Angel Slayer. Michele HaufЧитать онлайн книгу.
“I’ll be here. But it’ll be a close call. I’ve a shift at Cloud Nine until five.” He kissed her check. “Talk to you later, sweetie.”
Eden tilted down the wine and claimed her purse from the office before deftly making her way toward the front door.
Rolling up her left sleeve as she gained the door, she spied the top of the strange man’s white hair. He still stood before The Fall. His attention was rapt, so she was able to slip out without his notice.
After hobnobbing in the stuffy gallery for hours, Eden welcomed the refreshing summer rain. She lifted her face to catch the light mist. She should have utilized her father’s limo, always at her disposal, but the driver’s son turned twelve today, so she’d given him the day off. She wasn’t one of those trust-fund babies who thought they were entitled to everything. At least, she tried not to be.
The July sun peeked through the clouds and glinted high on the windows of another trendy little gallery across the street. She examined her forearm. It had stopped tingling and the skin wasn’t red so it couldn’t be a rash.
Tapping the birthmark below her inner elbow, she wondered at what the punk had asked her.
Do you wear a sigil on your body?
“How could he know?” Was it possible he knew things like she did?
“No.” He must have seen her tug up her sleeve. Talk about a cheap pickup line at its strangest.
Waving her arm, she sought a cab. The sidewalk was cluttered with people en route to the subway for the supper rush. Toeing the curb, Eden was distracted by the sudden appearance of the white-haired man charging toward her.
A cab pulled up with a squeal.
Startled by the man’s intent path toward her, Eden rushed for the cab’s back door and managed to open it just as the punk grabbed her by the wrist.
“You were holding out on me, Eden.”
The wild look in his eye cautioned her. His crooked grin freaked her. “Let go of me!”
He stroked his fingers over her forearm. “A number. That’s an interesting one. Six,” he pronounced with a hiss.
She struggled, but his grip pinched her skin.
Then he did something so bizarre Eden could but stand, frozen like a scared alley cat, and watch. He licked her forearm, right below the weird birthmark that looked like a Roman numeral six. As if from a cat’s tongue, the contact abraded her skin.
His exposed eye now glowed a brilliant blue as he drew his gaze up to hers.
Survival impulse kicked in. Eden leaned against the cab and kicked high. The spike of her heel sunk into his gut. The man staggered backward with a yowl of pain.
Eden bent and landed in the backseat of the cab butt-first. “Go!” she yelled. “There’s a creep after me.” She slammed the door shut as the cab spun away from the curb.
“Fight with the boyfriend?” the cabbie asked in a Texan accent.
“What?” She was so flustered, she sat sprawled across the backseat, arms groping for hold and one leg still poised for another kick against the door. “Boyfriend? No, he dumped me after the—No! I’ve never seen the guy before.”
“They’re all a bunch of crazies. Where to?”
“Just drive!”
She shuffled upright on the seat and looked out the rear window. The punk’s arms pumped vigorously.
“He’s running after us!” He couldn’t possibly catch a car on foot, could he? “Take the next left turn. Don’t slow down or let him catch up.”
“Yes, ma’am. A car chase. Haven’t done one of those in a while.”
“Yeah? There’s a big tip in it for you if you lose the guy.”
“He’s on foot.” The cabbie gunned the engine. “No problem.”
Shaking the rain from her hair and tugging up her sleeve, Eden stroked her forearm. It was pink.
“He licked me,” she said in horror. “What did you say?”
“That man, he licked me. Why do you think he’d do that? Oh my God, I wonder if he has
AIDS? No, I couldn’t get it that way. What are you doing? I said don’t stop!”
“Sorry, ma’am, red light.”
Eden twisted up onto her knees and scanned the sidewalk. No sight of the punk. He was thin and she hadn’t nailed him for being overly strong. That she’d been able to kick him away impressed her inner kick-ass chick. He must have given up. Though it was likely a man on foot could catch a cab in this rush-hour traffic—
Thunk.
The man landed on the trunk of the car on all fours, as if an animal had dropped from above.
“Holy crap,” the cabbie said, and rolled through the green light. “That is a mite dangerous.”
“Shake him off,” Eden warbled nervously. She slid her hand along her thigh, feeling for the small blade she kept strapped there. “He’s climbing onto the top of the cab.”
“I don’t want anyone to get hurt,” the cabbie protested.
A sudden right turn resulted in a clatter across the top of the vehicle. Eden saw the punk land on the asphalt—on two feet. Not like he’d been whipped off the car and couldn’t catch his bearings. He was agile and determined. One glowing blue eye remained focused on the cab.
“Unbetievable,” the cabbie said. “There’s a short tunnel ahead. We’ll lose him in there.”
“Go for it!”
The punk stood in the middle of the road, right on the yellow no-pass center line. Arms curved out in a fierce stance, he stomped one booted foot and snarled.
Eden couldn’t comprehend this.
He must be on drugs to have survived being thrown from the top of the car, and then to stand as if nothing had happened. Now he ran after the cab like some indestructible robot from a sci-fi movie.
“Drive faster!”
The cab interior went dark. The red lights lining the inner walls of the tunnel flashed intermittently. The cab slowed.
“What are you doing? Traffic is going faster than this. Keep up!”
“It’s … an … angel … “ the cabbie said in a wondrous tone.
“What?” Eden leaned over the front seat, dodging her head down to see around the rearview mirror. “I’m the only nut who ever thinks she sees an—I don’t see anything. You have a clear lane. Keep driving!”
She snapped her fingers next to the cabbie’s ear. He shook his head as if snapping out of a trance.
Daylight burst into the cab as the car cruised out of the tunnel. Ahead, a four-way stop did not slow the cab. Eden gripped the driver’s-seat headrest and twisted her body to scan out the side and rear windows. No sign of the punk.
Then the cab turned left—into oncoming traffic—and Eden’s body was thrown from the back of the cab into the front. Her head plunged toward the passenger side floor. Impact thudded her shoulder. Metallic blood trickled across her tongue.
The vehicle’s tires left the tarmac. The cab flipped and landed upside-down, spinning twice before slamming into a street signal pole. Glass shattered. Iron bent.
Eden blacked out.
* * *
Her eyelids fluttered.
The smell of gasoline mixed with the sweet odor of blood. Her chin was shoved down to her chest