Vendetta

by Katie Klein

  She pauses. "Here."

  "But you knew of him. So what is it about South Marshall that you don't know the Guardians working here?"

  "The country grows. It's young compared to the rest of the world. I don't understand why this is so strange to you. You live here, and you don't know everyone in this city."

  "I don't pretend to know them, either. I don't know things about them that I can't explain."

  "The spiritual world is more complicated than your world, Genesis." She nods toward the slab of wood. "Are you going to practice?"

  I grab another knife, lining up my target. "It's just that . . . I'm trying to piece this all together and I can't."

  "You won't. It's not something you, being who you are, can ever comprehend."

  I heave a sigh and toss the knife.

  "If a demon is driven by lust, where do you aim?" she asks, changing the subject.

  "The thigh." I grab two more knives, and toss one after the other. Each hits the intended mark. I walk over to the board and begin pulling them out, one by one.

  "Can you read Seth's mind?" I ask.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "The night you showed up. You knew what he was thinking. You knew he planned to take my place if something happened to me."

  "I can't read his mind, no. But I've seen enough. It wasn't difficult to guess his intentions."

  "How does that even work? How could he take my place?"

  She sighs. "Guardians cannot die. They cannot be created or destroyed by anyone other than God. Diabols, essentially, are the fallen angels. When their ranks increase, it's because a Guardian, or Power, or any of the others has fallen. A demon can't die, either, though. You can only kill its host body, which casts the demon into Hell. Once that happens, he . . . or she . . . can never get out."

  "What does this have to do with taking my place?"

  "In addition to waging spiritual warfare, the Powers are responsible for making sure that humans who've died cross over safely, but not before a Messenger, the Angel of Death, appears. It's said. . . ." She exhales a strong sigh. "It's said that an exchange can be made. A soul for a soul."

  "But you said if he did this he would be damned for eternity. So, what? He'd fall? Be sent to Hell?"

  "If he was successful."

  I eye her curiously. "Has that really happened, though? Has a Guardian ever taken someone else's place?"

  "There are stories of this, yes. Please. Continue."

  I grasp a knife and line up my shot.

  "Left hand this time," Mara says.

  I switch hands.

  Thigh for lust. Hit. Throat for malice. Hit. Knee jealousy. Hit. Ankle selfishness. Hit. Heart disappointment. Hit. Stomach feelings. Hit.

  I step back, examining the latest outline of Seth's body, knives puncturing each key area.

  They all seem the same.

  Lust. Jealousy. Malice. Disappointment. Selfishness. When it's time, how will I even know the difference?

  "Seth is unlike the others," Mara finally says, breaking into my thoughts.

  I glance over at her, surprised. "In what ways?"

  She brushes the strands of hair away from her face. "He's very protective of you. I've not seen anything like it."

  "He's my Guardian. He's supposed to be protective of me," I say.

  "Not like this. Typically, Guardians are very detached from their charges. People relocate all the time. Accidents happen. They pass away. Your life on earth is a vapor to us. It's not in their best interest to become too involved emotionally with someone they're watching over. But his feelings for you are very strong."

  "So . . . he loves me. So what?"

  "As a collective, Guardians aren't capable of loving anyone."

  I line up my next toss, eyeing the target. "Obviously they are."

  "It's been known to happen," she admits. "Never successfully."

  I stop, knife falling to my side, and turn to face her. "What are you saying?"

  "It doesn't need stating."

  "This isn't going to work out," I confirm.

  "But I think you already knew that." Her voice softens, eyes solemn.

  "Says who?"

  "You're aware the Council has a watchful eye on both of you, right?"

  "Is that supposed to scare me?"

  "It should."

  "It doesn’t."

  "This isn't only about you. Seth is in as much danger. Every decision you've ever made, every thought you've ever had, every emotion you've ever felt, you will answer for."

  "Fine."

  "You'll be held accountable and judged for your actions—both of you will." She speaks slowly, as if the concept is new and foreign to me. As if I couldn't possibly understand what I'm up against. What we're up against.

  "Then I'll make sure my actions are worth justifying," I reply.

  "This isn't a game, Genesis!"

  The knife flies from my hand, sailing through the air, spinning wildly. It hits Seth's forehead, gouging out a chunk of wood, sending it rocketing across the room.

  "I never thought it was."

  EIGHTEEN

  I sigh, stretching across the couch, head in Seth's lap. He runs his fingers through my hair, rhythmic, soothing.

  "Are you okay?"

  My eyes drift closed at his voice. "I should be asleep by now. It's like, I'm exhausted physically, but my brain won't shut down." Sleep never seems to come when I need it most. And lately, not at all.

  "We can turn the TV off," he suggests.

  "No point," I mutter. I roll onto my back, looking up at him, watching him watch me.

  "Are you okay?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Because you're so quiet. Focused. To an unusual degree."

  Seth's always had a commanding serious side, but he's growing more and more solemn by the day. Lost in a world I can't be part of.

  "I just worry about you," he says.

  "That's nothing new."

  "I know."

  My eyes close again, and I concentrate on his fingers, brushing my hair. His gentle touch. His warmth.

  A quick flash of light jars my body. I flinch, squinting at the ceiling, the light from the TV stinging my tired eyes. The pain lingers, and that dull ache I've grown accustomed to throbs behind them.

  It's happening. Again.

  I suck in a breath and hold it. Waiting.

  "Genesis?" I hear Seth's voice, but it's far away, distant. That sense of urgency washes over me, leaving my skin tingling, a shiver skittering up my spine. A flicker of images. The ocean. A dark sky. The beach. A demon shadowed. Standing on the boardwalk.

  "You don't have to do anything," Seth says, pulling me out of the vision, his voice drawing me back to him. "You don't have to listen."

  I sit upright, more awake than I've been all day.

  Seth eyes me warily. "What did you see?"

  "A Diabol. On the boardwalk."

  "What happened?"

  I struggle to lure the images back into my head. To make sense of them. "Nothing."

  "Nothing?" Seth asks, not understanding.

  "He was just . . . standing there, at the edge of the boardwalk. He wasn't doing anything."

  "Listen to me," he says. His voice is insistent, eyes begging me not to surrender. "It doesn't matter. If you didn't see anything, then there's no reason for you to worry about this. He's nobody."

  I bite into my lower lip, nodding in agreement. Because I don't have to go after this one. Or anyone, for that matter. This demon wasn't doing anything. He wasn't killing, or following, or. . . .

  Another flash ignites my subconscious. And the demon moves slowly from the shadows, passing under one of the streetlamps, her sparkling, scarlet-colored hair glowing against the black night. My breath catches in my throat.

  "Waiting. She's here. She's waiting for me." I jump to my feet, stumbling over them as I rush to the kitchen. I open one of the top cabinets and grab my knives.

  "What?" Seth is right behind me.

 
; "I saw her. She's at the boardwalk."

  "Genesis. You don't have to . . ."

  "I'm ready for this, Seth. I can end this tonight. It'll be over, and we won't have to worry about her ever again. We can be normal."

  His eyes search mine, waiting for me to waver, to change my mind. But everything I've done up to this moment has prepared me for this. I can do this. "I'll warn the others," he says.

  I pull a black, hooded sweatshirt over my head. The knives fit perfectly in the front pocket, but they're heavy, clanging every time I move.

  "Remind me to tell Mara I need a better system than this," I say, pulling open my car door.

  "I'm anticipating that, after tonight, you'll never need them again." We climb in and I reverse out of my space, swinging wide around Carter's circular driveway. The neighborhood is quiet, lights off in most houses, everyone asleep, or approaching it.

  This is it. The end.

  I cut across The Strip. There's not a car in sight. The inside of every store and restaurant is black. Parking lots vacant. It's surreal, actually. Not the South Marshall I know. It's like some creepy otherworld. Like Seth's world, where everything is shadowed. The same, but different.

  I turn onto the street running parallel to the ocean. The sky splits with lightning, and huge drops of rain pelt the windshield without warning, coming faster and faster. I press the brake, slowing the car, and flip my wipers on high, trying to maintain visibility. A crash of thunder rumbles.

  Seth yells something, but I can't hear over the noise, the buckets of water pouring from the sky.

  "What?"

  "Pull over!"

  "No!" I reply.

  Now that I'm here, on my way to meet Viola, my sense of purpose deepens. Everything since the night of that fire has pointed me in this direction. Getting to the boardwalk—to Viola—is the only thing that matters, and nothing will stop me.

  I continue down the street, cautious, cruising through puddles. The lamps overhead cast weird, pink streams of light, and rainwater gushes downhill, pouring into the sewers, carrying trash and debris. I pull into a parking space close to the boardwalk, away from major light sources. The good thing about the rain is that anyone happening by will be too distracted to notice one girl in a hoodie and an abandoned car in a parking lot. But then, if this ends badly, they'll be too distracted to notice one girl in a hoodie and an abandoned car in a parking lot.

  I shut off the engine, forcing the thought out of my head.

  "You should wait until this dies down," Seth says. Another flash of lightning, thunder right on top of it. Rain falls across the parking lot, and a low fog hangs suspended above the pavement.

  "I can't wait any more," I tell him, reaching for the door handle. For the first time I notice my hands are shaking, cold.

  Seth grabs my sleeve, holding me back, leaning across the console. His hand wraps behind my neck, pulling me into him, crushing his lips against mine. We remain there, trapped in a single, arrested moment as rain pummels the windshield. When he finishes I'm left breathless, throat tight and dry.

  "You've got this, all right?" he assures me. "Aim for the throat. I'm right behind you."

  I bite into my lower lip, nodding furiously.

  I've got this. I do.

  I slip my hand inside my pocket, feeling the knives. They clink against each other.

  "If something happens . . ." I begin.

  "I won't let anything happen to you," he interrupts.

  "You can't intervene, Seth. Don't." His jaw tightens, eyes narrowing. "I will hate you if you do."

  "I'm not going to let anything happen to you," he repeats.

  "Please," I beg. "Will you promise me?"

  His eyes flit between me and the boardwalk and the ocean and back again.

  Another crash of thunder.

  He doesn't answer.

  "Jesus," I mutter.

  He is so damn obstinate.

  I open the door, pushing my way into the night. The water is coming down fast, filling the lot quickly. Puddles reach my ankles. I pull the hood over my head, and swipe the raindrops away from my face. Already my clothes are drenched, jeans plastered against my skin, making it difficult to move. I jog down the sidewalk, feeling the weight of the knives as they rattle in my sweatshirt.

  The boardwalk is nothing like I remember. The last time I was here carnival rides filled the hollow and lit up the sky. Tonight it's isolated. Desolate.

  I climb the steps, steering clear of the streetlamps as I move down the wooden planks. A furious wind blows in off the ocean and I shiver, wet clothes clinging to my body, water squishing in my shoes. With every hammering step, each thump of my feet hitting the ground, I hear her name.

  Viola. Viola. Viola. Viola.

  The sky brightens, and the next crack of thunder makes the hairs on my neck stand on end. The boardwalk is empty. In my world, anyway. What I can't see is how many Guardians are veiled, hidden. How many Diabols are waiting. If she's waiting.

  My hair is soaked beneath the hood, and rainwater seeps into my shirt, trickling down my stomach. The end of the boardwalk juts out into the ocean, surrounded by water. I reach the metal railing, the only thing separating me from the tumultuous sea. Waves crash against the pilings and rocks below.

  It's perfect.

  I turn and face the boardwalk.

  Where are you? I saw you. I know you're here.

  I grip my knife tighter, waiting for her to emerge from the shadows so I can finish this.

  The rain slackens, falling in sheets instead of torrents, dripping down my sleeves and my hands, falling from the blade of my knife. I count seconds between the next flash of lightning until thunder rumbles, low and ominous. The ground beneath me shakes.

  Come on.

  But there's nothing. No signs of life, or any kind of movement, from one end of the walkway to the other. I pull the vision back into my mind, replaying it over and over, doubting myself. But I'm sure. This is it. This is where I saw her.

  The icy wind shifts, slipping beneath my hood, blowing it back. I brush the rain off my face, blinking, feeling the drops collecting heavy along my lashes. Ice flows through my veins instead of blood. I shiver, feeling the chill as it ripples across my skin, lip quivering with cold.

  My heart inches to my throat, and though I'm saturated and shivering, I feel a presence behind me. I'm not alone. I close my eyes. And above the rain pounding the boardwalk, the waves lumbering in, I hear the warm breaths.

  In a second I'm whirling to face her, knife poised.

  A strong hand clasps my wrist, forbidding me to move closer.

  My temper flares, suffering a rush of adrenaline. I blow an angry exhale.

  "Seth! Oh My God! I almost killed you!" I scream above the storm.

  "Good," he replies, releasing my arm.

  "What are you doing?" I hiss.

  "She's not here." He surveys the boardwalk, shaking off the rain accumulating in his hair, running down his face.

  "What do you mean she's not here?"

  "They haven't seen her. No one has. She's not here tonight."

  He means the Guardians. A spark of outrage ignites inside, burning.

  "Then they aren't watching! I know what I saw!"

  "I know you know what you saw," he counters. "But something's changed. She's either not here anymore, or she never was."

  "What are you saying?" I ask, swiping my wet forehead with the back of my hand.

  "I don't know," he confesses. "Maybe she knows something. . . . Or she planned it. I don't know."

  "She's testing me."

  A fresh wave of anger washes over me.

  Of course she's testing me. Teasing me. Why else would she send demons that I can fight? Easy kills.

  I move quickly down the gray planks, passing through the rain, crossing the flooded parking lot.

  "Give me your keys," Seth demands. "I'll drive." I reach into my back pocket and toss them over the car. "Take off whatever you can."

  Inside,
I slip off my wet sneakers and pull the hoodie over my head. My tank top is soaked beneath it. It falls to the floorboard, sloshing in a heap. Seth removes his shirt and tosses it in the backseat. He cranks the engine and immediately reaches for the heat. The air blows cold at first. I move the vents away from my body, goose bumps intensifying at the sudden chill, teeth chattering. Seth pushes the gas pedal, revving the engine, persuading the motor to warm up faster. "It'll just take a second."

  I'm worried it'll take more than a second, though. The air conditioner is awful about going in and out. Sometimes working. Sometimes not. I've never even tried the heater.

  I squeeze the water out of my hair.

  "It wasn't raining in my vision," I tell him.

  He glances over his shoulder, backing out of the space. "Somehow I don't think it would've mattered."

  Seth eases past the curb, preparing to pull out into the street when I see it. "Wait!"

  "What?"

  "Headlights. There's someone coming. Park."

  Seth kills the lights, throws the gear in reverse, whips the car around, and pulls into an empty space. I turn in my seat, watching the road, waiting. Without the aid of wipers, it's impossible to see what's happening, or to know if we've been spotted, but my fears are confirmed when the beam of headlights slows, and a car pulls into the driveway.

  "Shit."

  As if this night could get any worse.

  I crawl across the console, facing Seth, straddling his lap.

  "What are you doing?" he asks.

  "You're gonna have to trust me on this one."

  I grasp blindly at the side of the seat, fingers grappling for the lever. A slam of a car door, and the seat falls backward.

  "Kiss me."

  I tilt his chin toward me as he wraps his arms around my waist. His lips are hard, wet with rainwater, and driving into me. Fiercely passionate. I feel my eyebrows pull together, unaccustomed to this Seth. This careless, hungry, desperate Seth. But I close my eyes and let myself feel him just the same.

  * * *

  The rain has slackened to a quiet drizzle by the time we pull back into Carter's driveway. The police officer let us off with a warning. Next time we won't be so lucky. Or so he said. I gather our wet clothes and my shoes and step back into the night air, barefoot.