“He sold her,” Deacon said. “He sold his own niece as a sacrificial lamb.”
“And now someone else is on the chopping block.”
“Not if we can help it.” I looked over and saw his hands tight on the steering wheel, his face tight as he struggled to control the rage he kept permanently at bay. I wanted to reach over and touch his arm, to tell him it was okay—go ahead and release the beast. Considering what Egan had done, he deserved to be consumed in fire and fury.
Fear held me back. The fear that once released, the beast within Deacon could never be harnessed again.
Instead, I sat there, hands tight on the armrest, every fiber in me willing the car to go faster.
“What I don’t get is why. Why sacrifice someone tonight?”
“A ruse,” Deacon said.
“That’s what I heard in the Secret Keeper’s mind,” I said. “But I don’t get it.”
“A cover-up, and it’s all for Egan’s benefit.”
I squinted at him, still not understanding. And then, as Deacon fishtailed into a parking space near the alley entrance to the pub, it all clicked into place. Egan had sacrificed Alice, but there his niece was, walking and talking. And unless the demons wanted to bring Egan in on the secret that was me, they needed Egan to think that Alice was a bust sacrifice-wise. That she was still alive and kicking with a big hole in her memory.
But Egan already had their money, and demons aren’t known for their generosity. Which meant they had to hit him up for another sacrifice so that he wouldn’t get curious.
This ceremony was a do-over. A sacrifice for no reason at all.
“Bastards,” I whispered, as we eased quietly down the alley. There might be guards, and I didn’t want us discovered before we even had a chance of saving the girl.
“She’s most likely a runaway,” Deacon said. “Living on the street. Easy to grab.”
“Boarhurst has a lot of them.” I remembered what Gracie had said about her uncle giving her pepper spray. Lot of girls around here went missing.
And then I grabbed Deacon’s hand, remembering. “The vision,” I said, fumbling in my pocket for my cell phone. It was still off, and I pushed the button to power it up, frantic now. “I touched Gracie and I saw a girl in a white gown in a ceremonial chamber. I thought it was because Alice had told her something. Something important hidden in her subconscious. It was so familiar—it was almost like seeing me in that room. I discounted it, because visions aren’t always clear, and she was Alice’s friend.”
“You think she’s our girl?”
“I think Egan was irritated when she gave notice.” I focused on the phone. I had five new calls, but I ignored them, dialing Gracie’s number instead. She answered on the third ring, and I sagged to the ground in relief. “Where are you?” I demanded.
“Alice?” Her voice was slow, groggy. “What time is it?”
“Where are you?” I repeated.
“I’m in L.A.,” she said, life coming back into her voice. “Can you believe it? For work! An emergency trip, and on my very first day!”
I hung up. I’d plead broken connection when I saw her, but right then I couldn’t talk. “She’s okay. It’s not her. We keep going.”
I started to put the phone away, but scrolled through the incoming numbers first. Clarence I recognized as three of the calls, most likely calling from in front of my apartment, waiting for his report on my massacre of Father Carlton.
The other two I recognized as well. Rose.
With a growing sense of dread, I called voice mail, heard Rose’s tentative voice.
“So, um, Alice. I . . . God, this is stupid. I don’t even know you. But I still feel like someone—Never mind. I dunno. Wanted to talk to you. Give me a call.”
She hung up, and I frowned, scrolling through to the final message, also from Rose.
“Things really suck right now. It’s just that, you said you were Lily’s friend, so I hope you’re not gonna be pissed. Anyway, I figure cab fare can’t be too much, right? Hopefully you’re working. ’Cause I really want to see you. So I guess I will. See you, I mean. And I’m gonna take my dad’s cell phone with me,” she said, then rattled off the familiar number before signing off again.
I looked up at Deacon, horrified. “Here. She was coming here.” Frantically, I dialed Joe’s cell number. And when the damn thing went straight to voice mail, I had to stifle the urge to slam it against the wall.
“You don’t think he’d—a girl walks in off the street—”
“I think if he’d planned to use Gracie, then he’d be desperate. I think he’s taken girls off the street before. And I think we need to hurry.”
I nodded, tears clogging my throat as I struggled to get my key into the back door lock. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—fail my sister again.
“I’m killing the son of a bitch,” I said, my voice thick. “I swear, I’m killing him for what he did to Alice. For what he’s trying to do to Rose. And I’m going to make him feel every bit of the life as it drains out of him.”
Deacon looked at me, and for a moment I thought he was going to argue. I didn’t want to hear it, because there was nothing—nothing—he could say that would save Egan’s life.
“I’ll hold him for you.”
I met his eyes. Nodded. And pulled open the door.
Whatever was in there, we’d face it together.
Chapter Forty-Two
We raced down the stairs toward the basement, sunrise only minutes away, and searched the wall for the metal door I’d brushed my fingers over just the other day.
Nothing.
I swallowed, panic setting in. Rose. I couldn’t lose Rose.
I kicked the wall, willing the door to appear. Nothing.
“Dammit!”
“Egan,” Deacon said. “Go. I’ll stay here. Try to figure a way in.”
I was halfway up the stairs before the suggestion was out of his mouth. I burst through the kitchen doors into the pub area, relief welling in me as I saw Egan pacing the length of the darkened pub. He turned, saw the knife in my hand, and paled.
“Alice!”
“How do I get in? How do I find the door, you lying, murdering bastard?”
His eyes widened and he dropped the saltshaker he’d been cleaning, the white bar rag still in his hand like a flag of surrender. “I—what—?”
After that, he was fresh out of witty conversation and raced for the front doors. He didn’t make it, the knife lodging in his thigh effectively bringing him down.
I was at his side in an instant, my hand closing over the hilt of my blade. “Tell me,” I said. “Tell me or I twist the knife until I reach an artery. Any idea how fast a thigh can bleed out?”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
I grabbed his collar and shook.
“How do I find her? Damn you, you son of a bitch. Where do they have the girl?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Alice, sweetheart, what’s gotten into you?”
I leaned forward, getting right into his face. “Someone who’s not Alice, you lying scum. That’s what’s gotten into me.” I slammed my hand over his heart and looked deep into those eyes. He tried to turn away, but it was too late—I’d been sucked into the hell of his thoughts, the crimes for which I’d come to punish him right on the surface—images and thoughts mixing and swirling, pulling me into a miasma of greed and desperation that confirmed all of my worst fears.
He’d killed his own sister when she’d refused to allow the pub to be ground zero for demonic activity.
And he hadn’t even hesitated when the demons had come to him and demanded a specific girl. They’d demanded Alice.
He’d sold her, thinking she was a traditional sacrifice. Thinking she was the same as the other girls he’d sold to finance the pub.
He’d sold his own niece to die at the hands of the demons, and planned the same fate for Gracie.
And when he couldn’t find her, he’d snatched
a helpless, damaged girl who’d come in off the street, looking for a friend.
The bastard had sacrificed my sister to cover his butt with the demons.
I trembled, rage filling me and clouding my thoughts. I wanted nothing but my hands around his neck, squeezing tight.
I wanted him dead. But I couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not until I found her.
I forced myself to focus, desperate to find the control Madame Parrish had insisted I could use to navigate these visions. I couldn’t break away yet, not until I learned how to open the door.
“Come on,” I whispered inside my head. “Come on, you bastard.”
His consciousness shrank away from me, but I followed, down the dark corridors of his mind, filled with greed and regret and fear. The liquid image shifted, clarifying, and now I was in the basement, in the hall. He was there, but not there, wanting to escape, that want so vibrant it thrummed through my head, ricocheting through my body.
“Show me . . . Show me . . . ” I focused, the effort of concentrating my energy, of keeping hold of him, completely exhausting. But I had him—and as I watched, he sliced his palm, then smeared the blood on the wall. The rock seemed to melt away, revealing a metal door with odd markings on it.
Got you.
I yanked my hand back, breaking the connection, wanting free of this man. Wanting out of his head.
On the wall, the clock ticked ominously. The ceremony would be starting, and I had to hurry.
Egan struggled when I picked him up, and I was grateful for the strength of all the demons I’d killed. I twisted the knife still embedded in his leg. His shriek split my eardrums, but he froze, staying still as I hauled him down the stairs and dumped him in front of the door.
“Open it,” I said to Egan.
He answered by spitting on my shoes.
“Then let me help you.” The time for games was over, and my patience had run thin. I grabbed his hand, ignoring his scream as I sliced deep into his palm. I pressed the bloody hand to the stone, trying to place it where I’d seen it in the vision.
At first, nothing happened. Then, in a freaky bit of déjà vu, the rock started to dissolve, revealing the now-familiar metal door.
I ran my hand over it, searching for a latch, found it, and pushed it quietly open. Another corridor.
“Bring him?” Deacon asked, hauling Egan to his feet.
I turned to face Alice’s uncle. “He’s deadweight.” I met Egan’s eyes. “I’m ending you.”
Egan swallowed. “Please,” he whispered, his body shaking under my hand.
I thought of Lucas Johnson, of the revenge that stained me.
I thought of Alice.
I thought of the travesties I’d seen in Egan’s memory.
I thought of my own redemption.
And then, God help me, I drew my blade across his neck and slit the bastard’s throat.
He sagged, and I stepped back as Deacon let go, the body falling to the ground like so much garbage. My eyes met Deacon’s, and he nodded, the slightest inclination of his head. No matter what anyone else thought, in his eyes—and in my own—I’d done the right thing.
We raced down the hall, trading silence for speed and hoping the demons couldn’t hear the pounding of our feet as we raced forward. Move with stealth and the ritual might be completed before we arrived. Clatter forward at breakneck speed and the ceremony might end prematurely with a knife through Rose’s neck, for no reason other than to punish her would-be rescuers.
With any luck, we’d found a middle ground: fast but not loud. With even more luck, the ritual chanting camouflaged our approach.
I had no choice but to hope for luck, because without it Rose was dead. Certainly, I couldn’t count on the angels to step in and save her. They hadn’t stepped in to save me, after all.
The corridor ended at a thick wooden door. Closed, but not locked. We yanked the door open, and Deacon and I rushed in together, side by side.
What I saw inside was enough to make me almost stumble. Rose, clad in a long white gown, bathed in an unearthly silver glow, strapped down to a stone table, struggling and screaming against a white cloth gag as a ceremonial blade plunged downward, held by the joined hands of two black-hooded demons.
A door on the far side of the room was open, and even as I lunged for the demons’ knife, I could see a figure disappear, the black cloak billowing as if in a breeze.
No time to worry about that now. I landed hard against one demon, sending the knife clattering to the ground. Deacon went on the other side of the table, tackling the companion demon, and even as I fumbled to keep the demon’s hands away from the ceremonial knife, I could hear Deacon battling with his own demon on the far side of that thick stone table.
I couldn’t worry about Deacon, though. The hood of the demon fell back, and I realized I was wrestling with Tank. I had my weapon out, desperate to kill the beast and get to Rose, but he was having none of it.
He thrust sideways, twisting over, then bending my hand back until he freed the blade from my grip. He straddled me, and as I used one hand to hold him back, my other hand struggled to find my blade.
I found the ceremonial knife instead, and, desperate, I thrust up, the blade sliding into his nose to embed itself in his brain.
He fell backward, and I struggled up, gasping. My knife was by the wall, and I lunged for it, then sank it deep into Tank’s heart. I heard a small hiss as the black goo seeped out, and as the strength and vile essence that had been Tank surged through me, I rushed to Rose, grounding myself by looking at her face. At her eyes.
“Rose,” I said as I pulled off her gag.
Whatever the silver glow had been, it was gone now. She stopped struggling, and those eyes went even wider as she stared at me. “Lily?” she whispered.
“I—My name’ s Alice. Remember?”
“He was here. Lily. Lily, it’s him. He was here. He did something. He was here. Put something inside.” The words came out in a rush, tumbling over themselves, pushed out by the fear in her eyes.
I didn’t need to hear her say it to know who he was, but I asked anyway.
“Lucas Johnson,” she said.
“I’ve got you now,” I said firmly, as my fingers worked at the knot of her bindings. “You’re safe.”
But she shook her head. “Never gonna be free. Never gonna be safe.” She tilted her head to the side, one eye looking up at me, and the image made me think of a cold, dead fish. I trembled, ashamed and suddenly very, very scared.
“He’s in me, Lily,” she whispered. “He put something in me. Him. Part of him. It burns. Oh, God, Lily, it burns!”
“Rose, no. You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” But she didn’t hear me. How could she have over the sound of her own scream?
And then, as the scream faded, she slipped into blissful unconsciousness.
Chapter Forty-Three
“Could he have? Could he have put part of himself inside of her?”
We were in a pungent motel room, ripe with the stench of sex and sweat. The kind of place that took cash and didn’t ask questions. Perfect, in other words.
Rose was still asleep, and I had her head in my lap as I stroked her hair. Part of me wanted to wake her up, to ask her question after question. Another part of me wanted to let her stay lost in sleep, the one place where she could escape the nightmare of reality.
“Yeah,” Deacon said. “He could have.”
In my lap, Rose stirred, but didn’t awake. My heart, however, ripped a little. “My whole life I’ve tried to protect her, and look what happened. I tried to save the world, and Armageddon’s closer than ever.”
Everything had been turned inside out, twisted up and confused.
No more.
I knew the score now. And it was time to step up to the plate. Time to save Rose. Time to save the whole damn world.
I stood up, feeling strong. Feeling confident.
Lily Carlyle, Demon Assassin, was pissed.
And th
ey had all better watch out.
The End
Coming soon!
Torn
Lily Carlyle has killed demons and absorbed their essence, becoming stronger with each kill. Betrayed by people she trusted, Lily will need that strength to face an even bigger threat and save her sister from a man she thought she’d already killed. Her only ally is an angel-demon hybrid whom she’s not sure she can entirely trust.
But then again, as Lily becomes more and more like the things she slays, she’s not entirely sure she can trust herself.
Turned
The death and rebirth of Lily Carlyle has put her on the side of the angels, albeit with demonic powers. She has fought as a hired assassin for the forces of good, and as an undercover soldier, moving secretly amidst the forces of darkness. Now she must gather friends and allies and go underground, because the final battle against those who would open hell’s gates will be the fiercest of all.
Julie’s Booklist
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I’ve written a lot of books, and most of them are available in digital format. Here’s a list of just a few (you can find more at my website!); I hope you check them out!
Kate Connor Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom Series that Charlaine Harris, New York Times bestselling author of the Sookie Stackhouse / True Blood series, raved “shows you what would happen if Buffy got married and kept her past a secret. It’s a hoot.”
Modern Magic Page 66
