Raw Power: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Demon-Hearted Book 1) by Ambrose Ibsen

Author:Ambrose Ibsen
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Published: 2016-04-01T23:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-ONE

Dropping Joe off at the Veiled Order's headquarters was done with very little fanfare. A team of medics was waiting just inside the gate, and they carted him off immediately upon our arrival, probably taking him to the same room where I'd been held after my operation.

Kubo didn't wait around to see how Joe was doing, didn't ask the medics any questions as they carted him off. The chief simply shut the doors and then pulled back out of the complex, returning to the highway. He intended to drop me and Isabella off at home.

With precious little chit-chat, Kubo made the drive to my apartment, letting me off at the curb. “I'll be in touch,” he said as I opened the door and stepped out. It was the longest sentence he'd spoken the whole way.

Dizzied by the night's events, I stumbled into my place and locked the door behind me.

Then, bushed, my clothing still dusty and scorched, I flopped onto the sofa and took a nap.

#

The sleep didn't last long, my dreams punctuated by scenes from my waking life. I was startled awake by a dream that'd ended with an exploding warehouse, and sat up, wiping at my eyes. There had been some other memories in the mix as well, fragments that I could only trace to that first night, when I'd first received the demon's heart. The night I couldn't remember. My brain had been teased by snippets of memory featuring me dashing across rooftops, entering the abandoned house in Flint, shoving over a display at Sam's and shouting obscenities at Scott. There was also another bit, where I'd threatened a young pedestrian and stolen his shorts.

The apartment was dim; upon returning I'd only switched on the light over the kitchen sink. My limbs still sore from the night's events, I ambled to the sink and took a few gulps directly from the tap. I also splashed some water on my face and changed out of my sooty clothes.

Still, I didn't feel any more human for it.

My mind was racing with questions, with concern.

I didn't hardly know Joe, and the guy was sort of an asshole.

But I was worried about him.

If anyone on Earth could patch the guy up, it was those shady bastards with the Veiled Order. I didn't have any doubt in my mind that they'd call in some expert, perform some esoteric procedure and make him feel like new, but I still didn't think it was right, the way we'd just dumped him off at HQ. Kubo was far too impersonal, too committed to the mission. I couldn't help but think that he only viewed us as disposable underlings, pawns in some larger game.

I switched on the turntable, listening to side one of Raw Power. I paced along with “Your Pretty Face Is Going To Hell” and well into “I Need Somebody”, but the music only seemed to make me more agitated. I wanted to walk, to get some fresh air. And maybe some answers.

I weighed the idea of returning to HQ, of having a chat with Kubo.

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