and unclenching her fists where she held the leather band of the slingshot.
“The world belongs to Ullikummis now, and all who share in his love,” Brigid intoned. “Where is there left for him to run?”
Chapter 6
The wind whipped past the retrofitted cargo as it cut through the skies over Syria toward Iraq. Grant sat on one of two long benches that lined the cargo area, head down, his hands held close together so that their steepled fingers formed a rough triangular shape of empty space. Beside him, Domi watched, a confused crease appearing between her white eyebrows.
“What you doing?” Domi asked.
“Concentrating,” Grant replied, his eyes still fixed on the empty space between his touching fingertips.
Domi nodded as if she understood, but she was just as baffled as she had been before. Despite being one of the longest-serving members of the Cerberus organization, Domi was still a child of the Outlands at heart, savage and simpleminded in her comprehension of things. She wasn’t unintelligent; she just had a more direct approach to things than those who had been educated in the nine towering baronies that dotted the landscape of North America. A little over five feet in height, Domi was a svelte, pixielike figure who had wrapped her chalk-white skin beneath a series of light layers for the duration of this field mission. Her hair, a creamy white, like milk, was cut short around her head, framing her sharp-planed face in a ruffled pixie cut. While albinism had left Domi almost entirely white, her eyes were a fearsome red, like bloody wounds in her face, and they had a disarming effect when she fixed her gaze on an opponent. Despite her youth, Domi had formed a close relationship with Lakesh, the two of them becoming lovers over the past couple of years. If Lakesh had ever seemed worried about sending his personnel into the danger zone, that worry had quadrupled with Domi once the two of them had fallen in love. But the worry was reciprocated; Domi could be like a terrier when it came to Lakesh’s safety.
Across the aisle from Domi, sitting between two Tigers of Heaven warriors dressed in armorlike stealth suits, Rosalia smiled contemptuously. “Leave the Magistrate alone,” she said. “He’s focusing his mojo.”
As she spoke, the nameless dog that sat at her feet whined, its expressive, pale eyes wide with worry. The dog disliked the sound of the heavy rotors, and its ears kept twitching so that Rosalia had to keep one hand in the scuff of its neck to keep it settled, rubbing it there now and again. The dog had come with Rosalia here, as it seemed to follow her everywhere. While it might seem a burden at times, the mutt was a fierce fighter when the time came. In fact, there seemed to be something uncanny in its fighting technique, as if more than one creature somehow existed in the same place. Watching it fight was like hallucinating at times, a double or triple image taking up its position.
Rosalia had changed her clothes before leaving the temporary headquarters in the winter palace. Now she wore a dark one-piece outfit that hugged her curvaceous body, her long shapely legs covered by pant legs that tucked into supple leather boots that reached halfway up her calves. Rosalia had tied her hair back in a simple ponytail, which she tucked beneath the black hood of her top to prevent it from flying in her face.
Domi didn’t trust Rosalia. There was something about the mercenary woman and her superior attitude that rubbed Domi the wrong way. Compounding that distrust was the memory that on their first meeting Rosalia had been part of a two-person team that had knocked Domi unconscious from behind. Domi had never forgiven the woman for that, even if Rosalia herself had not struck the actual blow.
“He’s called Grant,” the albino girl said irritably, her red devil’s eyes boring into Rosalia’s.
“Like Seth,” Rosalia said obtusely before turning back to her whining hound to calm it. Despite
“The world belongs to Ullikummis now, and all who share in his love,” Brigid intoned. “Where is there left for him to run?”
Chapter 6
The wind whipped past the retrofitted cargo as it cut through the skies over Syria toward Iraq. Grant sat on one of two long benches that lined the cargo area, head down, his hands held close together so that their steepled fingers formed a rough triangular shape of empty space. Beside him, Domi watched, a confused crease appearing between her white eyebrows.
“What you doing?” Domi asked.
“Concentrating,” Grant replied, his eyes still fixed on the empty space between his touching fingertips.
Domi nodded as if she understood, but she was just as baffled as she had been before. Despite being one of the longest-serving members of the Cerberus organization, Domi was still a child of the Outlands at heart, savage and simpleminded in her comprehension of things. She wasn’t unintelligent; she just had a more direct approach to things than those who had been educated in the nine towering baronies that dotted the landscape of North America. A little over five feet in height, Domi was a svelte, pixielike figure who had wrapped her chalk-white skin beneath a series of light layers for the duration of this field mission. Her hair, a creamy white, like milk, was cut short around her head, framing her sharp-planed face in a ruffled pixie cut. While albinism had left Domi almost entirely white, her eyes were a fearsome red, like bloody wounds in her face, and they had a disarming effect when she fixed her gaze on an opponent. Despite her youth, Domi had formed a close relationship with Lakesh, the two of them becoming lovers over the past couple of years. If Lakesh had ever seemed worried about sending his personnel into the danger zone, that worry had quadrupled with Domi once the two of them had fallen in love. But the worry was reciprocated; Domi could be like a terrier when it came to Lakesh’s safety.
Across the aisle from Domi, sitting between two Tigers of Heaven warriors dressed in armorlike stealth suits, Rosalia smiled contemptuously. “Leave the Magistrate alone,” she said. “He’s focusing his mojo.”
As she spoke, the nameless dog that sat at her feet whined, its expressive, pale eyes wide with worry. The dog disliked the sound of the heavy rotors, and its ears kept twitching so that Rosalia had to keep one hand in the scuff of its neck to keep it settled, rubbing it there now and again. The dog had come with Rosalia here, as it seemed to follow her everywhere. While it might seem a burden at times, the mutt was a fierce fighter when the time came. In fact, there seemed to be something uncanny in its fighting technique, as if more than one creature somehow existed in the same place. Watching it fight was like hallucinating at times, a double or triple image taking up its position.
Rosalia had changed her clothes before leaving the temporary headquarters in the winter palace. Now she wore a dark one-piece outfit that hugged her curvaceous body, her long shapely legs covered by pant legs that tucked into supple leather boots that reached halfway up her calves. Rosalia had tied her hair back in a simple ponytail, which she tucked beneath the black hood of her top to prevent it from flying in her face.
Domi didn’t trust Rosalia. There was something about the mercenary woman and her superior attitude that rubbed Domi the wrong way. Compounding that distrust was the memory that on their first meeting Rosalia had been part of a two-person team that had knocked Domi unconscious from behind. Domi had never forgiven the woman for that, even if Rosalia herself had not struck the actual blow.
“He’s called Grant,” the albino girl said irritably, her red devil’s eyes boring into Rosalia’s.
“Like Seth,” Rosalia said obtusely before turning back to her whining hound to calm it. Despite
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