Immortal

by J. R. Ward

  Further, the loft was so large, she needed two whole things of the stuff.

  Just as she was finishing up, the scent of something clean and fresh brought her head around. Eddie and Jim had lit up what looked like cigars, and were exhaling pale smoke as they walked around her line. And inside the bathroom, she could hear liquids being poured into the sink and sloshed around.

  Heading over to that horrible room and leaning in, she had to rub her stomach as the burning sensation got even more intense. Adrian was pouring witch hazel and hydrogen peroxide into the basin, empty bottles of white vinegar and crushed plastic lemon juice containers littering the sink next to him.

  Something glinted on the closed toilet seat and she frowned. "Are those . . ."

  "Guns?" He glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah. They are."

  Sissy approached slowly, as if the things might decide to think on their own--something that seemed reasonable considering the barrels of both were pointed at her. God, they were unlike any kind of pistol she'd ever seen, the entire grip and body of the weapon made of glass.

  They were like the daggers, she thought.

  And they had stoppers on them.

  "Water pistols?" she asked.

  "Special water." Submerging his hand into the brine in the sink, Ad began to stir it slowly in circles. Words left his lips, spoken so quickly and softly they were unintelligible to her.

  "What are you saying?"

  Abruptly, another scent reached her nose . . . it was that of a fresh field, as bright and clean and vivid as something that could be seen. And that was when he stopped, took both guns, and submerged them, bubbles rising up as their bellies were filled.

  "Okay, now we need to get set up in here." Eddie came over to her. "'Scuse me."

  As she stepped aside, the angel took out a compass and held the thing up. Walking around the bathroom tile, he stopped and took squat votive candles out of his pockets.

  "No," Jim said. "In the tub. We need to do it where she was . . . you know."

  "It'll be easier here."

  "Tub faces north."

  "I need to walk around her."

  "I'm doing it."

  Eddie gritted his teeth like he was determined not to say the first thing that came to his mind. "Jim. You're too close to all this."

  "I'm doing it, and she's getting in that fucking tub."

  On that note, Jim popped the top on some more Morton and made a circle around the room, stretching over the tub to make sure a line went around the far edge against the marble wall. The only place he didn't hit was the windowsill.

  By the time he was done, Eddie had placed candles at the four compass points along the lip of the tub. He lit them with a Bic lighter that she'd seen Jim use and then he took one of the crystal guns for himself and gave the other to Adrian.

  Jim puffed his cigar a couple of more times, the air becoming saturated with the smell of ocean breezes, spring sunshine, fresh rain. And then he dropped the stub to the marble floor and crushed it with his heavy boot.

  "Let me help you in there." Putting out a hand for her, he looked at Eddie. "She's not getting naked."

  Naked?

  Eddie nodded. "That's okay."

  Oh, God, it was time, she thought.

  Gathering her courage, Sissy accepted Jim's help--needed it, too. As she put one leg and then the other over the high side of the tub, she started shaking all over. But that wasn't the real problem. Her stomach burned so badly, she had to curl in on herself.

  "It hurts," she moaned.

  "What hurts?" Eddie leaned in. "What's going on?"

  Jim just shook his head. "You don't have to tell him--"

  "The symbols," the other angel said. "I'm right, aren't I?"

  She nodded as Jim looked furious--although not at his comrade.

  "It's all right," Eddie said, laying a hand on her shoulder. "We're going to take care of that. Now lie down."

  Sissy glanced at Jim, and as he nodded at her, she stretched out on all the hard, cold porcelain. Linking her hands over her stomach, she thought the tub was kind of like her coffin--and decided, if she came out on the other side of this in one piece, she was going to take showers for the rest of her immortal life.

  "Do you remember the verses?" Eddie asked.

  Jim answered by beginning to speak in a foreign language, slowly and carefully.

  "Nice accent," Ad muttered as he stood by the window.

  "Close your eyes, Sissy," Eddie said. "Don't look. No matter what happens, don't open your eyes."

  For no good reason--other than the fact that she was losing her mind--she had a split-second Raiders of the Lost Ark moment, a quick mental snapshot of Harrison Ford and that actress who had played Professor Ravenwood's daughter tied to a stake before the golden box was opened by that French archeologist.

  Don't look, Marion. . . .

  God, she wished this were a movie. With a happy ending.

  Jim was the last thing she saw before she lowered her lids. He was standing over her, staring down from his great height, his lean face grave as a preacher's over somebody's pine box.

  Which seemed pretty damned apt.

  I love you, she mouthed to him.

  He didn't lose his rhythm, but dropped down and caressed her cheek. Which was an I love you, too, if she'd ever heard one.

  "Not your fault," she whispered.

  Instead of waiting to see if he denied that in some way, she closed her eyes. Tried to breathe. Felt her heart pound so hard, she had a headache from the pressure . . . or maybe that was the tub.

  The vibration began so subtly, she thought it was just her own case of the trembles. But then it spread out from her torso, growing in reverberation, clearly something other than herself. It was shortly after that that a breeze began to blow across her in spite of the high sides of the tub, her forearms goose-bumping even under the sweatshirt, her nose tickling, her hair ruffling. Had someone cracked that window over--

  No, she was turning. Spinning. Slowly.

  It didn't stay that way. The speed changed, doubling and redoubling until she was flying around the pivot point of her belly button, centrifugal force lengthening her legs and shoulders, trying to pull her thin, straining her joints as she fought the draw. Nausea twisted her guts like a rope, and the pressure in her head became so great, her skull felt like it was going to break open.

  Just as she knew she was going to be torn apart, right at the very moment she was going to lose consciousness . . . all at once, everything stopped.

  Abruptly, she was no longer spinning; she was floating, light as a feather on a gentle draft, all the pain gone. And then her eyesight returned--even as her lids remained locked down, she saw a brilliant white light emanating from beneath her, her body cutting a path through the illumination.

  Jim's face appeared over her own, a strange warping making him seem right next to her and very far away at the same time. His lips were moving, that unfamiliar language entering her mind not through her ears, but some kind of psychic connection.

  Don't move, Sissy, he said to her without interrupting the flow of his verses. You can't move even an inch.

  All right, she thought back to him.

  That was when he raised a crystal dagger above her chest.

  Oh . . . shit. This was going to hurt.

  Bracing herself, she nonetheless lifted her sternum, offering herself up to whatever was going to happen. She'd rather be some version of dead than live with Devina somewhere inside of her, growing roots like a poisonous weed, choking out the essence of her and leaving her body full of evil.

  Do it, she thought at Jim. Do it hard.

  She could have sworn a sheen of tears licked into both of his eyes. And then he hesitated, as if strung between two impossibles.

  Do it, Jim. It's all right . . . I want this to happen. Better to be dead than have her in me.

  With his teeth clenching hard, he blinked once and drove down with all his strength.

  The pain was so great
, she screamed until she had no voice left. And then she nearly blacked out as Jim dragged that blade down her torso as if he were gutting a fish. As a great cavern was created, Jim reached into her with his bare hands, probing, searching.

  And she screamed. Screamed . . . because that was all she could do. Screamed . . . even though she couldn't breathe. Screamed in spite of the fact that she could not think or--

  Jim pulled on something, and it had to be her spine, she thought, because her battered body strained all over--it was as if he were trying to separate her from herself.

  No, it was not her spine. As she lifted her head and stared through her closed eyes . . . she saw that it was some kind of black, oily mess, like part of Devina's wall had somehow ended up inside of her--and the evil was refusing to yield. The harder he yanked, the tougher it adhered, until she began to jerk up out of the tub with every pull.

  She was going to die.

  As her breathing grew so labored she began to black out, she fought to stay with Jim. Focusing on him, she called on all her strength.

  And lost the battle.

  Lost . . . herself.

  Jim leaned so far into the tub that Adrian and Eddie both latched onto him, as if they were afraid of losing him. Probably a good idea, given the way his back was straining until his shoulders trembled and his thighs burned.

  But the evil didn't shift. Didn't budge. Didn't move. Goddamn it, it was supposed to--it was supposed to get yanked out like it had in the first round. Eddie had gotten it free of Vin diPietro--

  "Let go, Jim!" Ad hollered. "Let it go--we're going to lose you--"

  "Fuck you!"

  Jim dug his heels in even harder and--

  His grip began to slip, and he knew without being told that Sissy would not come through another attempt; they had one shot at this.

  And he was failing. Grip slipping, oh, God, the grip, his grip . . .

  Someone was screaming. Him. He had gambled and lost--again. He had let her down--again. He was losing another woman he loved . . . again--

  Two sets of hands reached down and joined his on the black mass, one from each side of him.

  Together, they all pulled. Him and Adrian and Eddie. They all pulled together, the strength brought to the fight not just one plus one plus one, but exponentially more powerful.

  The evil began to shift. He felt the give, barely perceptible at first, but then . . . yes, yes.

  "Harder," he barked. "Fucking harder!"

  He could sense the heat rolling off the other angels as they put all the strength they had into the fight, and sweat popped out all over his own face, running down into his eyes. Just a little more . . . if they could just put a little more--

  The sound as the darkness ripped free was like the squeal of eighteen wheels across pavement, burning his ears until he cringed. And just as before with Vin, a black seething form ripped away and took flight, screeching around the ceiling like a bat out of a cave.

  There wasn't time to dwell on the victory--or even on whether Sissy was alive. Jim flew back as if his torso had been sucked away--or blown away. And as he was in midair, shit went into slow-mo for him: He saw Adrian getting thrown toward the door; Eddie pitched to the window; Sissy's body flopping up and down against the porcelain as if she'd been racked with seizures.

  He had to get to her--he had to--

  Jim didn't land on his head. He landed on his ass. But when he skidded back further, the base of his skull hit something sharp and hard.

  The impact was a grenade going off in his skull, white-hot and obliterating every thought and all senses. The only thing that remained was a diffused panic that what they had released from her was just going to jump back in.

  But even that wasn't enough to keep him conscious.

  Everything went lights-out.

  Chapter

  Thirty-eight

  Down below Devina's old loft, the demon stood in the center of the street, right where the yellow double lines were. She had one pump planted on each side as she angled her head up, up to the fifth floor of the warehouse. The breeze was cold against her body, and the light rain that came down misted her cheeks and weighted down her hair and spotted her silk jacket. Cars passed and sometimes honked--always gawked.

  But for once, she didn't pay any attention to all that.

  How the fuck did they get Eddie back. How the fuck did that happen.

  Then again, who was she fooling. There was only one way it could have happened.

  The Creator.

  Up in her former abode, shapes crossed the square-paned window stacks as the four of them moved around while performing the purification ritual and creating a force field to direct the expulsion--and attempt to keep her out. She knew their little tricks by heart: First, they would create the barrier of salt. Then they would smoke the place out. And before they started, they'd have shooters loaded with purifying solution and all the magic Jim could summon--unless, of course, he was the one doing the exorcism, in which case he'd be out of commission for protection spells.

  It was impossible not to feel shut out by all the effort--not just because they were working together, but because all of their effort was to fuck her in the ass.

  Devina hoped and prayed it killed that little bitch. And there was such a good chance it would. The infection in Sissy had gone deeper than anything those angels had ever tried to remove--

  Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!

  As some version of a Honda went by, its horn was a curse made manifest, and she turned around, eyes narrowing.

  She let the POS sedan go another block down and then she extended her palm and threw a burst of energy out at it.

  Refocusing on the windows up above, she heard a sharp braking, a metallic crunch, a shattering of safety glass, the hiss of a busted radiator. Blah, blah, blah.

  She was waiting for another crash.

  It came about ten minutes later. Without warning, at least that human eyes and ears could pick up on, the bathroom window blew open and something that looked like a tight-knit swarm of bees sizzled out into the air, hovering as a shower of glass snowflaked down to the sidewalk below.

  The part of her she'd so graciously lent Sissy waited for a command from her--and there were a number of directives she could give it. Attack. Reenter Sissy. Expand and join with other minions to create a force capable of overthrowing governments.

  She held up her palm and summoned it home, reabsorbing the black energy.

  As distant sirens grew louder, and the human cleanup crew's arrival became imminent, she stared at her loft's bathroom, hoping to see a face in the window. Hoping to see Jim, looking out to find her.

  He did not.

  When nothing but ambulances and a fire truck came toward her, she cursed under her breath and dematerialized.

  Even though she was hurt, she tried to stay positive. There was a final endgame still to play out, and Jim was right where he needed to be--in spite of the fact that he was with Sissy, up in that bathroom.

  Sacrifices must be made in order to win.

  Besides, his time with that bitch was coming to an end. Devina was going to make sure of it.

  Sissy came awake to the sound of dripping.

  Her first instinct was to open her eyes and sit up. She wasn't sure where she was or why her head hurt or why she was so very, very cold and she was scared. Something had happened--

  Okaaaaay. She couldn't move and her lids refused to budge.

  And that dripping . . .

  ...was gone now. She didn't hear it anymore. Had she lost consciousness again?

  Time to get over herself.

  Putting her hands out from her body, she felt something smooth and cool and followed whatever it was up--

  A tub.

  All at once, her brain came on like a laptop that had had a reboot. Images of the ritual flickered through her mind, snapshots taken and internalized, everything from pouring the salt to the whispered verses to the light coming up from underneath her.

&n
bsp; To that moment when the evil had left her body.

  Jerking upright in a scramble, she sucked in a breath and dragged up her sweatshirt. Gone. The runes or symbols or whatever the heck they were? Not with her anymore. Except even as tears of relief made her eyes sting, there was no time for a victory dance.

  She tried to twist around and look to see how Jim and the angels were, but her body was too stiff. From her torso to her neck, her muscles were locked so tight she had to force herself onto her knees and shove herself around.

  Eddie was the first one she saw sprawled on the gray marble floor, his big body relaxed as if he were just having a quick lie-down, his feet lolling to the sides in his boots. Ad was over by the door, in a similar slump. Where was--

  "Oh, God, Jim!"

  Gripping the edge of the tub, she pulled herself up and over, and fell down on the far side. Jim was across the room, lying partially under the pedestal sink, his head cocked at a wrong angle, his body twitching unnaturally.

  Her knees cracked against the hard floor as she crabbed over to him. "Jim?" She put her hand on his chest--his body was still warm, but she didn't know if that meant anything. "Jim--wake up!"

  Silver blood had pooled around the base of his skull.

  "Jim!" She wanted to slap him or shake him, but God forbid if he'd broken his neck? "Jim--"

  Groans rose up from behind her, and there was a rustling, as if Eddie and Adrian were coming to. "Help me," she barked without looking back. "Jim . . . wake up, Jim. . . ."

  This was not supposed to be the tragedy at the end of it--she was the one who was supposed to have "died." Not Jim.

  "Easy there," Eddie murmured as he restrained her, easing her back.

  Good thing--she was all but jumping on Jim's chest. Hardly a help.

  "Lemme get a look at him." Eddie reached across and thumbed Jim's eyelids up, one by one. "Shit."

  Adrian shuffled himself over. "What we got?"

  "One hell of a concussion--or worse. I don't know--I'm not a healer like this." Eddie looked at Sissy. "First things first. Get some salt and put it across that windowsill. Ad, light up, will you." Then the angel glanced around. "Fucking hell, one of the guns broke."

  Which explained the dripping: Over where Eddie had been thrown, crystal shards gleamed in the light from the frosted window, a puddle of the solution Ad had prepared on the floor in front of the busted-up barrel.