Vengeful

“He’s been out there, killing humans and EOs, and you knew.”

“I suspected—”

“And you didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t burn the body!” roared Eli. “I put him down, and you let him get back up. Victor Vale’s continued existence, and the deaths he’s since accrued—those are your failures, not mine. Yes, I kept my suspicions from you, because I hoped I was wrong, hoped that you hadn’t been so foolish, hadn’t failed so catastrophically. And if you had, well, then I knew my warnings would fall on deaf ears. You want Victor? Fine. I’ll help you take him again.”

He went to the low shelf, drew the hunter’s folder from the row of case files.

“Unless you’d rather let Marcella lead you through her hoops instead.”

He dropped the folder in the open tray.

“I’m sure once she figures out Victor’s value, she’ll make you pay every cent.”

Stell said nothing, his face a poor imitation of a stone wall as he slowly reached for the file. But Eli, of course, could still see every crack.

“My advisement,” he said, “is on the last page.”

Stell skimmed the instructions in silence, and then looked up. “You think this will work?”

“It’s how I’d catch him,” said Eli, truthfully.

Stell turned to go, but Eli called him back.

“Look me in the eye,” said Eli, “and tell me that when you find Victor, you will kill him once and for all.”

Stell met his gaze. “I’ll do as I see fit.”

Eli flashed a feral grin. “Of course you will,” he said.

And so will I.

“Two years,” said Stell. “That’s how long you’ve had to track him down, and Marcella delivers this in less than two weeks. You buried it. You knew.”

But Eli realized, staring at the photo, that he hadn’t known, not really. He’d wanted to be right, wanted to be sure, but there had always been that fissure, a line of doubt. Now, it sealed, smoothed, solid enough to bear the weight of the truth.

“I guess you didn’t burn the body.”

“God dammit, Eli,” snarled Stell. He shook his head. “How is this possible?”

“Victor’s always been terrible at staying dead.”

“How?” demanded Stell.

“Serena’s little sister had the inconvenient ability to resurrect the dead.”

“Sydney Clarke? You listed her among your kills.”

“Technically,” said Eli, “Serena was supposed to take care of her. Obviously she got cold feet.”

One more thing he’d have to handle himself.

Eli dragged his gaze away from the photo. “What are you going to do about him?”

“I’m going to find him. You two can each have a cell to rot in.”

“Oh, great,” said Eli dryly. “We can be neighbors.”

Through some combination of strategy and luck, Marcella had managed to flank herself with two compatible powers. He lined them up in his mind.

The ruiner. The shapeshifter. The forcefield.

Up close. Long distance. And everything between. Together, their powers were nearly impregnable. But find a way to separate them, and Marcella would die just like anyone else.