that the twins are." Sam frowned a little; that hadn't come out quite the way she'd intended. "Not to say that Jace and Konnor are bad. Just that... well, Dekin is considerably more..." Sam looked at the rear-view mirror. "Sariel, a little help here?" Sariel snorted. "Considerate? Socially adept? Civilized? Or are you thinking more about the easy-on-the-eyes aspect? Honestly, the list could go on and on. Dekin Swain and Jace Barton are about as similar as fire and ice."

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Scowling into the mirror, Sam shook her head and rolled her eyes. Men. Even halos and wings made little difference sometimes. Matthew looked back and forth between them. "He's an incubus? Don’t they... drain people?" Sam looked quickly at Matthew then set her eyes back on the road. "At least in the case of this particular incubus, only the willing. You don't have to worry. He's a very, very nice man. I think you'll like both him and his partner if you give them a chance." Sam slowed down, flipped on her blinker, and made the left turn into the gated drive. "Here we are." Sam kept an eye on Matthew as he sank lower into his seat. *** The house was nothing short of grand with its old style, wraparound porch, and grounds bordered by walled stones. Matthew felt a bit like the typical movie orphan who suddenly finds himself adopted by some wealthy family. Those people always lived happily-ever-after, but those people didn't move in with angels and demons. Matthew was still awfully scared. They'd barely made it halfway down the long walkway to the door when it opened. A young man stepped out. Tall and willowy slender, the blond-haired man moved with a slow grace that made Matthew think of dancing. As they approached, a second figure appeared in the doorway, this one with hair the color of blazing embers. Both of them were beautiful, and neither of them looked like a monster at all. What Matthew found most amazing was that he couldn’t tell which one was the angel and which one was the demon. "Matthew? I'm Dekin Swain," said the blond one. "Thank you, Ms. Wright, for helping to make this transition as painless as possible." "My pleasure, Mr. Swain," Sam said with a smile, dipping her head in a quick, courteous bow that Matthew took note of. "If you need anything, just call Gennady. He's offered to help out in any way, if need be." Sam tilted her shoulders to one side and peered around Dekin. Her grin brightened even more. Matthew was intrigued. "Hiya, Kelly," Sam said. Kelly grinned back in Sam's direction. Matthew stared at him, awestruck. Long red hair and matching feathers on his wings, and the friendliest face Matthew had ever seen. It was all so confusing. "I'm sure everything will be fine, but thank you, Sam." Dekin turned his attention toward his new ward. He offered a soft smile, looking to the small bag at Matthew’s feet. "Is this all you've brought with you?" "Yes, sir." Matthew kept his eyes on his folded hands. "We traveled light, and the police have everything else." Dekin leaned forward, graceful fingers tilting Matthew's chin upward. "Then we must remedy StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 133

that quickly. Tomorrow, once you've had some food and rest, we'll go shopping in town." "Sir, that isn't --" "It's not wise to tell Dekin Swain that he can't shop, Matthew," Sariel chimed in, smiling. "Just nod and say thank you." Matthew nodded his head. "Thank you, sir." "You're welcome. But please, call me Dekin. 'Sir' makes me feel my age." Dekin moved aside and nudged Kelly closer. "This is my companion, Kelly." "Hi, Matthew," Kelly said. "Come on, I'll show you where your room is." Kelly tugged on Matthew's sleeve. "We'll let the grown-ups talk among themselves." Kelly's cheerful glow infected Matthew, and Matthew laughed and smiled. "All right. Thank you, Kelly. So, you're an angel like Sariel?" Matthew asked, trotting after. Their voices chimed together all the way into the house.

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Chapter Thirty-Three Fallon leaned against the front porch pillar, sipping chocolate milk and looking out over the yard as the sun sank down behind the trees. The morning had been stormy, and the scent of wet grass and earth still clung to the air. New England was known for its quick turnaround weather, and the sun had ventured out in the day's final hours. Spring was in full swing, the last of the snows finally gone for the season. But the beautiful weather wasn't the only thing that had put light in Fallon's eyes. He looked up. The click-click-click ratcheting of the metal blinds rising caught his attention, the windows of the house unveiling themselves to the night. It had been just under a month since Jace had been returned. Fallon could hear the telltale crack of pool balls breaking, and he could smell the familiar cigarette smoke coming from a window above him, Jace and Konnor deep into a game. Jace had healed physically, and both he and Konnor were still making up for lost time. The household seemed normal again. Fallon ran his tongue over his upper lip to catch the trail of milk as he went back into the house. He set his empty glass in the sink and noticed the stove was on, the evening meal slowly roasting. Slipping out of his shirt, he quickly shifted from human to fox form, the warmth of the stove calling to him. His jeans fell into a heap at his paws, and Fallon curled himself up on the stove-side rug for a cozy before-dinner nap. *** Yawning and scratching his bare belly, Jericho came shuffling into the kitchen. He hitched up his pajama pants as he crossed the stone floor. As he always did when waking up from a good day's sleep, he made a beeline for the coffeemaker. He bent over the machine, put his nose close to it, and took a long, slow sniff. He shook his head and sighed wistfully, all part of his normal waking routine, familiar to everyone who lived and worked in the house. It was then that Jericho noticed the black fox curled up on the braided rug, its nose tucked under its tail. Jericho yawned again, stretching his arms overhead. "Morning, kid. Father awake yet?" Smoky blue eyes looked up from behind the fluffy black bush of a tail. Stretching out, yawning, Fallon shook his head from side-to-side. He trotted over to Jericho and put his paws up on the counter to peer over the edge. Fallon snorted, apparently unhappy at finding only coffee brewing on the counter. He looked up at Jericho, eyes speaking volumes without words. Jericho got it. Chuckling softly, he scratched Fallon behind the ears. He tilted his head up, sniffed at the air, and followed the scent floating through the room. Steam spouted from under the lid covering a large pot simmering on the stove. Jericho lifted the lid and took a deeper sniff. "Chicken stew." Jericho picked up a slotted spoon that lay on a ceramic rest and gave the stew a stir. "With veggies. And some kind of... dumplings." Jericho looked down at the fox. "It looks StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 135

done. Want some?" ***

Dumplings! Fallon nodded vigorously, his long flat tongue licking at his muzzle. Ms. Bentley's chicken-anddumplings stew was one of his favorite meals. Tail wagging across the floor, he watched as Jericho opened a cabinet to fetch a bowl. When Jericho's hand landed on a yellow ceramic one, Fallon barked, eyes narrowed. Jericho jumped a bit and let go of the yellow bowl. He moved to the next one, a rust-and-sage Aztec-patterned dish. "This one?" Fallon snorted and shook his head, ears twitching. That one is Jace's favorite bowl! Brow furrowed, Jericho looked down at Fallon, shrugged and gave a little sigh. "I guess I'd know this stuff if I didn't stay away from home for so long, huh?" Fallon cocked his head, his tongue lolling out as he smiled. He rubbed the length of his body against Jericho's legs, cat-style. I love you. I wish you would stay. It would make Gennady happy. Fallon sighed and leaned into Jericho. He knew it was pointless. Jericho was a free spirit, much like his father. He'd visit and he'd always come home when asked, but the likelihood of Jericho staying around for long was slim. Fallon looked up at Jericho and licked the vampire's cold fingers. Jericho laughed. "Okay, I get it. I promise not to be such a stranger if you promise to quit slobbering on me." Jericho wiped his hands on his pajama pants, and then reached for the next bowl in the stack: a moss-green and beige, pebbled-looking dish with a slightly raised base. "Am I getting warm yet?" That's the one! Fallon jumped up on his hind legs then looked over to the dumplings with excitement. Jericho filled the bowl. Fallon nuzzled Jericho's leg, looking up at him adoringly. Jericho paused while ladling the stew and looked down. "More dumplings, or more chicken?" There wasn’t much that Fallon liked more than chicken, but the sweet doughy dumplings were pretty darn close. But right now he just really wanted food, and Jericho wasn’t moving fast enough. Fallon let him know about it with a long, loud whine. "All right, all right already," Jericho said, cringing one ear against his shoulder in an apparent effort to block out the high-pitched sound. He topped off the bowl with a big fat dumpling, squatted down, and set the dish on the floor. "Careful, it's very hot." Jericho pulled out a chair at the table and took a seat while Fallon lapped gingerly at the broth. Fallon's eyes never left Jericho. There was so much to say, and it was just not possible in his current form. Licking his chin clean, Fallon decided to shift again, this time to his in-between StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 136

form. Human enough that speech was possible, but still nice and furry and warm. "I really wish you wouldn’t leave us, Jericho. Gennady misses you when you are gone." Elbows on the table, Jericho steepled his fingers under his chin. "I know, Fallon, but--" "Any more beer in the fridge?" Jace interrupted before making it fully into the kitchen. He had Konnor in tow -- literally -- his tail wrapped around Konnor's wrist. "Oh. Sorry, are we interrupting?" "No," Jericho said with a chuckle. "Not at all. Just hanging out. I don't know about the beer, but it's good to see you falling back into old habits." Jericho smiled and tipped his head to the taillassoed demon. "Konnor." "Jericho," Konnor said, grabbing Jace's tail. He grunted and gave it a sharp little tug. "Veli. Circulation." "Hm? Oh, sorry!" Jace loosened his hold, wandered to the refrigerator and pulled out two beers. One he tossed to Konnor, the other he cracked open for himself. "Hanging out is good." Fallon went back to his meal. He had hands now, but it was so much easier to just slurp and chew. He pulled his muzzle out of the bowl and licked his lips. "You guys going out tonight or working the bar?" Konnor grimaced as he attempted to pry the cap off the beer bottle. "I don't know," he said, raising his tail-tethered wrist. "You'll have to ask my captor." He tried to open the bottle again, biting his lip. "Here, I can't get a decent grip. You do it." Konnor tossed the bottle back to Jace. A small thud sounded as Jericho's forehead dramatically hit the heavy wooden table. He chuckled and muttered something about a 'short bus.' "You need to start working out, Anula." Jace caught the bottle mid-flight and uncoiled his tail from Konnor's wrist. "I think we'll stay in tonight. Animal Planet has something on about maneaters this evening." Jericho pushed away from the table. He made his way toward the door just in time to bump into Gennady. Grinning, Jericho said, "Good morning, Father," and gave Gennady a kiss on the cheek. "Had enough of the morning zoo?" Gennady had a warm, pleased smile on his face as he looked over his brood. "Never," Jericho replied, looking over his shoulder one more time. Fallon, licking his own fingers, followed Jericho's gaze. Jace was swilling down beer and looking cocky for no real reason, and Konnor was grinning at his twin like a lovesick prom date. Things had finally returned to normal.

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"It's good to be home," Jericho said with a smile. Belly content, Fallon pushed his bowl aside and stood. "Oh, almost forgot. There's a message on the machine for you, Jace. Something about another painting and it being desperately important and all that. You know, the usual. Gennady saved it." "Thanks, I'll check it out," Jace said. Jace smiled at Gennady as their father joined them, his smile quickly turning to a frown. "Father, that's something I meant to ask you. Fallon told me that you used the painting of him to help summon me away from John. Did the fire damage it? I'll paint a new one if it did." Jericho headed off, and Gennady crossed the room to join Fallon and the twins. "Fortunately," Gennady said, "the painting was untouched by the flames." He brushed one cheek against Jace's. "One of many miracles I've enjoyed lately." Fallon wandered over and snagged the bottle from Jace, opened it, and passed it on to Konnor. "He's cute," Fallon said to Konnor, "but even I have a longer attention span. That's sad, Konnor." "Tell me about it," Konnor said. "You should try watching television with him sometime. I've never seen anybody channel-surf so fast in my life." Konnor smiled at his brother and held up his beer. "But I think I'll keep him." As the twins talked with Gennady a bit longer, Fallon found himself reflecting back on what it might have been like if the summoning hadn't worked. He realized just how blessed they were to be smiling and how fragile everything they had really was. How even the strongest of them had moments of weakness, and how much they depended on each other. He watched as Konnor's tail casually snaked around Jace's, curling and twisting into a living knot. He watched as their hips bumped slightly, and how both of them cast the other a glance when they thought the other wasn’t looking. It all made Fallon very happy, but also desperate to be held. He moved close to Gennady, wrapping his furry arms around his lover. Smooth as water, the fur melted away into soft pink skin, and Fallon kissed Gennady's cheek. Jace and Konnor said their goodnights and departed for their room. Fallon pressed his nose under Gennady's chin, nipping the soft flesh there. "You know, there's a full moon tomorrow... and I ate a really big dinner." Gennady pulled Fallon into a firm embrace, and then he kissed Fallon sweetly on the mouth. When he stepped back, he bopped Fallon's nose playfully with the tip of his finger. "In that case," Gennady said with a smile, "I think we'd both better get some exercise. I'm not as young as I used to be." THE END

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Also available from Torquere Press StarCrossed 1: Demon Tailz

StarCrossed 2: Opposite Ends of the Spectrum

StarCrossed 3: Object in the Mirror - 139