Dark Gift

by Kim Richardson

  “Jax wants to use the human police as bait?” Surprise flashed across the priest’s face. “That doesn’t sound like Jax.”

  “No, that sounds like a douche,” interjected Tyrius as he picked at something in his paw.

  My anger at the angel-born returned, flaring in me in hot waves. “Jax hasn’t been the same since he came back from the Netherworld—”

  “He’s even more of a douche,” sneered the cat and he spat out whatever he’d found stuck between the pads of his paw.

  “He’s different,” I added, forcing the anger from my voice. “There’s an evil streak in him that wasn’t there before,” I continued. “It’s like he’s a totally different person.”

  At that, the tight press of Father Thomas’s lips eased. The priest shifted on his feet, his features twisting in sorrow. “Demonic possession changes a person dramatically. Demonic power is far too much for a human body to withstand. It causes it to decay.”

  I thought of the gift Lucian was prepared to give me, and I shivered.

  “They can also have a harmful effect on the person’s biology,” said the priest, “affecting their blood, their organs. Overcoming demonic possession is incredibly rare and requires an incredibly strong emotional stimulus and very strong willpower.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked. “You think Jax is infected or something?”

  “Demons can leave a mark,” said the priest. “A mark on the person’s soul, sort of like an imprint of the demon in question. It can make Jax do things he wouldn’t normally do. And he wouldn’t have control over it. Not until the demon... flushes out of his system completely.”

  “Makes sense.” I gave the priest a nod of my head. Yes, having the infuriating, trickster jinni Jeeves in his body probably was hard on Jax both physically and mentally. But I had a feeling his new shady self was due to his trip to the Netherworld, and not the jinni.

  Father Thomas reached out and put a hand on my shoulder, mistaking my anger for sorrow for what happened to Jax. “Give him time. He’ll come around. You’ll see.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze.

  I doubt that. Jax wasn’t my problem anymore. Let the angel-born deal with him.

  Father Thomas let go of my shoulder and yawned, and I took that as my cue to leave.

  “Go to bed, hot stuff,” I winked at the priest making him scowl. What can I say? The priest was hot, and I was a very naughty girl. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The priest’s eyes flashed. “Wait. I have something for you. Just a second, Rowyn, before I forget.” He dashed back into the dark foyer.

  I glanced down at the cat, who gave me a small shrug, and went on to lick one of his toes.

  Father Thomas reappeared in the doorway a moment later. A white envelope hung in his hand. “Here. Someone left this for you today. They slipped it under my door.”

  A surge of panic welled in me as I took the envelope and glanced at it. ROWYN SINCLAIR was written in bold letters. The writing was elegant, female. I knew what it was and who sent it even before I opened it.

  “Is everything all right, Rowyn?” came Father Thomas’s voice, his tone one of concern, though I wouldn’t meet his eyes. “You know who sent this letter?”

  “Yes. Thanks. Good night,” I said, not bothering to look at the priest as I turned away and stepped off his porch. Blood pounding in my ears, I just wanted to get the hell away from the priest before he could read the guilt written all over my face. Before I got him in worse trouble than a ramshackle apartment.

  Lisbeth was among the few old-world types that didn’t believe in honor. She believed in power without honor because she didn’t care how she got it, or who she killed to get it. And she would stop at nothing to get it. I stared down at the envelope, knowing that there was a name written on a piece of paper, the name of my next victim.

  “Rowyn?” followed Tyrius’s voice, just as I heard the front door shut. “It’s from that old hag. Isn’t it? Demon balls. Why can’t she just leave you alone!”

  “Because she thinks I actually killed Steven on purpose,” I whispered. “She thinks I killed him for her.” I was a fool. A goddamned fool.

  I stepped off the last step and halted, staring at my name blurring in my trembling hands with my teeth clenching. Would I ever be rid of her? I knew she wouldn’t stop, and now the proof was in my hands. I had the name of the next poor SOB she wanted me to erase.

  “Breathe, Rowyn,” soothed the cat. “You’re going green again. You know green doesn’t look good on you.”

  I glanced down at the cat, feeling unreal, like a monster without even having taken the dark gift from Lucian. Tyrius was looking at me, eyes wide as though I might explode. Maybe I was.

  “Go on. Open it.” Tyrius’s gaze jumped to mine, his anger lighting his eyes a dark blue. “It’s ugly. I know it’s ugly. I can feel it. You know I can feel these things. This one... this one is going to be bad, Rowyn. Really bad.... But you have to open it.”

  I didn’t want to open it. Opening it would only lead to something worse than killing Steven. And what could be worse than ending the life of an innocent?

  But what choice did I have? Swallowing my rage and fear, I ripped open the envelope, pulled out the small piece of paper the size of a business card—and my breath caught.

  “Who is it?” prompted Tyrius. The dread in his voice sent my own fear skyrocketing through me. “Tell me, Rowyn!”

  Jaw clenched, I crumbled the paper into a ball, met the cat’s startled gaze, and said, “She wants me to kill Danto.”

  19

  What’s worse than killing an innocent? Killing a friend who’d saved your life more than once.

  Yeah, and I was the asshole who was supposed to do just that.

  It took five hours to clean up the mess the werewolves made as best as I could the following afternoon. By the time I was finished picking up the last five large black garbage bags filled with dust, plaster, broken plates, glasses, and foam from my couch cushions, Father Thomas’s hired carpenter arrived to take measurements for the new kitchen cabinets and assess all the damage.

  Turns out the kitchen wasn’t as destroyed as I’d first thought. Henry, the carpenter, told me that most of it was salvageable. He only had to replace some cabinets doors, hardware, and the counter. It had me feeling a tad better, and my mood shifted slightly.

  I’d left Tyrius with Kora and Grandma. I wanted both baals to watch over her. With what the werewolves did, I couldn’t be too careful or too stupid to think they might not try her place next.

  My thoughts drifted to the elf, to how good his butt looked in those jeans as he prepared us breakfast. He’d surprised me that night, how he’d opened up to me and shared. I suspected it wasn’t something he did frequently. His honesty had brought us closer. And unlike most men in my life, Gareth wanted to help me. Even when he’d known I had archdemon blood in my veins, something most half-breeds and angel-born alike would consider evil, he still had wanted to help.

  I was still angry that he wouldn’t teach me how to use pullomancy. But then again, he did have a fine ass.

  Truth was, I wanted to be alone. I needed to think. Surprise, who knew that cleaning also was like meditation. I could be alone with my thoughts as I moved around the apartment, picking up foam pieces from the floor as I brainstormed on the multitude of ideas to get me out of this mess. I needed to focus on a solution as to how I was going to get out of Lisbeth’s blackmail. I couldn’t kill Steven, and I’d rather stab myself in the heart than kill Danto.

  But, even after five hours of cleaning and brainstorming, I had nothing.

  So what the hell was I supposed to do? Danto was my friend, but my grandmother was the only family I had left.

  Finally, after saying my goodbyes to Henry and packing a bag with a couple of days’ worth of clothes, since he said I could come back in three days, I climbed down the stairs and stepped out into the evening air. It was half past six by the time I’d made my way down the driveway to my Subaru.
r />   It was a sunny Friday evening, the sky a mix of deep oranges and yellows and blues. It was surprisingly warm, and I almost smiled. I was tired, dirty, and hungry from all that cleaning. Just thinking of the veggie homemade pizzas my gran had told me we were having for dinner sent my mouth watering.

  A hot shower and a large glass of red wine with a slice of pizza sounded like heaven.

  I pulled out my car keys from my bag and that’s when I sensed them.

  I jerked as the cold, demonic energy flew through me, sending my skin riddling in goose bumps. Adrenaline hit me, making my heart thrash into my chest so hard it hurt. I breathed in the smell of wet dog and sulfur. My gaze shifted across the parking lot to the other side of the street. Standing, both with their arms crossed, were two werewolves.

  I didn’t have to look very hard. Hell, just by the way they were standing in my line of sight they wanted me to see them. The male werewolf was huge, built like a wrestler in his t-shirt and jeans, and had the posture of a bear. Through his thick beard and long hair, his expression was blank as he watched me.

  But the female werewolf had my pulse quickening. I recognized her from the forest as the one who had thrown my grimoire into the fire. A bitch, but a beautiful one. She was lovelier than I’d remembered, her mocha-colored skin glowing in the fading sun. Her long black hair spilled down her front in silky waves. She was in jeans too and short jacket, perfect supple clothes for a kill.

  She was shorter than me—I would even go as far as call her petite—but the smaller werewolves were the fastest, and the females were all the more vicious. Her posture was stiff, her expression hard, and deep loathing flashed in her eyes. I knew that look. It was the I’m-going-to-rip-out-your-throat-and-eat-it kind of look.

  Shit. They were going to kill me. And I hadn’t even showered.

  Heart racing, my left hand brushed my waist and I cursed. I didn’t have a soul blade or a death blade, and I felt practically naked without them. A hunting knife was all I had, and that would do diddly squat against two werewolves.

  The female lifted her chin, her nose in the air, and I swear I saw her sniff. Then her face morphed into a knowing smile that gave me the creeps. Could she smell the fear on me? Or did I just smell that bad?

  I could see revenge on her small features. She blamed me for Steven’s death, her alpha. And she was right. I had killed him.

  I waited, cringing. If I ran now, would I make it in time to my apartment before the werewolves made ribbons of my flesh? Or should I take a chance and go for my car, which was closer? Weres could easily break the car’s glass windows. And I seriously doubted I could outrun a werewolf. Make that two werewolves.

  Damn. I should have taken Lucian’s gift.

  I don’t know how long we stood there, staring at each other from across the street, with the werewolves never moving. They just stood there, staring, killing me with their eyes but never actually following through.

  I took a breath. Then I took a step towards my car, my eyes never leaving the two weres. When they didn’t even flinch, I walked towards my car as calmly as I could without them seeing my body shaking. By the time I got next to my subbie, I thought my head would explode from all the pounding blood.

  With a trembling hand, I jammed my key into the lock and pulled open my door. My face hot, I locked the doors and put the key into the ignition. The Subaru roared into life.

  I put the car in reverse and checked my rearview mirror. The weres hadn’t moved. I don’t even think they’d blinked. What the hell? Why hadn’t they attacked? And then it hit me.

  They wanted to scare me. This was a fear mongering tactic to frighten me. They wanted me to be afraid constantly, never knowing when the day would come that I would die, when they would strike. It was working.

  With the car in drive, I pulled out of the driveway, passing the two werewolves who were still watching me on the opposite side of the street.

  How long had they been there? Had the werewolves been across the street this whole time while I was upstairs cleaning? Had they been spying on me since the day they trashed my place? This whole thing gave me the creeps.

  My phone rang, and I jumped. Fumbling with one hand on the wheel while rummaging in my bag with my other hand, I pulled out my phone. I frowned. I didn’t recognize the number and there was no caller ID. My gut clenched. It was them. Were the werewolves going to prank call me to death? Bastards. I could just hang up, but I wanted to tell them off more.

  With my eyes on the road, I answered. “Screw you, dog-breath,” I yelled, “if you think you can scare me by trashing my place or with your big, wolf eyes—newsflash, bitch, it’s not working.”

  “Rowyn?”

  My pulse jumped. The voice was male and it sounded familiar. “Yeah,” I said, cautiously.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to call.”

  My insides twisted. “Ethan? What’s going on?” I thought it strange that this angel-born, this stranger, would call me. God, I hoped he wasn’t going to ask me out because that would be awkw-a-a-a-a-rd.

  “It’s Jax,” said Ethan, and the tension in his tone had me straightening in my seat.

  “Hang on while I put you on speaker.” I tapped the speaker icon on my phone and placed it on my lap. “Okay. What about Jax?” I asked, slowing down at the red light and checking my rearview mirror to see if any cars were following. But the road was deserted.

  Silence, and then Ethan’s voice sounded out the speaker. “He’s not himself.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” I rolled my eyes. “Then who is he?” I didn’t have time for this crap.

  “He’s... he’s different,” said Ethan, his voice muffled. “I can’t stop him.”

  “Look, Ethan,” I said, as politely as I could. “Jax isn’t my problem. He never was. If he’s gotten himself into trouble, find his mommy. I’m sure she can pull him out of the pile of crap he’s in, and she’ll probably be really happy about it too.” I added with a smile.

  Ethan cleared his throat. “I know you’re angry with him. I know you have a history with—”

  “I don’t,” I said, angry and louder than expected. “Get to the point. I’m driving.”

  “I think he’s going to hurt himself,” came Ethan’s loud voice. “He’s been acting really strange and talking about death all the time.”

  “So he’s a little morbid,” I said, shrugging. “It doesn’t make him suicidal. Don’t forget he’s been through hell.” Literally. “What makes you think he’s going to hurt himself?” The conversation with Father Thomas came back to me. What if some of that demon jinni imprint was making him do stuff? Jeeves had hacked into Jax’s brain like a computer virus. What if some of Jeeves was still in there? What if Jax’s mind just couldn’t cope?

  “Because he’s drunk and has a soul blade pointed at his chest.”

  Damn. Jax, you stupid, dumbass angel-born. What have you done?

  “Rowyn?” pleaded Ethan. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything, but he won’t listen to me. You’re the only one who can talk sense into him.”

  “Have you tried his fiancée?” I asked, my anger resurfacing at the thought of her pretty face, smiling victoriously at me when she was kissing Jax. “I hear she’s a real sergeant major.”

  “She’s in Europe with her parents,” said the angel-born. “You’re the only one,” he said, and I distinctly heard a mix of fear and desperation in his voice. “I need your help, Rowyn. You have to help me. I don’t know who else to turn to.”

  God, I hated these kinds of situations. “What can I do that you haven’t already tried? I barely know the guy. I’m sure you don’t need my help.” I shouldn’t have answered the phone.

  “Please.”

  Damn. He’d said the magic word. Gut wrenching, I thought about it. I didn’t hate Jax for being such a douche, nor did I have any more feelings of affection towards him. But it didn’t mean I wanted him dead, and especially not by his own hands.

  Jax was a mess
, and from what Ethan was saying, it was a lot worse than I’d thought. And I was a sucker when it came to helping helpless men.

  I let out an exasperated breath. “Where are you?”

  “1900 East 149th street, South Bronx,” said Ethan, and I heard the tension leave his voice.

  “I’ll be there in forty minutes,” I said, hanging up and tossing the phone on the seat.

  And then I floored it.

  20

  I wouldn’t necessarily say I suffered from a bad case of road rage, but I did like to scream profanities to the slowpokes driving fifty below the speed limit in the fast lane. I couldn’t help myself.

  I was moving almost before my Subaru stopped, gathering my phone and making sure I had my hunting knife with me. With my car parked, I hurried up East 149th street, checking the address numbers as I went.

  I’d made it to South Bronx in record time, and by some miracle I hadn’t gotten stopped for speeding. Knocking out a cop would have been a big no-no. The sun was low in the sky, but it was still warm as it hit the top of my head and shoulders. The wind moved my long bangs that I was trying to grow out from my face. Worry had me walking fast, my boots clunking hard against the sidewalk as I passed the only human, a homeless man pushing a cart full of his belongings, I could see in a four-block radius.

  The buildings were a mismatch of brown stones, apartment complexes, a garage and a few dingy looking shops with boarded-up windows. It felt like I was in a more industrial part of the city, a man-made concrete city of glass, steel, and stone. The streets were narrower than usual, and once the sun disappeared behind one of the tall buildings, everything was left in shadow. My tension rose when I realized the address I was following led me toward the lower streets. My creep-o-meter went up and I felt claustrophobic.

  I’d never been in this part of this borough before. What was Jax doing all the way out here?

  A white and black cat scurried across the street, tail in the air and making me think of Tyrius. I’d called my grandmother on the way here to tell her not to wait for me for dinner, that I had to take care of a few things. That’s when Tyrius had demanded to speak to me and then had cursed me out for not being at the pizza party. I’d hung up soon after I told him where I was going and why.