Every muscle in my body tenses. I’m prepared to fly out the door if he tries to hurt Marcus.
Jude rises up to his full height, though he still falls several inches shorter than Marcus. “Let me give you a friendly piece of advice. Stay the hell out of my way.”
“I have every intention of getting in your way. I will be the biggest pain in the ass you’ve ever met,” Marcus leans toward Jude. “You can’t have her.”
Jude throws his head back and laughs. I can only see him from behind, but when his laughter dies away, he stands stock-still. I can only imagine the stare he fixes on Marcus. I shiver.
“If you know who I am, then you know what I’m capable of. And you know what happened the last time someone stood in my way.”
“Oh yeah, I know what you did to her. Undetectable—clever of you.”
I press a hand over my mouth to cover my whimper. Horror grabs hold of my heart and squeezes. I can’t catch my breath. Images flicker through my thoughts. Jude beaming at me, his hands spread wide in welcome. The look of love aimed right at me. Suddenly the vision changes. Hypnotic eyes. Whispery words. Forked tongue. Demon.
“She’s dead.” The cold rasp in Jude’s voice makes me cringe. “You’re no longer bound to her.”
“I’m honor bound and that’s never going to change. But you wouldn’t know anything about honor, would you?”
I feel the hatred rolling off them as they glare at each other.
Jude breaks the silence. “I’m afraid this is going to end badly for you.”
Jude lunges for Marcus and grabs hold of his arm. Marcus flounders, trying to pull away. He arches his back, hissing and grunting through clenched teeth. I open the door several inches, about to tear down the sidewalk to help him when his gaze burns into mine. He shakes his head and then slides to his knees.
“That’s just a taste, young one. Interfere again and you won’t walk away.”
Jude walks down the sidewalk toward a sleek black sedan. Opening the driver’s side door, he pauses and stares past Marcus. With a gasp, I realize he’s staring right at me. I don’t care. I fling open the door and race to Marcus’ side.
“Are you okay? What did he—?”
Marcus rises unsteadily and watches until Jude’s car is down the street.
“Get inside,” he says roughly, pushing me ahead of him.
Once inside the foyer, I see the bloody gash on his arm.
“He did this?” I gasp. “How? Did he stab you?”
I agreed to meet with Jude here. This is my fault.
“I need to go,” he pants, shaking me off as he rushes up the stairs.
“Marcus!” I pause for only a second before I run after him. He tries to slam the door, but I catch it with my foot. I swear under my breath from the sharp pain, my foot throbbing. I shove the door open in time to see Marcus throw himself through the open window leading to the balcony. I limp across the room and climb out after him.
“Marcus!” He leans against the brick wall, fingers clenched as if trying to crush the bricks, all the muscles straining across his back and down his arms. His head is bent and his body shudders with heaving breaths.
“Go away!” he moans.
Marcus’ back arches sharply and he cries out. He jerks his shirt up and over his head, flinging it to the ground. Large chords throb beneath the skin on his back. He howls as the pulsating skin splits. Giant white and gray wings burst free.
His breathing is ragged. A river of sweat runs down his spine between the crest of each wing and his shoulder blades.
“Get out of here, Lucy.” His voice is low and his chin touches his still heaving chest.
I’m breathless as I watch his wings rise and fall several inches, like they’re itching to fully extend. “Did…does that hurt?”
He nods. “Today was worse than normal.”
“Marcus, please turn around.”
He moves away from the wall, his wings quiver and compress against his back. His body is slick with sweat. His chest heaves and trembles and I’m guessing the pain of his transformation takes some time to fade away.
I reach for him. “I’m amazed. You’re…beautiful.”
He scowls. “Beautiful?”
How can I convince him? I take his hand and pull him to me.
“Remarkable…dazzling…” His eyes meet mine and I smile. The corner of his mouth twitches a little.
“Stop it. You’re embarrassing me.”
“But it’s true!”
His face droops and I realize he’s exhausted. I reach for him again and this time he doesn’t back away. He steps into my embrace, winding my hair around his fingers. I pull away only after I feel his heartbeat slow to a normal pace. The big ugly gash on his arm is already scabbing over.
Jude did that to him.
“Earlier…downstairs…you looked like you were fighting against something. On my birthday, I thought you willed the change to come on, but now I’m thinking that’s not true.”
“It’s both, actually.” His voice is thick with fatigue. “In the beginning, I had no control over it. Eventually, I learned how to make it happen if I needed it to.”
“What makes the change come on?”
Marcus frowns. “When I’m in close proximity to evil—big time evil—it comes on and it’s impossible to stop.”
“It’s Jude. He’s a demon.”
Marcus nods.
“Is he the one that broke into my room?”
“No.”
No? A painful knot forms in my stomach. Two demons. “I don’t understand. The change is brought on by demons. Is it a matter of good versus evil?”
“It’s not that simple. The intruder that broke into your room…he’s also a demon, but he didn’t bring the change on.” His gaze fixes on me. “Jude’s stronger, more powerful than any other demon we know.”
I close my eyes for a moment and rub my temples against the headache coming on.
“Witches and demons.” I open my eyes. “And then there’s you.”
His shoulders slump and his arms hang at his sides, the mere act of standing is almost too much for him. I circle him and cautiously run my finger along a row of feathers. Marcus flinches and I jerk my hand back. “Does that hurt?”
“No.” His voice is soft.
“What does it feel like if I do this?” I press my hand against a row of feathers, pushing them against his back, but not too hard.
“It doesn’t hurt.”
I run my fingers along row after row, fascinated. Marcus shivers. A thought occurs to me. “There’s something else. I’ve felt it. When you hold me, not only do I feel safe, but…”
“Comforted.” He finishes my sentence. “That’s how it’s been described to me.”
“Exactly…” I glower, wondering who else has been in his embrace.
I continue to study his feathers. The quills are very much like those of birds, but larger and sturdier. The feathers themselves are softer, fuller. The white ones are my favorite. They’re bright and beautiful like fresh snow. I frown and turn away as flashes of my conversation with Jude come back to me. “Jude knew my grandmother, but he never got around to telling me how.” From the corner of my eye, I see his wings flutter. “You knew her, too.”
“Your grandmother brought me here.” He says as he traces our intertwined fingers. “She liked to tell me that there was some bad-ass evil in the world and that I was her official evil detector.”
A tired grin appears on his face.
“Bad-ass evil, huh?” I would’ve loved to hear Gram talk that way. “Jude again, I presume?”
“Yes.” He sighs. “Lucy, your grandmother devoted her life to keeping you safe. There’s a lot you don’t know...”
I stiffen. “Keeping me safe from what? From Jude? He’s a bad guy, I get that.” I peek at the wound on Marcus’ arm and shudder. “But what does he want with me? I’m just a nobody from a sucky trailer park in Tennessee whose Momma was a drunk and a junkie. That’s what I needed
protecting from. Nobody seems to get that.”
He frowns, nodding.
“Gram is gone, Marcus, and if Momma was supposed to be my protection, well, she’s gone too. Tell me the truth so I can protect myself.”
“Lucy…” Marcus’ expression is filled with so much sorrow, I feel like my heart is going to shatter. He takes both of my hands in his and I’m not sure if it’s to comfort or restrain me.
“What is it?” A horrible feeling settles in my stomach.
Our eyes lock and I hold my breath.
“Jude is your father.”
Chapter Seventeen
“What did you say?”
“Jude is your father,” he says. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you sooner. Persephone and Henry didn’t want to overwhelm you. And…”
I almost laugh out loud. Overwhelm me? Witches. Demons. Marcus. And now my long-lost father. “And what?”
He averts his eyes. “They need your help rescuing Lola. Jude has her and there’s no way he’ll let anyone else inside his house.” He presses his lips into a thin, angry line and hunches his shoulders. “They think that if you’re afraid of Jude, you won’t be willing.”
His voice is filled with disapproval. “You don’t want me to do it, do you?”
“Of course not!” His grip on my hand is too tight, hurting me. “But they won’t listen to me. They think it’s more important to rescue that damn bird and keep your legacy intact.”
“My what?” I’m totally confused.
Marcus rises to his feet, pulling me up with him. “Let’s go talk to the boss lady.”
I follow him into his apartment. Marcus disappears into the bathroom for a few minutes. When he comes out, his wings are gone. I trail behind him as we exit his apartment and I swallow a gasp at the sight of the raised scars that run the length of his back.
We knock three times before Persephone answers, her flushed face standing out against the orange flowing blouse and maroon stretchy pants.
She raises her eyebrows before waving us in. “Lucy and Marcus. Come in.”
As we follow her into the kitchen, my heart grows heavy at the site of the familiar wallpaper with tiny yellow and orange wildflowers and the delicate lace curtains that hang on the window above the sink. Gram originally decorated this apartment and Persephone hasn’t changed much. Then I’m hit with a strange smell. I wrinkle my nose at the odor, a combination of earth—dirt and leaves—and sulfur.
I glance over at the stove and see a huge pot of boiling liquid. Persephone tosses several items into the pot, reduces the flame, then moves to the kettle.
Herbs dangle upside down from her cabinet knobs, drying, the dark thread binding them invisible from where I stand. Gram used to do the same thing. Is it a witch thing or a cooking thing? I’ll add it to my list of questions after we get some of the bigger ones answered.
Persephone peers over her shoulder at Marcus. “Since you’re standing half-naked in my kitchen, I’m guessing Lucy got to see you in action again.”
“Jude was here,” Marcus slumps into a seat at the table. “I told her.”
Persephone mutters something like “Harrumph!” She takes a seat across from Marcus. I push myself away from the wall and sit next to him.
“Then I guess it’s time to fill you in on the rest.”
“I want to help rescue Lola,” I tell her.
“Lola,” Persephone repeats. “Many witches have familiars. Animal companions. Lola was your grandmother’s familiar. Serenity is mine.”
I glance from Persephone to Marcus. Nothing is what it seems. Lola’s the family pet, the only pet I’ve ever had. I recall summer days when Gram and I worked in the gardens while Lola perched in one of the tall trees. Other times, I pretended to be a raven, racing around the yard, my arms extended, exhilarated as I pretended to fly. All the while, Lola soared lazily through the air above me, mimicking my movements.
Persephone’s voice jolts me from my memories. “Your grandmother despised Jude. All of her efforts went into keeping the two of you apart.”
I don’t have to ask why. Gram wanted to protect me from my demon father.
“Jude hated her for it.” Persephone pauses. “For years, Lola and Serenity took turns watching Jude.”
“Wait! The ravens spied on him?”
“Jude’s red-eyed beasts do the same thing. In fact, they started it.”
“Red-eyed what?” I ask.
“Crows,” Marcus clarifies. “He has some crazy breed of crows with red eyes.”
I shudder. “What happened to her? To Lola?”
“For reasons I don’t understand, Lola was persistent about going over to Jude’s. She stopped rotating with Serenity. For two weeks straight, she went over there. When she returned each night, she was either exhausted or agitated.”
“What was she so upset about?”
“It would help if you tell her about the legacy,” Marcus points out.
My grimace bounces from Marcus to Persephone.
“You see, when a witch dies, her powers don’t die with her. Not usually, anyway. They’re passed on.”
I lean forward, tucking my legs underneath me. “What do you mean? Gram’s powers were passed on to you?” A flash of resentment burns inside of me. Persephone gets Lola and Gram’s powers?
“No, not me.” She and Marcus both chuckle, as if reading my thoughts. “Your grandmother entrusted them to Lola until you turned sixteen and are ready to receive them. This is your birthright, Lucy.”
“Me?” I yelp. My heart freezes and then starts to pound in my chest. I’m going to be a witch? Was Persephone out of her mind? I’m still not sure I buy into this whole witch thing.
As if she read my doubt, Persephone fixes me with her gaze. “You’re destined to be a great witch, Lucy. That’s what I was trying to get at during our last conversation, when I brought up your powers. Your grandmother was powerful, more than Henry, more than me. Once you inherit her powers, we will teach you how to use them.”
When I inherit them? I stare at her, unblinking.
As if in response, my palms start to burn. Oh God, no. Not now.
“I need a glass of water.” I jump up, knocking my chair over in the process. “Sorry,” I mumble, setting it upright before crossing the room to grab a glass from the cabinet. I stand at the sink, letting the icy tap water wash over my hands and wrists. My powers aren’t from Gram, Persephone didn’t know about them. Jude is my father. Jude is a demon. That makes me… “Half demon,” I choke out. My knees buckle. Marcus is there in an instant, holding me up.
“What did you say?” he asks. I look into his eyes. I study the gash on his arm where Jude hurt him. Marcus is so good and kind and I want to be with him, but I can’t. Not now or ever. I’m evil. Just like my father. I push out of Marcus’ arms and race from the apartment.
Chapter Eighteen
-Henry Klein-
I wait patiently in the bushes. On all fours, I feel free. Aside from the gentle flapping of bat wings a short while ago and the clatter as a family of raccoons break into the garbage bin across the street, the night is quiet.
Headlights illuminate the bushes as a car approaches. A moment later the lights go out. My ears swivel as I listen for the familiar footsteps approaching on pavement. Sure enough, it’s him. I focus on the man as he enters the yard. Black trousers. Shiny black shoes. And the smell. So distinct. I lift my head and close my eyes, sniffing the air again, my whiskers twitching. The woody scent of ambergris and a hint of pine mixed with bourbon and tobacco from an expensive cigar.
Jude proceeds slowly, deliberately. He does not sneak. He is not afraid.
He crosses the yard and stops outside Lucy’s bedroom window. I wait a full minute after he climbs through the window before lunging for the sill.
Jude touches everything: her hairbrush, books, the photo frame on her dresser, and the stuffed animals at the end of her bed. He picks up her favorite purple sweatshirt from the desk chair and holds it to his nose,
inhaling her scent. Then he stands beside her bed, his arms hanging at his sides as he stares at her adoringly, memorizing everything about her.
Twenty minutes later, I hide in the bushes and watch Jude climb back out the window. He strolls across the yard and down the street to his car, looking lighter and happier than when he arrived, but no less dangerous.
Chapter Nineteen
I claw and thrash my way out of sleep. I shoot upright in bed, my hands clasped at my throat. I was falling, spinning into blackness. I couldn’t breathe. The strange murmurs…the sound of flies buzzing. I wipe the sweat from my brow as I take in the familiar furniture of my bedroom. The sunlight pours through the window. The warm breeze carries the scent of freshly mowed grass. Everything’s okay. It was just a dream. A bad dream. My heartbeat slows. Until I see the knife in my hand.
Jude, my daddy demon.
What does it mean? I click the knife closed and slide it under my pillow.
I can pretend to be normal with my new clothes, new friends and the nice apartment, but the joke is on me. Nothing’s ever going to be normal again.
With a heavy sigh, I get dressed, throwing on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. I find Bernard at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper. I slump into a seat across from him. “Where’s Sheldon?”
“Picking up bagels for breakfast.” He peeks over the newspaper. “Rough night?”
“You could say that.” I grimace as I dig through the rest of the newspaper and pull out the comics.
“Boy trouble?”
“I wish that was it.” I cock my head and glance at him, suddenly curious. Why didn’t I think of it before? Momma adored Bernard and Sheldon when she was younger. She told me she went to them for advice on everything. “Did you and Sheldon ever meet my father?”
“Hmm…” Bernard says, continuing to read. Then I hear a rustle as he lowers the newspaper. He clears his throat. “Wait, what did you say?”
“I just wondered if you and Sheldon ever met my father.” The words come out slow and cautious. “You know, I’m making friends and they’re asking questions. I don’t know anything about him. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
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