by J. Kenner
And yet my strength was waning. I wanted . . . I craved . . .
And without even thinking, I found myself on hands and knees, moving over the bed toward the scent to Johnson's blood.
As I approached, Deacon lashed down with the knife, striking the butt end of it against the back of Johnson's head. Johnson fell to the ground, and Deacon whipped off his coat and tossed it over the lifeless form.
I reared back and howled. I was like an animal, complaining that the hunt had been taken from me, the prey plucked from my path, and like an animal, I snarled at the man who'd taken it from me.
"Don't," he said, his voice suggesting that whatever beast might be keening within me was no match for what lived day to day within him.
Right then, I didn't care. I would have leaped on him, would have attacked without another thought, if Rose hadn't sprung from the bed to do that very thing. She launched herself at him, moving with inhuman speed, her hands clawed and her fingernails going straight for Deacon's face.
I grappled to catch her from behind, on the one hand terrified that Deacon had killed the body and all of the monster was deep inside my sister, and on the other hand afraid that Rose would kill Deacon with her bare hands.
"He's alive!" Deacon said, hands up, feet in a fighting stance. His glasses were still off, and his eyes burned red—and right then I had no doubt that he would rip Rose's head off if she came anywhere close to him. "The bastard's alive. I only knocked him out."
I relaxed only slightly. Rose did not.
"You swear?" I demanded.
Deacon's lip curled into a snarl. "Don't you think she'd be the first to tell you if I was lying?"
"This is my sister," I said, my voice low. "Do not ever forget that . . . "
"Until we get him out of her, your sister might as well be dead."
I shook my head, finally letting go of Rose, who crawled backward onto the head of the bed, then crouched there on the pillows, looking forlorn and lost.
"You think that's her, peeking out looking scared? That's what he wants us to see. And the sooner you acknowledge that, Lily, the better this will go."
"Better?" I retorted. "How the fuck can any of this be better?" I drew in an angry breath, because of course it could be better. If Johnson were out of Rose's body. If the demonic essence of every demon I'd killed would leave my body in a puff. If Deacon would confide in me and share his secrets so that I knew whether I could trust him.
And if we could lock the Ninth Gate before the demon horde came rushing through.
Accomplish those things, and yeah, things could be better.
But seeing as I didn't see signs that any one of those things would happen anytime soon, I was reveling in the fucked-up-edness of the situation. Not to mention my own dark pity party.
I pressed my fingers to my head and tried to beat back the blackness. Compartmentalize. Shove all that demonic stuff back into a corner of my mind. One breath, then another. When I felt centered, I faced Deacon. "How do we know he's telling the truth? How do we know we can't kill that freakish, mouthless body without hurting Rose?"
It wasn't a chance I intended to take, but I needed to understand how this stuff worked. And right then, Deacon was the only one who could tell me.
Deacon drew in two noisy breaths through his nose, as if by the mere act of doing so he could calm a rage growing wild inside him. "When a demon invades a body," he finally said, "it's generally an all-or-nothing thing. A demon can send a small piece of himself into a human and try to tempt the human to do his bidding. But in those instances, the demon has no voice except inside the mind of the human he's possessed. Here, that portion speaks." He nodded toward the body at his feet. "And the body has been robbed of that ability."
"How do you know all of this?"
He looked at me, his eyes flat.
I licked suddenly dry lips. "Right. So. That means he's different from, well, other demons," I said, shooting Deacon a sideways glance.
"So it would seem."
"So we have to believe him," I said, nodding toward the body on the floor. "Until I can figure out a way to get Rose free"—I turned to face my sister, who was crouched on the pillows—"and I will figure out a way, then Johnson's body stays alive. Tie it up."
"My pleasure," Deacon said, taking his knife to the pull cord for the curtains, then using the cut strands to bind the Johnson-body's hands and feet.
While he did that I turned back to Rose. To Johnson. To the thing that had invaded my sister. "You," I said. “Talk. What are you doing, and what exactly do you want?"
"Why, Lily," Johnson said in a singsong Rose voice. "You sound so serious. And here I thought we were having a nice little family reunion."
The urge to lash out threatened to overwhelm me. I wanted to bloody up that sweet face. To make him shut the fuck up. Because the more I talked to him, the more I forgot that Rose was in there, and I couldn't forget.
Couldn't sacrifice my sister. There I was—trained, bred, created, whatever—to fight. But right then, I had nothing to fight against.
"I want you out of her." Yet another understatement.
"We all want something," Lucas countered.
I seriously considered ripping my hair out. "In case you haven't been paying attention, I don't know anything about your damn key. So how the hell am I supposed to find it for you?" It pissed me the hell off that he was tying my sister's safety—hell, her sanity—to me handing over some stupid thing that I'd never even seen, much less had my hot little hands on.
“Patience, Lily," he said. "You don't have it now, but you will soon." Rose's perfect Cupid's bow of a mouth stretched into a distended grin. "It's why they made you."
I shook my head. "No. They made me to kill a priest. To keep him from closing and locking the Ninth Gate. And in case you missed the memo, they got what they wanted."
"Well, there's the thing, Sugarlips—you've only fulfilled the first stage."
"What are you talking about?" Deacon asked.
My sister might never have been a drama queen, but the same could not be said of Johnson. He crawled to the center of the bed, then sat cross-legged, back straight, arms balanced over her knees.
"And lo, it came to pass that the Ninth Gate of Hell burst open, and those who dwelled below crept forth, bringing desolation and darkness to the land. To the righteous shall fall the task of sealing the gate, and woe to those who seek to secure the maw, for their champion is neither alive nor dead, neither friend nor foe, neither wicked nor pure, not thus until her allegiance be claimed, making fealty sworn, and bound until the end comes nigh. Great shall be the power of her blood, with power to see the hidden and the lost, and she shall consume her enemy and become one."
He bowed his head, then slowly looked up at me. "Nice to know they got you by the balls, isn't it?" Johnson said. "And they do now. They really do." He spread his arms wide. "Fealty sworn, babe. You're one of us now."
I shook my head, refusing to believe, even though so much of the freakish words rang true. A champion— that was what Clarence called me. Neither alive nor dead—and wasn't I immortal, not to mention that I'd died, and yet I lived? And oh, yeah, there was that little bit about consuming my enemies. Didn't much like it, but couldn't avoid it.
And, yes, my blood had led Clarence straight to Father Carlton.
And let's not forget that "hidden and the lost" part. Because hadn't Clarence used my very skin to find the location of the Box of Shankara? Hadn't the location of Father Carlton's ceremony been seared upon my forearm?
It described me, all right. The prophecy described me to a T.
I'd always known I was Prophecy Girl, but I'd never known what the prophecy said. Now that Johnson had recited it for me, I can't say that I was particularly happy with the knowledge. Especially not the knowledge that I was karmically locked on the demon side of things. "No," I said, not willing to believe it. "I never made the choice. They tricked me. It can't possibly count if they tricked me."
; “Tricked you?" Johnson repeated, only this time he spoke in Rose's voice. "Is that what you tell yourself so that you can sleep at night? Poor little baby was tricked. Poor you, how horrible."
"Dammit, Johnson, I never made the choice."
“The hell you didn't. You made the choice every time you embraced the rage. Every time you clung to the darkness. You made the choice, bitch, the day you tried to kill me."
I shook my head and took an involuntary step backward, then stopped when Deacon's hand closed over my shoulder, warm and comforting.
Johnson, however, didn't stop. He crawled forward on the bed, his eyes on mine. "You know it's true. You feel the darkness in your soul. Eating away at you. You won't even have one before long. Just the blackness, warm and sweet, filling you up. Don't fight it, Lily. Embrace it."
Behind me, Deacon's hand tightened, but I jerked away, the pressure no longer comforting but confusing. Was he trying to reassure or to drag me down? Had I found an ally in the man, or was he truly my enemy, secretly serving his demonic master?
"Overwhelming, isn't it?" Johnson said. "The power at your fingertips. The solidarity."
"Fuck you."
He laughed. "Not me you should hate, Sugar. I'm not the one who brought you, turned you. Tricked you into choosing sides."
Hatred filled me, and with it, the image of one man. "Clarence."
"Well, this is your lucky day," Johnson said. "Because I'll tell you a little secret. I hate him, too."
"Clarence works for Penemue," Deacon said. "Damn, of course he does."
"And a pat on the head to the little demon boy," Johnson said, earning a low growl from Deacon.
I turned to Deacon. "Clarence works for the guy who invented the Oris Clef? And this Penemue dude doesn't much like Kokbiel, I'm thinking?”
"Kokbiel and Penemue have been brutal enemies since the early times," Deacon said.
"And Penemue wants his key back," I added, thinking aloud. "Which means Clarence is going to be searching for this Oris Clef thing, too."
"Clever girl," Johnson said.
"But if all this is true, why didn't they have me going after the Oris Clef from the very beginning?"
"Had to stop the threat," Johnson said. "That bitch-spawn priest was going to lock the last open gate, and if the gates are sealed when the convergence comes, then the Riders can't cross over." He shrugged. "One gate's better than nothing, and even though Armageddon would come faster through nine doorways, it can still make it through one."
My stomach roiled, and I feared I'd throw up. So close—the forces of good had come so close to locking out the dark—and I'd single-handedly mucked it all up.
"More than that, they had to make sure you were aligned to their side—and what better way than to send you on so easy a quest? Killing an old, fat, human priest. No challenge, none at all. But now it's over, and there's no turning back. You're marked, girlie. Heaven's no longer an option. You get that, right?"
I took Deacon's hand. "I'll never believe that," I lied. "Never." But so help me, I did believe it. I could feel the evil inside me, after all.
"He lies," Deacon said. "That's what he does. What he is. A walking lie. Even his body's not his own."
"And yours is?" Johnson said. "How many bodies have you held over the course of your existence? How many lives have you thrust aside because you coveted their flesh?"
Deacon ripped his hand from mine, then stalked toward Johnson. "I will end you," he said, his voice low, dangerous. "Before this is over, you will burn, then you will disappear." Never once did Deacon raise his voice.
Never once did his tone change. But death and destruction dripped from every word. I saw fear spark in those too-familiar eyes, and I wanted to applaud. Because he'd made a dent. Deacon had actually scared the creature I hated most in all the world.
"Big talk," Johnson said. "So long as I'm in this body, I'm safe." He turned to me. "Then again, maybe I'm not. What do you think, Sugarbritches? Would he betray you to avenge himself? Would he kill your sister if it meant ending me?"
"Enough," I said, my voice as low and harsh as Deacon's had been earlier. "You're picking on the wrong girl. Because there is no way I am going back to work for that scum. Your Oris Clef is staying lost, and I'm killing that bastard. Clarence dies, and I'm doing it today."
Rose's eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. "The moment you do, your sister dies. So make your decision, Lily. And make it good."
"That's bullshit," I said. "You hate him, too. Why the fuck do you care if he dies? Go find your own damn key pieces."
"He needs Clarence," Deacon said. "He's an Incantor, isn't he?"
"A what?"
He nodded toward my arm. "A demon who can recite the incantations to raise the map. And he's a servant of Penemue. That gives him special insight."
"What's it going to be, Lily? You do your job—do what you were made to do—or your sister dies."
I drew in a breath, prolonging the moment. But there was never any doubt. How could there be when Rose's life was on the line? "Fine," I said. "I'm in."
"No." Deacon reached out and grabbed my upper arm so firmly I feared for finger-sized bruises. "You can't do this."
I cut my gaze toward Rose. "Yeah. I can."
"We're going to talk," he said. "Alone."
On the bed, Johnson chuckled. "Go on, then. I'll stay here, toying with your sister's life."
"Are you crazy?" I hissed, as soon as the motel door closed behind us.
He held up a finger instead of answering, then moved us down the walkway to the stairs. Only after we'd made our way to the brownish green pool did he speak.
"You cannot do this," he said.
"Watch me." I turned to walk away, but he grabbed my arm and jerked me back. I countered, taking my free arm and landing a solid uppercut on his jaw. His head snapped back, and when he steadied himself, his face was contorted with fury.
"Do not push me, Lily. Not now. Not about this."
"Ditto," I said, my blood boiling and my body thrumming. I was itching for a fight. Itching to smash Lucas Johnson's face in. But if I couldn't have him, maybe Deacon was the next best thing.
“Two weeks," Deacon said. "The convergence is in two weeks. What happened to us locking the gate?"
"What happened?" I repeated, my voice rising in bafflement. “Try Lucas Johnson. He happened."
"Dammit, Lily, we're meant to lock the gate."
I shook my head. "Hold up there, cowboy. You may have had a vision about us locking the Ninth Gate, Deacon, but that's been all shot to hell."
"No—"
"Yes," I said. "Visions aren't the future, dammit. They're a possible future. A possible future that I completely screwed up when I destroyed the Box of Shankara."
"I don't accept that. We can still lock the Ninth Gate. We can lock all the gates."
I ran my fingers through my hair, completely frustrated. "Dammit, Deacon, you said yourself this super-lock is only a legend. We don't even know that it exists."
"There are other ways, too, Lily. There are ways to lock each of the gates."
"Yeah? How?" He was silent, and I raved on. "That's what I thought. So don't talk to me about chasing some damned phantom. Not when my sister's life is on the line."
"It's the Apocalypse, Lily. Everyone's life is on the line."
"That's the point! We don't have time to play games. At least if I get this Oris Clef, then we'll have something to bargain with. You think I'm going to give it over to a lunatic like Johnson? Or even to Clarence? I'm not. But I need time to figure out how to get that bastard out of my sister."
“I can't let you do this, Lily."
"Dammit, Deacon, I don't have a choice."
"You always have a choice."
I planted my feet and shifted my stance, my arms crossed tight over my chest. "Fair enough," I said. "I choose Rose. I'm not failing her again."
"Lily—"
"No." I held up a hand, cutting him off. "You figure out what the lock
is, where it is, how we find it, and we can have this argument again. Until then . . . " I drew in a breath. "Until then, I guess I'm a goddamned double agent."
"You're playing right into their hands."
"I have to," I said. "If I don't, Rose is dead." And at the end of the day, that was the bottom line. If I didn't help Johnson, my sister would die. To me, that made this a total no-brainer. Everything else was just window dressing.
"You don't get it, do you?" Deacon retorted. "She's dead anyway if we don't shut the gate. Kokbiel and Penemue—you don't want to be in their cross fire. They're strong. Stronger than you can imagine."
I lifted my chin. "Then I'll have to make myself stronger still."
He shook his head. "Not even possible. Not even if you killed every demon that already walks the earth. And once you have the pieces for the key, there will be no bargaining. No winning. Only death and failure. Accept it," he said. "Rose is collateral damage. Accept it, and help me find the only key that matters."
But I couldn't. I could never accept that.
And so I walked away from Deacon and aligned myself with my enemy.
5
“You wanna tell me where you've been?" Clarence said. He was sitting cross-legged in front of my apartment door. "I’ve been calling and calling, and you're not even answering your damned cell phone."
"I turned it off," I said. "Sorry. I didn't think. I—" I ran my fingers through my hair and made an effort to look frazzled. It really wasn't hard. "I've had a rough day."
"Day? You've been gone for more than twenty-four hours. I've been pacing a damned path in this shit carpeting they've got in your hallway."
And the weird thing? There really was a worn pattern in the carpet. Not, I'm sure, because he was pacing with worry. More likely he was afraid his newly sworn Pawn of Evil had gone AWOL.
I slid my key in and opened the door. He slouched inside ahead of me, then plopped himself down in one of Alice's armchairs. "Make yourself at home," I mumbled.
He sighed, then kicked his feet up on an ottoman and took a long, slow breath. "Can't help it," he said. "I'm too damn relieved you're okay." His fedora was slanted down over his bulgy eyes, and stretched out like that, he looked less froglike than usual. He looked casual. He looked comfortable.
