Chapter 2


It all started when her shift ended, and she went to the bathroom to wash her hands.

Laine was proud of herself for earning more than enough to pay her stay for the night and getting a little extra pocket money from the tips. She had seen many of her friends in the bar, and had caught up on bits of news and gossip.

She had learned that many of her Dark Hunter friends, including her former employer, Zarek, were now humans, living out ordinary lives as dads and husbands. Though she would never have believed it, Amanda Devereaux, her former baby-sitter and best friend's twin sister, was married to Kyrian of Thrace, whom she had met and liked when working with Zarek. At the time, of course, Zarek had hated him. But then, at that time, he had hated everyone.

She knew about Zarek's marriage to Astrid, and she had been filled with joy to see her abused employer finally happy and living a healthy life with someone to love. Laine had gotten to know the Dark Hunter better than most people, and she still wished to find him and catch up on life.

She had also already known about Tabitha and Valerius, which she had found interesting when she was invited to the wedding. She had never met the Roman general, but had heard Zarek's (and everybody else's) rants and ravings about his brother. Laine also had to infer that relationship, as Zarek never acknowledged it. However, the two seemed to have come to some terms of agreement at the wedding, and Laine had found she liked Val (as Tabitha called him), though she did find him a little too high class for her taste. Tabitha was her best friend, and if there was a less "high classed" person in the world, Laine had never met her, so she had raised an eyebrow when she got the invitation to the reception as well.

Then there was Julian and Grace, which had never seemed strange to her until she dug deeper and found out that Julian Alexander was once Julian of Macedon, a Greek general who angered a goddess and became a sex slave trapped inside a book. Grace had freed him, and the two had fallen in love. Laine admitted that she had had fantasies about her gorgeous college history professor, but in the long run, he still was her professor, and the thought of him as a sex slave was more than a little disturbing.

Some time during the middle of soaping her palms, she found the strange mark in the middle of her lifelines. At first, Laine thought that her eyes were playing tricks on her, but when she rinsed her hands off, it was inevitable that they were not.

In the center of her hand, there seemed to be a multi-colored tattoo, perfectly square. Celtic scrollwork was marked intricately in the lines, and though she could not figure out what it said, she was sure that it was not the work of humans.

What the hell? She was not one for tattoos, and she could recount everything that had happened that day, so no one could have done it while she was unconscious. It had not been there when she woke up this morning, so no one could have done it during the night either.

On the plane coming here? She had slept then.

It was impossible.

The airline security was so tight these days that a person would not be allowed on with a plastic knife, much less tattoo needles.

Sometime during the day…

But she had no more time to think about it, for at that moment, a man stumbled in, hitting the doors and clutching his stomach. Having worked in many bars, Laine immediately recognized the symptoms and helped the man into a stall. She held back his hair without a second thought, and began to recount what she did during the day. She would worry about the embarrassment of telling that he had gone into the wrong bathroom later.

She waited, but the sound of retching did not come. Her mind snapped to attention, as the man's thoughts jumped into her brain, and she realized that some of the material was fudged. Alarm bells rang in her head. This could only mean…

A pair of rough arms grabbed her around the waist and suddenly, she was turned upside down. Laine let out a cry of pain and too late saw that the "sick" man was the Daimon that had eyeballed her earlier. She had been too preoccupied to acknowledge his tall, athletic build and flowing blonde hair, and was now paying for it with blood rushing to her head.

She cursed herself. She should have sense his motives before he even came into the bathroom, but she realized it was not a time to degrade herself. As soon as she was upside down, she found herself out of the stall and on the floor; Laine had gotten too comfortable in LA and had forgotten the agility of the Apollites. The clattering of metal sounded behind her, and she whipped her head around to find two more Fabio look-alikes jumping down from the bathroom window, above the stalls.

The blood was rushing through her ears now, and she could barely make out the first Daimon's voice saying, "Hush, little girl. We're not going to hurt you. You have something we want. Just give it to us and we won't hurt you." Her breathing was so fast now that her lungs were not working right, but her head was clearer than ever.

Yeah, right, she thought, and wander around as a soulless Shade for the rest of eternity?

But she had to look the part of the innocent girl. Three Daimons she could take, especially with her mother's early training and her powers, but surprise was always a good strategy. Even as a little girl, she had been told to stay away from Daimons, Apollites, and Dark Hunters, in that order. "Please," she pretended to sob. Acting, after all, was her profession, and after that Daimon's little scene in the bathroom stall, she was going to give him a taste of his own medicine. "I don't have much money. Here," she continued to cry, rummaging through her apron to get to her tip pocket. "You can have it. Have it all. Just don't hurt me."

The first Daimon leered at her, and from the sound of the footsteps, she realized the other two were drawing near. The clicking of the boots around her reminded her of spurs, which reminded her of bad cowboy movies and flying tumbleweeds. She was still thinking this as the three surrounded her on the bathroom floor, and it was all she could do to not burst out laughing and actually keep up her character. They looked ridiculous in black, with polished leather boots and leather jackets. It was exactly as if they had just stepped out from a corny B movie.

"Take her," the first commanded. "Drain her, if you want, but remember, it's mine."

Another knelt at her side and peered at her. "How long do you think she'll last?" he asked at last. Laine breathed as if terrified, backing away from them, like a child from its kidnappers, her feet scrabbling for a foothold on the slippery bathroom tile.

"It's strong," the first answered. "It may last almost a year."

Without another word, the third Daimon leaped at her heedless of everything else. She saw the danger and pulled out the dagger from a sheath at her ankle that she always carried with her. With a cry, she aimed upward, and the blade found its mark. The second before he died, Laine peered into his eyes and saw the terror, which caused her to almost retract her blade from pity. The Daimon screamed in pain and burst into golden ashes and disappeared.

"What the hell?" one cried, as Laine leaped to her feet, the dagger still in hand. The bathroom door began to rattle, and it was only then that she found the first Daimon had locked them in. "I thought you said she was harmless!"

"Ames, call Dad!" Kyle's voice sounded, and Laine sighed in relief. "Tell him to get the keys! Hey, who the hell's in there?!"

"Dammit!" the same Daimon cried and whipped out his own set of knives, two long, wicked white blades that protruded nearly a foot from their handles.

The other Daimon started and leaped at Laine, who screamed, ducked his blow, and kicked up. He flew to the left, into a stall, and with her mind, Laine slammed the doors to the stalls closed and locked them. A muffled cursing came from the toilet, but the girl paid him no heed. In the next second, she had the bathroom doors unlocked, and Kyle barged in, a bat in hand.

"Holy shit!" he managed to cry as the last Daimon whirled around and threw a God-bolt. It caught Kyle full in the chest. He flew back into the paper towel dispenser with a sickening smack, and slid to the floor unconscious.

"No!" Laine cried, and rushed forward. The soul-sucker grabbed her hand and twisted down, and she screamed in pain, but her anger only made her mind stronger, and the knife in his hand flew into the air and came dangerously close to Kyle's head. At the last second, she pushed it to the side, and it landed harmlessly on the floor.

With her mind, she pushed the Daimon into the wall, where he came to the same state as Kyle, though he remained conscious. "You're… you're telekinetic!" he stammered, fear in his eyes.

"No shit, Sherlock!" Laine screamed in anger. She was not one for cursing, but under the circumstances, she found her swearing perfectly justified. Her blade first caught the Daimon's stomach, then chest, and he vanished before her eyes. Scrambling sounded behind her, and she turned to find her first Daimon at the edge of the window. Quickly, she slammed them shut them with her mind, but it was not quick enough for a Daimon.

He had already escaped in to the darkness.

With him gone, an eerie silence fell on the desolate battleground of toilets and paper towels.

The girl flew to Kyle's side, only to hear another voice cry, "Kyle!" She looked up to find Aimee and her father at the door of the bathroom. They came forward, and Laine touched Kyle's neck.

Pain. Anger. Can't wake!

She gritted her teeth against his raw emotions grating on her nerves and found his pulse. For some reason, she could always sense a were's feelings better than anything else's.

"He's alive," she said, and snatched her hand from him so she would no longer have to channel his thoughts. "But he'll need some help."