I groggily roll over onto my side, wincing as I do so from the abdominal pain and throb of my muscles. Sam's bronze quiff is plastered to his forehead from sweat, yet goosebumps prickle his skin from the onset of winter cold. He's fast asleep and snores softly, so when I detangle his arm from around my waist, he doesn't stir.
I yawn and rock up into a sitting position. I inhale a sharp breath of air when I stretch my arms above me to ease my tender muscles, I can see the flourish of red and purple bruises on my arms and torso. Sam tried to be gentle as possible, and he was, but there are some things which precaution can't save.
I decide to wash up before sliding back into bed. After all the essentials are covered, I retie my hair into a loose low ponytail and come back from the bathroom toting a pair of jeans and my NYPD shirt on coat hangers when I hear my phone go off.
Only in a black bra and track pants (and freezing my arse off), I toss my clothes over my shoulder and tip toe to my phone that I left sitting on the coffee table. Banks' contact illuminates my phone screen and I frown at the time, it's almost 2 A.M. What could she possibly want at this time of day?
"I can't find the girls."
"What do you mean you can't find them?" I scrub at my eyes.
"They're gone, Akira. I was checking up on them after putting Ma to bed and they weren't there!" Banks screeches.
I frown, "Nobody could've snatched them, you always make sure everything's locked."
Banks draws a shaky breath, "If the girls had run away, they would've left me a note."
I think back to when I interrogated Quade, his words reverberate in my ears that I will bathe in the blood of those whom I love, including Shoshana and Nathalia. But he doesn't have the balls to kidnap them from their own home, right?
"I'm not drawing any conclusions yet. They could've done this out of spite," I say, trying to divert my suspicion elsewhere. "Did anything provoke this?"
"Shit I don't know," Banks grumbles out another sob. "I...I got into an argument with Shoshana and Nathalia about taking them to the ice-rink tomorrow, Ma told me about the disagreement this morning but this was worse―I just went off at them and they went to their rooms crying. I said that it's too cold and they were both so angry. Oh my God this is all my fault."
"Listen, I'm going to go and find them. I don't want you filing a missing person's report, I want you to stay put at home and look after Beth―don't tell her anything about the girls," I say.
"You're not going to find my sisters in this cold, you'll get frostbite first!" Banks screeches.
I tug off my track pants to put on the pair of jeans and NYPD shirt, tossing the coat hangers on the couch. I duck into the bedroom to check if Sam's overheard the conversation. My eyes trail down Sam's drowsy figure, he still hasn't stirred and continues his soft snoring into the pillow.
I rest the phone between my chin and reach for my belt, "I'm going to find your sisters, but if you want to help me, stay at home and lock everything."
"Akira please don't do anything stupid," Banks whimpers.
I open the bottom drawer of the dresser and pull out the bullet proof jacket. Its weight weighs my arm down as I heave it up and over my body, fastening it into place. There hasn't been an occasion where I've needed to wear the jacket, but I can't take any chances―not when my gut turns sour at the thought of what's happened to Nathalia and Shoshana.
"You should know this by now," I say to her. "I'm nothing but stupid."
And with that, I leave Sam's sleeping figure, take the car keys and slip out the front door.
• • •
With every pause at the stoplight, every blink of the indicator, I know I'm losing ground on my case. Statistics are running through my head, meaningless numbers which send my mind into over drive. Almost all child abductees are killed within two hours of being taken, I just hope that whoever has got Nathalia and Shoshana, spare them at least three.
I'm pretty sure I've run three red lights since reversing out of the apartment carpark. I know that what I'm doing is illegal, but I honestly have to prioritise my concerns. I dial Henry's number on my phone and he picks up on the third ring.
"Akira, unless your Mr Hyde is about to tear through your subconscious, I'm otherwise preoccupied," he says.
"Stop, drop and roll Nikita I'm in a situation. I need to know where Alkaios is," I flick the indicator off as I turn the corner.
There's a brief pause and I hear Nikita audibly grumble out a curse over the line. He doesn't seem to be alone because there's traffic noises and muffled chattering in the background, as if he's out in public instead of hiding in Alkaios' abode.
"Stop the car, Detective," he orders in a soft voice.
"Now is not the time for riddles Henry, I just need to know where Alkaios is," I ease on the accelerator and flick on the blue and red patrol lights within the SUV. I don't have time for Nikita's bullshit.
"Do what I say Detective," there's more static accompanying Nikita's voice, as if he's on the move.
I swerve at the intersection and change gears, powering back down towards the Trump Rink in Central Park―the only one which Beth had ever mentioned to her daughters. For some unexplained reason, my gut tells me Central Park. My journey began there, it may as well end in the same place.
"I said stop the fucking car!" Nikita shouts.
I slam on the brakes when the megalomaniac slides across the road into my lane. There's several screeches of tires, honking of horns and the smell of burnt rubber behind me. Standing in front of the windshield with his left hand outstretched in a 'stop' gesture, Nikita exhales cigarette smoke from his nose.
I can see the blackness of his eyes, the curvature of his adapted Baines claws, the poke of Vrykokolas needle-like fangs beneath his puckered lips. It's in the haze of night where I can see what the Diablo gene is truly capable of, I don't need provocation to have the shackles raise behind my shoulders.
Without breaking eye contact from me, Nikita lowers the phone from his ear and ends the call. Before he moves towards the hood of the SUV, a cloud of gold and black aspirates to his side and Alkaios wipes the line of his jaw with the sleeve of his waist coat.
I take note of the crimson discolouration to his flesh from the blood. I don't, however, argue when Nikita lets himself into the passenger side of the vehicle or when Alkaios tags along in the back. All I do is accelerate away from the foul mouthed drivers backed up for fifty metres.
"Now, how about we act civilized and start from the beginning," Nikita adjusts his flannel shirt collar and gives me a sympathetic smile. "Why are you so adamant on our presence?"
I keep my eyes on the road ahead, "I need Alkaios to be my tracker because he and Eryx like to observe the AB squad. Someone's taken Banks' sisters."
"You smell different," Alkaios' voice is a low growl, patronising almost. We briefly lock gazes in the rear-view mirror, though I break his crimson stare first, adjusting the mirror and changing gears.
"So you need a hound to sniff out your operatives," Nikita acknowledges. "Say, where's darling Pingelly―this is his car after all, or have you both been in a terrible fight and have decided to wound a man where his heart is...the bonnet of his SUV."
My grip tightens on the steering wheel, "Are you in or not?"
"By all means we're willing to help, that's if Al here gets out of his jealous fit of silent rage," Nikita scoffs, flicking the ash from his cigarette into the cup holder to his right. "But what do you believe is happening with your colleagues sisters?"
"They've been taken. I'm not sure if it's my Diablo gene but whatever it is, it's telling me that if I don't step in it'll be the last thing I'll ever do, which is why I need you both," I say.
"And your fílos?" Alkaios cocks a brow.
"Sam's in enough trouble as it is with the Bureau, I don't want this to add to his worries," I huff.
"When your boyfriend wakes up to an empty bed, he will come looking for you," Nikita's voice changes once more as he stares out the window, all shadow and cigarette smoke, as if he knew the pain with Dianne. "Pingelly feels responsible for you since his family has left him and his father is dead. With you gone, he has nothing left to strive for. The badge becomes meaningless."
"Not all who protect wear a badge," Alkaios gnaws on his lip, eyes darker than congealed blood.
"Enough with the sentimental bullshit Al, you may as well give up," Nikita squishes the butt of the cigarette against the dashboard. "The best you can do is help the Detective look for those two little girls."
I avert my eyes, "I already have a fair chance as to where they are. Hold onto your fangs, I'm about to run three red lights."
• • •
Scrounging through Central Park in the height of winter has not been one of my finest moments, especially since I didn't bother wearing a jacket. My chattering teeth and knocking knees have probably alerted the kidnappers already as I scale through the park with my gun and torch, searching through the canopies and underbrush.
The wind is practically null-and-void, which I suppose is the only element working in my favour right now. Nikita aspirates every few metres before turning to look over his shoulder at me, when I nod, he continues. Alkaios however, hovers close to me―his crimson eyes (which I have learnt are alight from 'favour hunting') scrutinise me, he doesn't know about me and Sam having sex.
I want to keep it that way.
When the Trump Rink comes into view, I shrug off Alkaios' presence and sprint to the white painted barriers encasing the ice. Nathalia and Shoshana are huddled together in the centre, squeezing each other for extra warmth in their pyjamas.
"Girls!" I screech.
"Top Cop!" Nathalia squeals, leaving her sister's warmth to try and lunge at me at the edge of the rink. However, Shoshana pulls her back, face stark of colour―something's terribly off about tonight.
"Stay still, I'm coming to get you!" my breath clogs in my throat from the cold and I can already feel my dry lips peel and crack from the cold.
Nikita aspirates in front of me and I slam into his chest before I can vault over the barrier and into the rink. With shaking fists I clench my gun and torch, pounding at his slender chest to let me move, he doesn't budge, he just shoves me back.
"You're a Detective," his lip twitches. "Look around you, what do you see?"
At first, his request puzzles me until I metaphorically open my eyes to see. Trump Rink has been blocked off from the rest of the park except the way we took directly from the parked SUV, there's practically no illumination apart from the faint glow from the city surrounding us and salt granules pile up in a thick line around all three exits of the rink. Someone expected Alkaois, and someone wants to prevent him from going past the grandstands which he stands on.
"Those girls don't want you in the rink for a reason," Nikita growls, his black eyes flitting around like a fly over a carcass. "Give me your phone; I'm calling your father to report the abduction and our whereabouts."
I slide the torch between my teeth to grab for my phone in the back pocket of my jeans when a monumental force literally rips me from Nikita's side. The person has latched onto the strap of my bullet proof jacket and tears it from my clothing and me along with it. The lead lined vest, torn and useless, skids across to the furthest side of the rink and I slide past the girls until my back connects with the concrete barrier behind them.
"Top Cop!" Nathalia screams.
I'm pretty sure my shoulder is out of its socket because a numb tingle scatters down the limb, causing my already trembling fingers to quake as if I'm a Parkinson's patient. I use my good left arm to hold my weight to get onto my knees when someone's shoe stomps on my back so I'm flat against the ice.
I still get a view of my surroundings with the additional ringing in my ears. The girls are still huddled together while Nikita is running backwards, aspirating and dodging a blur whilst shouting on the phone to Dad, Alkaios slides over to Nikita's side to try and combat the force while I scramble to my feet, wiggling my way free from my captors foot.
"Did you think you saw the last of me, Detective Akira Stevens?"
That voice is unmistakeable.
Oliver Quade hadn't left Manhattan at all.
"You fucking bastard!" I spit, my eyes frantically scanning my dark surroundings. My gun and torch have escaped my shaking grasp and are under the cover of darkness, out of anyone's reach. "Let Nathalia and Shoshana go, this is just between us!"
Quade laughs, joyful and chipper, "Oh I don't think it'll be that easy. This has never been between just you and me."
As I make my start towards my gun and torch, Quade baseball slides between my legs and removes the traction I have with the ice and my shoes. I topple over myself back onto the hard ice, a metre away from my Desert Eagle.
The silver cuffs from my belt find their way around my wrists and I'm restrained, kicking and writhing against the ice while I can only watch Alkaios and Nikita fight the blur accompanying Quade. It's like the glass around the windows of my life are shattering, crystal flecks float around me as Quade effortlessly pulls me up by the cuffs and slams me against the ice, closer to the centre of the rink, whistling 'ring-a-ring-a-rosie' as he does so.
"You think you've won a battle, made it on the next page of some kid's history book, but you're wrong Akira, so very, very wrong," Quade hisses as I flop against the frozen wasteland.
"Let her go," Nikita somersault's over the barrier and darts towards Quade, a trail of gold and black smoke dissolving behind him. Does Nikita know Oliver? Before I can make sense of the situation, Nikita hooks his arms around both girls and puts distance between us and him. "She's not the Diablo you want, I am. C'mon, you've allowed the FBI to lie so long so an idiot like Pingelly comes along and is gullible enough to track me down."
"And I thought you lost your marbles when you rampaged through Manhattan," Quade chuckles. "You remember quite well what I did to Dianne; how I used your junkie mind so easily...you really are a failed experiment Henry."
Nikita fights to keep his cool, he pockets my phone with his free hand and tugs up the sleeve of his flannel with his sharp teeth, exposing his white skin dented with faint scars, milky and unclear. His heaving breaths cloud the night air and he tugs the whimpering Banks sisters to his chest, a small droplet of comfort hits me when they clutch Nikita's body like he's some sort of anchor.
"I've been running for so long to ensure that this doesn't happen again. These memories are fragments, but that's how you want them to be―you don't want me to remember the clean cut details, like how you carved into my skin, how you stole my blood, how you murdered my soulmate to awaken a beast!" Nikita rumbles.
"Rest assured, the days of Diablo experimentation are over," Quade smirks, snapping his fingers. "Eryx, come here."
Eryx?!
I look over my shoulder to see Alkaios' body propel into the black fence out skirting the rink. The blur of frantic movement gains clarity when it stops moving to reveal the Vrykokolas second in command, breathing heavily and eyes of all-consuming black. He grins, a mouth full of sharpened fangs, he steps over the salt granules as if it holds no meaning to his cult.
"Let me clarify for those trying to understand," Quade nudges me with the toe of his leather shoe and I snarl like an animal. "The truth behind Angel Blue is to find worthy test subjects to harness into killers, to eradicate the world of these...creatures such as you, Henry. You were a prototype, one of many but certainly not the last. However, the techs back in Washington have harnessed your blood and I, along with a worthy subject Eryx, have injected ourselves to become more than man."
"Why choose a Vrykokolas if you're going to end up eradicating their race?" I shift all of my weight so I rock onto my back.
"Oh I'm sorry Detective, did you say something I couldn't hear you!" Oliver kicks me in the side, causing me to wheeze.
Evidently he's put me in the perfect position to reach for my cuff key on the elastic string on my belt. My fingers curl around the metal and I flick my wrists to angle my hand towards the lock. The adrenaline surging through me gives my limbs renewed movement from the shakes, enough for me to twist the key and slide opens the cuff. I replicate it on the other hand, remaining still.
"Eryx, how long will you give it until your master turns on you? The only reason he's injected you is because you'll willingly do his dirty work," I grunt. "He wants to destroy the NYPD after what they did to him when he was a child."
Eryx cocks his head to the left and turns back to his old leader, Alkaios, who now lingers by the salt barrier at the exit. Alkaios' lip twitches to reveal his razor-like fangs, a warning that Eryx has shattered all trust between them.
"Don't listen Eryx, you were chosen because you were willing," Quade justifies.
"There's no point covering up your bullshit, New York's finest are on their way right now to take you in," I hiss. "You're using the FBI as an excuse to get back at us; you're using their hatred to empower yours."
"I'm smarter than what you'll ever be! Eryx and I are the start of a new breed of genius!" Quade shouts.
"No matter what you do to yourself, you don't have the Diablo gene to think ahead and see what happens before your opponent makes the first move," I say, deadpan.
Just like in the beginning, when I envisioned the Baines taking Dianne's hands, I see the silhouettes of gold and black smoke darting around Nikita and Alkaios, shadows of what would happen if I make one wrong move. To avoid Alkaios being impaled of the wrought iron fence around Trump Rink and Nikita being shot protecting the girls, all I have to do is distract both Eryx and Quade long enough for Nikita to aspirate away and for Alkaios to follow.
I throw my cuffs into the air and dive for my gun.
On my stomach I let off three rounds at Quade, two scathing his cheek and the other landing in his shoulder. He jolts back, howling like an animal. His skin doesn't flake off nor is there any discoloured smoke emanating from his body; he takes the hits like a normal human being but extends his Vrykokolas claws.
They're not kill shots, not in the slightest, but Nikita's able to aspirate out of the rink and hands the crying Nathalia to Alkaios. The Greek tosses the screaming girl over his shoulder and he and Nikita start on their way into the darkness, towards the bobbing circles of white torchlight coming from the swarm of NYPD Officers.
"Alkaios trusted you Eryx, why would you do this to him?" I turn frantically when both men aspirate.
"You would not understand the shame which I feel to know that I work for a man who has fallen in love with a living entity. Vrykokolas are damned for a reason, it should remain that way. We dabble in dark magic, not fishing for glykós such as yourself," Eryx dashes past like the air from a speeding train, a trail of black and gold behind him.
I take one step back towards the exit and try to fixate on somewhere to aim, "So to redeem yourself you became a puppet for the Bureau?"
"Like I said, glykós, you do not understand," Eryx's body solidifies and he runs on the edge of the concrete, I immediately fire rapidly to try and get past his smoke trail but he disappears again. "I had everything to live for back on Cretis, a wife, a son, a home...yet all was taken away because I died on a holy day...my family too poor to bless my corpse before burial. And thus I became this téras, a creature of the nýchta. With these injections, I get to start over."
"No Eryx, Quade's lying to you for his own personal gain. He doesn't care about you or your family, nor does he give a shit what happens to you when Nikita's blood rejects you," I pivot again. "Diablo blood moulds with yours to open the Third Eye, so you surpass human intelligence and that of all creatures...however, those who do not have the inbuilt gene end up going insane."
A mass of eighteen NYPD Officers stagger through the darkness towards the rink, all of their flashlight rings circle on me when Eryx digs his claws into my left shoulder, sinking past tissue into the muscles. All I can do is scream as I feebly try to load a new cartridge of ammunition into my pistol. Blood trickles down my arm and my thumb struggles to flick the clip on my belt.
Eryx leans down and whispers in my ear, "írthe i̱ ó̱ra na petháneis, it's time for you to die Detective." Eryx ignores the bark of German Shepards and the orders of NYPD cops, instead he shouts, "Kán 'to tó̱ra!" at Quade.
My gaze locks with the tree canopy all too late. Quade's perched on a branch with his own gun in hand, a wicked grin on his lips. Still in his damn grey suit, he pulls the trigger. My world, fragments of ice and bullets, scatter around me in slow motion. Eryx leaves me with a gaping shoulder wound as Quade rips into me with metal from afar.
Dad and Sam are there to see it.
They're the last to mount the incline but are first to the barrier, guided by Alkaios and Nikita who must've delivered Shoshana and Nathalia back to the awaiting police at the entrance to Central Park.
Sam's stark white, dressed haphazardly in suit pants and a button-up, three of the buttons are in the wrong holes. His lips form my name, screaming, but his shout falls on deaf ears. Dad wraps his arms around Sam's torso to stop him from running onto the ice, whereas Nikita digs his hands into Alkaios' shoulders. There's so much noise, so much screaming, yet I don't hear it.
My gun falls first, skittering away from me.
The cartridge is next, the bullets scatter everywhere.
And then I buckle.
I go down slowly, as if my body is suspended in water. My upper body is limp, my knees hit the ice first and then I shudder, my muscles clenching and convulsing. My weight sways for a moment before it finds its place face down on the ice, my arms splayed at my sides, nestled on bullets and blood. There is pain, burning, stinging before darkness.
Blue! Blue look at me! Blue, eyes open!
Akira! Akira sweetheart keep breathing.
Glykós, focus on my voice.
Detective, stay in one piece. You have to spit out the blood. You have to live.
"Chief Stevens, we have a ten-double-zero," a voice echoes. "Officer down."