The Awakening Read online

  The sixth sense of a demon slayer

  Gaby pushed Cross away, and to her surprise, he allowed the distance. He even stepped back to give her room. “What is it?” he asked again.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  “Okay.” He turned a full circle, searching the area. He held his body in the deceptively relaxed pose of someone who knew how to kick serious ass.

  Moderating her strained breathing, keeping her thoughts calm and free, Gaby took her time scanning the area. She detected the commonplace turbulence of humans out on this muggy, electric night—but not the red-hot evil she sought…

  Until she again faced Cross.

  It lurked behind him, in the playground.

  Stepping around the detective, Gaby strode determinedly toward the evil, and sensed it taking flight, evading her, running from her.

  Like a candle, once snuffed, only a wisp of smoke remained as a reminder of the flame. Gaby wanted to follow, to hunt the malignant corruption and chase it to ground, but damn it, Cross stood there, watching her, waiting.

  Because she couldn’t risk him or her secrets, knowing that with him observing her every move she couldn’t proceed, she cast him a quelling glare.

  “Fascinating,” he said, without a speck of humor. “Now tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Titles by Lori Foster

  SIMON SAYS

  CAUSING HAVOC

  WILD

  THE WINSTON BROTHERS

  Anthology

  WILDLY WINSTON

  Writing as L. L. Foster

  SERVANT: THE AWAKENING

  SERVANT THE AWAKENING

  L. L. FOSTER

  BERKLEY BOOKS, NEWYORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  SERVANT: THE AWAKENING

  A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2007 by Lori Foster.

  Excerpt from Servant: The Acceptance by L. L. Foster copyright © 2008 by Lori Foster.

  Stepback illustration by John Blumen.

  Cover design by Rita Frangie.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form

  without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in

  violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  , 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-1012-0655-3

  BERKLEY®

  Berkley Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  The “B” design is a trademark belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  “Be very, very still now. Don’t move.”

  Gray eyes, faded from years of living, cloudy with dementia, gave only a blank stare.

  So amusing, the lack of mental acuity. “Yes, I know you hear me, even if you do look hollow and empty. But I suppose it’s okay that you don’t understand everything happening. Better, even.” Humor tilted the corners of the physician’s mouth. “It makes my job that much easier.”

  The personality of this human shell was long gone, eaten away by neglect, age, and disease. There could be no soul, not in something so pathetic and uncomprehending. Now the frail, emancipated body would serve a higher calling. Science would benefit. The extent of possibilities learned had no boundaries.

  Exciting, that’s what it was. Challenging and, though some would never admit it, honorable.

  The overhead light glinted on the heavy-duty steel wire snips. Proper surgical tools would be better, but they were costly and not easy to steal. The fewer chances taken, the better.

  For the sake of science, a carpenter’s tools would have to do.

  Carefully, the physician guided one gangling finger into the jaws of the snips. Not too far, just deep enough to remove the very tip.

  The fingerprint.

  Evidence of any life. Of any background.

  Such precautions were necessary in the event the discarded bodies, the ones that couldn’t hold up under the trials, were ever found. There could be no evidence to trace, no way to be implicated.

  Ready.

  One breath. Two. Squeeze.

  Brittle bone crunched, severed, between the razor-sharp blades; shock stilled the subject, and a second later, a tearing, agonizing scream bounded around the cavernous room, stirring the others to rail and groan in helpless fear.

  Disturbed by the ballyhoo, the doctor glanced around at each of them. They might be incoherent and utterly useless to functioning society, but they still perceived the trials awaiting them.

  Fortunately, they’d come to this remote location drugged almost comatose, and before the hallucinogens and painkillers wore off, they’d been strapped down securely with crude, makeshift restraints.

  Those same straps kept this body still, and no one was around to hear the eerie wails of agony. No one who mattered.

  The next finger found the same fate.

  Warm blood pooled onto the rickety table and stained the rough linens. Sterilized stitching took place after every two or three removals. Boring, tedious work, but necessary to stop the blood flow and assist in healing.

  Effective experimentation could not be done on a dead body.

  “Now.” Smiling, the doctor looked down to find the body unnaturally still. Pain had carried the patient to the oblivion of unconsciousness. Annoyance replaced the amusement; every great doctor appreciated an attentive audience to witn
ess strokes of brilliance.

  But perhaps it was better this way. There’d be no more need for small talk. No need to soothe.

  On to business.

  The right hand still waited.

  The crimson sunrise spilled into the cramped but tidy room, bringing with it the monotony of responsibility and the taint of rancid malevolence. Funny, how people always assumed evil lurked in the shadowy night, that it wore a face of frightening proportions, that it could—in any way—be predictable.

  With the nine-millimeter resting in her hand, her finger curved around the trigger, Gabrielle Cody lay unmoving. The knife strapped to her back dug into her spine with reassuring familiarity. Even in sleep, her muscles stayed taut, her body prepared.

  Today, her twenty-first birthday, dawned no different from any other. Had she really hoped to have a respite from the grueling duty?

  The sounds of birds awakening, cars driving by, and the relentless, rhythmic beating of her heart swarmed her mind. She wished she could deny the morning. She wished she could be reborn as someone else, someone…normal.

  But no matter how Gabrielle strained and resisted, she couldn’t deny the pull. With each second that ticked past, the clawing from within swelled, screaming louder inside her head, making her guts churn and her blood rush hot until the walls of her chest burned like fire. With a tearing groan and a stiffening of her legs, she narrowed her eyes and did her best to focus on the cracked and stained ceiling.

  Leave me alone.

  The silent command resonated within her head, just like the inexorable draw that refused to be ignored.

  Battling it brought a light sweat to her skin, leaving her naked body slick. Her breath soughed in and out. The lumpy mattress took on the appeal of hard gravel, urging her to start the day.

  Resistance was futile.

  “Fuck it.” Gabrielle thrust herself off the bed in a rush of acceptance. Her bare feet padded in hollow silence across the floor to the open window, where she stared at the hazy sunrise swimming on the horizon. The mid-June day would torture with heat and humidity—perfect for her birthday.

  As long as it didn’t storm, she could function. But if black clouds moved in and the thunder began to belch and bluster…Just thinking of it made her palms damp and her throat tight. Shit. She might as well fear the dark or the occasional spider while she was at it.

  She snorted, scrubbed at her tired eyes, and surveyed everything within her range of sight.

  As usual, her attention landed on the playground first, surrounded by a sturdy chain-link fence that couldn’t stop a damn thing and would offer no protection from the real threats. By midmorning, laughing, innocent children would be at play with an excess of noise and excitement.

  The now-abandoned elementary school drew her notice next. Once, long ago, it taught dreams and encouraged illusions. They’d put up the fence to keep the kids in, ignorant and oblivious to the true dangers lurking beneath a veneer of social acceptability.

  All along the road, traffic multiplied in a scorched wave of colors and sounds and exhaust fumes. It hadn’t rained in weeks and brittle tree leaves rustled under the encouragement of a hot, restless breeze.

  Gaby drew a breath—and held it.

  Somewhere out there, somewhere that no one could see or suspect, horrible things waited, taunting her senses, painfully pricking her nerves, making her vision slide within. She knew it. She always knew it.

  She fucking hated it.

  Wrenching away from the window, she unbuckled the knife strap from around her waist and carried it, with the heavy gun, into the bathroom. In her efficiency apartment, it was the only closed room. A single large room housed everything else: her bed, her hot plate, an old rickety desk and a minuscule dresser, a microwave and small refrigerator.

  After setting the weapons aside, she double-bolted the special door she’d installed for her peace of mind, and then turned on the shower. The original door and flimsy lock hadn’t taken much more than a single punch before giving way. Now, when the rush of water impaired her perceptions, it’d require a talented locksmith or a true behemoth to break in.

  Whenever circumstances like sleeping or bathing left her vulnerable, Gaby did all she could to protect herself. The shower, with its old rattling pipes, made more noise than most. At times, it sounded like the demons from hell were trying to crawl through the walls.

  Some would call her specialized precautions paranoid.

  But then, most had no idea that crazed demons did crawl the earth.

  Death didn’t frighten her. No, there were times when Gaby prayed for death to take her.

  Those prayers went unanswered.

  What she didn’t want, what she couldn’t bear to contemplate, was unending torment. She could handle pain; she always had. But if the pain had no end…

  Locking her teeth, Gaby stepped under the tepid spray and let the water hit her face, trickle down her body. It didn’t dispel the truth of what she had to do, what she put off doing. It didn’t ease her muscles or alleviate the agony that became a part of her, more so with every passing moment.

  It only removed the sweat and took the sting out of her eyes.

  Lingering in the shower, she cleaned her teeth while straining her ears to hear any sound of intrusion. Ten minutes later, clean and dry, she combed back her short dark hair and dressed in a way that wouldn’t draw attention. Birthday or not, she could no longer deny her God-appointed duty.

  Closing her eyes and relaxing her mind allowed her to drop her resistance, leaving her open to the summons.

  Like the spike of a frozen ice pick, it struck her nape, then slowly, raggedly, scraped down her spine and straight into her soul.

  Her muscles jerked and twitched, and her mouth opened on a gasp as the pain dug deep, expanding to invade her every nerve ending. She didn’t shy away from the agony; she knew it would do no good. As an incentive, the physical misery would remain until she finished the job.

  In her practiced way, Gaby evened her breathing, accepting, embracing the pain so it could revitalize her, heightening her awareness and honing her instincts to razor sharpness.

  Today someone—some thing—would die.

  She knew, because she’d kill it.

  But not with the gun. Gun blasts made too much noise and drew too much attention. What Gaby had to do, no one would understand.

  So no one could know.

  She locked the weapon away in a special box that fit into her bedsprings. Eventually, someone would invade this sanctum, and then she’d have to move on. Until then, she did everything in her power to appear as a normal being.

  Mustering a pretense of indifference, harboring her knife beneath her loose dark T-shirt and frayed jeans, Gaby left her apartment and went down the long, dark, narrow stairwell. Her footfalls caused a hollow echo in the dilapidated building while her mind moved ahead to her duties, where she’d start and how she’d finish.

  Before she could leave the aged brick building, Morty Vance, her landlord and the owner of a kitschy comic book store next door, stepped out of his apartment.

  “Gaby.”

  Urgency sizzled and snapped, but she kept her voice even, her façade one of normalcy, when normalcy remained so far out of her reach.

  “Mort.” It wasn’t easy, but she somehow managed to lighten the intensity of her scowl. Mort wasn’t a bad guy. The gray aura of difficulty and depression clung to him, but there were no reds or browns to indicate the presence of evil. “I was just—”

  “Going to join me for breakfast.” Knowing her weaknesses, he held a chipped ceramic mug filled with fragrant, steaming coffee toward her nose. “Scrambled eggs are fresh off the stove. Come in and eat.”

  Food. At his mention, her stomach rumbled in hollow need. How the hell did she constantly forget food? Father Mullond, rest his soul, had chastised her again and again for not refueling.

  Thanks to her less-than-healthy eating habits, she weighed only one-twenty, which looked odd considering she sto
od six feet tall. But that sometimes worked to her advantage. Despite the lankiness of her limbs, omnipotent strength surged through her. Along with fluid muscles, she possessed awesome speed and deadly accuracy.

  The devil’s tools, but a gift from God.

  Or so Father Mullond insisted.

  Gaby had few female curves to get in the way of her duty. In no way, shape, or form could she ever be labeled as a typical woman. Hell, she barely passed as typically human.

  Morty, the dumbshit, didn’t seem to notice or care.

  Gaby wasn’t psychic, not in the entertainment-perfect, romantic way average people liked to perceive special abilities. Her talent, as Father Mullond had dared to call it, proved more basic than that. She knew jack about summoning past lives or interpreting the musings of ghosts or whatever other melodrama supposed-psychics dished out.

  She perceived the intention of the mentally sick, the innately wicked, the crazed fiends that scuttled over the surface of the earth, pretending to be like everyone else, fooling most, but not her.

  When instructed, she took care of them.

  Morty wasn’t evil, so she didn’t bother dwelling on him. But she’d have to be a real dope to be oblivious to his infatuation.

  Sick bastard.

  What did she have to draw male attention? Not a damn thing, which, she supposed, proved Mort’s desperation for female company. Or maybe any company.

  She glanced at the mug, at his pathetically hopeful grin, and gave up with a shrug. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

  Fueling her body made her stronger, so it’d be easier to carry on. Each summons left her so depleted, so weak and vulnerable, just surviving became a chore. A little nourishment first wouldn’t hurt.

  Besides, she had some time before anything major happened. It meant she’d have to rush to reach her destination, wherever that destination might be, but she’d spent most of her life rushing from one ghastly abomination to another.