by J. Kenner
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Rose's brow furrow.
"Are you?" Rachel asked.
"I wish," I said, lifting my chin to fortify the lie. "Would be nice to have a bargaining chip like that."
"No kidding," Rachel said. "Dangerous, though."
"You've got that right." I lifted a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. "Then again, this whole thing is dangerous. And getting more so."
"Deacon turned into a demon," Rose said simply, a statement that very nicely segued the conversation away from the fact that I actually had in my possession the means not only to control the demon population but to set myself up to be the supreme ruler of their universe.
It wasn't that I didn't trust Rachel…It was just that with her rather shady background, I figured I couldn't be too careful. After all, when you added it all up, I'd really only known her for a couple of days. I wanted to trust her, but I no longer trusted easily. I'd trusted Clarence, and look where that had gotten me. My supposedly heavenly handler had been working for the big bad all along.
Psych!
Not a scenario I wanted to repeat.
I thought of Deacon and frowned. Because despite having seen him turn into something as nasty as Penemue—and despite knowing that he was a demon and could be playing me—I really did trust him. Not that I'd admitted as much to him, but it was time I admitted it to myself. I trusted Deacon.
I did.
I thought, though, of the way he refused to let me into his head—his constant refusal to let me see the things he'd done when he was at his demonic worst. And as I thought, an unpleasant possibility occurred to me. What if Deacon had never been about redemption? After all, it had been handed to him on a platter; all he had to do was turn me over. But he hadn't. So, what if he'd ripped me away from Gabriel not because he wanted to close the gate with me and earn a place in heaven, but because he didn't want me to close the gate at all?
What if, like Clarence before him, he'd been playing with my head all along?
No.
I knew better than that. At one time, Deacon had had the Oris Clef in his possession, and he'd tried to destroy it. Would a demon intent on ushering in the Apocalypse do that? I didn't think so.
Bottom line? I knew the man—or I wanted to think I did.
He might not have let me completely in his head yet, but for better or for worse, I trusted him.
I only hoped it was for better.
Rachel was looking at me steadily, her expression both understanding and sad, and I knew she realized that I was holding back. I met her eyes and shrugged in apology. Her head moved, the motion so minimal it couldn't even really be called a nod. But I knew we understood each other.
Rose, however, was clueless, and she was looking between the two of us, her brow furrowed. "What? What?"
She might be walking around in the body of a damn warrior chick, but inside, she was still fourteen years old.
"Your sister's being cautious," Rachel said.
"But—"
"No. It's okay." Rachel laid a soft hand on Rose's cheek. "After what the two of you have been through, she's right to be."
I could tell Rose didn't get it. Right then, though, she was the one who had to trust—in me.
"At any rate," I said, picking up the thread of conversation that we'd let unravel, "the big bad demon was pretty much trying to do us in, but Deacon pulled out a few tricks and got us out of there."
"He changed? You saw him? As a demon?"
"Yeah. He was kind of hard to miss."
"He saved our butts," Rose added helpfully. "But then he turned all scary and told us to run. And to find the key that's supposedly still out there."
"And now I'm a little worried," I admitted. "I'm afraid that he may not be able to, you know, go back."
"I bet he's okay," Rachel said. "He's not—"
"What?"
"He's not like the others."
“I know. That's why I'm worried. He's fought so hard. If he falls back now, because of me—" I ran my fingers through my hair, not even wanting to think about it. "Doesn't matter," I said briskly. "Deacon's not the problem right now. You are."
Rachel's brows lifted. "Am I?"
"Big nasty demon, remember? The one I was fighting? The one Deacon rescued me from?"
She stared at me blankly.
"I don't want him coming after you," I said. “Take a vacation, Rachel. Go visit friends in London. Go to the beach. Go shopping in New York City. Just go." I half considered having her take Rose with her, but there was no way that plan would work. I needed to be in Boston, where everything was going down. But if Rachel took Rose to London, the smart demon would snatch my little sister there, just to fuck with me.
No, Rose stayed by my side. Always.
"Go? I own half this place. There's work to do here."
"I'll handle it," I said, which was a complete lie, as the last thing I had time to do was tend bar. The real answer was, "I'll lock the place up tight until the convergence," but I didn't say that out loud. If I did, she wouldn't go. And she really had to go. Had to get safely out of Boston; and then, if the world was still a happy place in two weeks—"happy" being a relative term—she could come back, because that would mean that I'd managed to stop the hordes from crossing over.
And if the world wasn't happy?
Well, in that case, I figured Rachel would have bigger problems than a half-ownership interest in an out-of-business pub.
"Screw that," she said. "I meant what I said before. I want to help. I need to help."
"You can't," I said bluntly. At the moment, coddling was so not on my agenda. "I can't split my focus trying to protect you in a fight, Rachel."
She turned her head, pointedly looking at Rose.
"She did pretty good," I admitted reluctantly. "We had a little run-in on the way over here."
"Pretty good?" Rose said. "Watch this." She whipped out her knife, and in one fluid motion sent it flying through the air until it lodged, nice and firm, in the middle of a family portrait that hung on the wall. Specifically, I noticed, the blade had sunk deep into the space between Egan's eyes.
"Wow," I said. And, yeah, I'll admit I was impressed.
"I practiced in the bedroom before going to sleep," she said. She shot a sheepish grin toward Rachel. "I didn't want Lily to hear, so, um, your pillow's a little mangled."
I bit back a grin. Once upon a time, Rose had been a spunky kid, but Johnson had stolen that from her. She was getting it back, though, and as perverse as it sounded, being in Kiera's body was actually helping. She wasn't the same girl in the same body attracting the same demon anymore.
She was in the body of a fighter. A girl with pink hair, an attitude, and the trained body of a kick-ass warrior. Honestly, I wasn't sure I wanted my sister to be a warrior, though. At the same time, I didn't think I had a choice.
Rachel pointed toward the knife. "Okay, I admit it. No way can I do that."
"Which is why I want you to get out of here."
"But," she said, holding up a hand to shut me up, "I can still be useful. And the kind of useful that you're going to want around."
Maybe I should have told her to forget it, but I didn't. Because I did need help. And, yeah, I was curious. "All right. I'm listening."
"You need to be strong, right? I mean, really strong?"
I shoved my hands into my pockets. "Yeah. Considering what I'm up against, yeah."
"Well, then," she said. "I can help. You told me how you get stronger. I can help you do that. We talked about this, remember? And I still really want to help."
"How I get stronger?" I repeated. "I get stronger by killing demons." An act which had the rather unpleasant downside of also making me more demonic. Darker. Hungry for a fight, for the pain. And, like a drug, whenever I thought about it, the craving to kill and become just a little bit more like my prey snuck up on me. Slowly at first, and then overwhelming. Sucking me in and drawing me under.
I didn't want it. An
d yet . . .
And yet, I did.
I closed my eyes and forced myself to gather. I didn't need help finding demons to kill. The last thing I needed was to feed that habit.
"You've gotta, Lily," Rose said, her voice almost a whisper. "You've gotta get as strong as you can." She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. “This is big stuff. I mean, you saw Deacon. You saw Penemue. And the way Johnson got inside me even though I didn't want him there and I tried so hard to push him out of me."
"Rose . . ." My voice hitched in my throat, but she didn't stop. She'd started to say her piece, and she wasn't pausing until she'd had her chance.
"You're supposed to be some super demon fighter, but I saw it on your face, and you're scared." It wasn't an accusation, merely a statement of fact.
For a moment, I considered denial, but I couldn't do it. I owed my sister the truth.
"Yeah," I admitted. "I'm scared. But I'm not going to hide." And, yeah, I was going to do whatever was necessary to get me ready for the Big Leagues. And if that meant I killed demons—if that meant I let the dark build up inside me like a sweet, viscous oil—then that was what I was going to do. But I had enough to worry about with Rose. Adding Rachel to the mix was simply too many people to watch out for.
"You're not the only one who can find the demons," I said. "Kiera could smell them."
I nodded toward Rose, whose eyes were wide. "Yeah? Well, maybe she could, but I can't. I told you so on the street."
"Are you certain?"
"I had some demon jerk's slimy tentacle around my waist and another one pulling me up by my shirt, and didn't smell a thing. And with the Three Stooges on the street, all I caught a whiff of was their nasty sweat. Trust me," she said, tapping her nose. "This isn't a demon sniffer."
"I can pick them out," Rachel said. "Benefit of being a Purdue." Her mouth twitched. "Guess you need me after all. Sis," she added, with a big, wide smile.
I made a face but conceded the point. The truth was, unless they had fangs, slime, or cloven feet, I had no skill for picking a demon out of a crowd.
I sighed, resigned. "Fine. You stay. You help."
She leaned back in her chair, her expression smug. "Excellent."
"But you shut down the kitchen. The demons come in, it's for drinks only. And you serve them," I said, pointing a stern finger. "Send Gracie and Trish and everybody on a vacation," I said, referring to the waitresses. I stifled a sigh at the thought of Gracie. She'd been one of Alice's closest friends, and I genuinely liked her. More than that, I missed her. I hated that she was so in the dark, but I'd hate it more if she got hurt. "Better yet, actually buy them the plane tickets. Let's get them out of town. Caleb, too," I said, referring to the cook.
Rachel tilted her head to the side and examined me, and I braced myself for the mother of all arguments. To my surprise, she merely nodded. "Okay," she said. "No civilians near the pub. And I'll see about the vacation. Maybe a cabin at a lake somewhere."
I'll admit I was impressed that Rachel was getting with the program. But still I scowled. "I don't like it. It's dangerous. And you're just . . . Well, you're just you." I made a face. "No offense."
She laughed. "None taken."
"I just mean that it's dangerous. This pub is a demon magnet. Do you really want to stay here?"
"One, I really want to help. And two, I'm safe in the pub."
"That's bullshit," I said. "For that matter, I think you're insane to move in here. You should—"
"Would you trust me?" she interrupted. "The place has been protected for centuries."
I cocked my head. "Protected? What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said. When my family first offered the pub up as a demon gathering ground, a deal was struck. No harm can come to us from the demons inside the building."
"Well, that's bullshit," I said. "In case you forgot, Alice was killed by demons."
"Not here," Rachel said.
I wasn't sure if that was true or not, but I suspected it was. I tried another tack. "What about those two thug-old demons that attacked me a while back-right by the bar? Inside the pub. With no mystical, magical protection working overtime to keep me safe."
"But you're not really part of the family, are you?"
She had a point.
"And how about Egan? I killed him."
She laughed. "I didn't say we couldn't be harmed here. Just not harmed by demons."
"Oh," I said, a little surge of relief slipping into my soul. At least as of the morning I killed Egan, I was still more human than demon. That, I thought, was something.
"And you can really spot the demons?"
"I already told you so."
"How?"
"Most of them I know. You work here long enough, and you pick things up. But they do have a distinctive scent. Everyone in my family's pretty attuned to it."
"What about outside the pub?" I asked. "Can they harm you there?"
She held me fast in her steady gaze. "The world's not a safe place, Lily, no matter how much you might wish it were."
Okay. She had a point.
"You don't have to do this," I said.
"They killed my sister," she countered. "I do.”
And with that, I really couldn't argue.
"So," she said, her voice rising along with her body as she pushed up out of her chair, returning with a felt-tip pen and one of the pads of paper that had tumbled from her box. "What's your game plan?" she asked, as she printed "stop apocalypse" in block letters at the top of the pad.
"My best bet is to find this key that Deacon says is rumored to exist."
"Find the rumored key," Rachel scrawled. "So how do we do that?"
Rose peered at the pad, then leaned back with a snort.
Rachel shot her a sharp look.
"Sorry," my sister said, tossing up her hands. "I guess I just figured I was done with school, what with being in a new body and the impending Apocalypse and all." Her lips twitched. "Is there going to be a pop quiz?"
"You may be stronger than me," Rachel said, pointing her pen with menace, "but I'm still older than you, and I will give you a spanking. Or I'll try," she admitted, which took a little fire out of the whole discipline routine.
"Shut up, Rose. Frankly, we need a plan." At the moment, my plan went something like, Kill demons; prevent end of world. If Rachel could add order and direction, I was all for that.
"Like I said, how do we go about finding this key?" Rachel asked.
Rose lifted one shoulder in an exasperated shrug. "Well, that's the whole point, right? We don't have a clue."
"What about another demon?" Rachel said. "Maybe we should catch one and ask it. Or, you know, ask it really persuasively. Like bamboo-under-the-toenails persuasive." She frowned. "Then again, a demon might actually like that."
“It's a good idea," I admitted. "And if I have the chance to capture and interrogate a demon, I'll do just that. But in the meantime, I have a better idea. Father Carlton."
"Who?" Rachel asked.
"The priest," I said, my stomach twisting with the memory. "The priest the demons tricked me into killing."
"But if he's dead . . . ?" Rose asked.
"He must have staff," Rachel said, excited. "An assistant. A what-do-you-call-it? An altar boy, or a deacon or something."
"But how do we find them?" Rose asked. "Just call churches and ask if they have a dead priest named Father Carlton? What if he wasn't even from Boston?" She turned to me. "Clarence told you the portal opened here, right? So Father Carlton could have flown here from Kansas for all we know."
"She has a point," Rachel said, frowning.
"Deacon," I said.
Rachel frowned. "Yeah, but we can't talk to the altar boys or the deacons or anybody who might have helped him until we know where he came from."
"No, I mean the man. Deacon. Deacon Camphire." I looked between Rose and Rachel. "I need to find him. He knew about Father Carlton and what he was doing. So he probably also know
s what church Father Carlton came from." That wasn't the only reason I wanted to find Deacon, of course, but it was a biggie.
Rachel poised the pen on her paper, then hesitated. "If you find him, and he's still in his demon state . . ."
I nodded. "Yeah," I said. "But I need to find him anyway. We tried, but we didn't have any luck. What about you? You were in his house. Can you find your way back?"
"I don't remember leaving," she said, as calmly as if she were commenting on the weather.
"And that's relevant because . . . ?"
"Protections," Rachel said. "Spells. Deacon's done something to his house, so that you don't remember anything about it once you leave."
"That's completely fucked-up," I said. "I'll never find him."
"Your arm?"
"Only works for objects," Rose said. "I already tried that suggestion."
"But not a problem," Rachel said. "Because, see? We have our plan, and all we have to do is slide Deacon into the proper place." She did just that, writing "Find Father Carlton's peeps." Then, under that, she added "DEACON-R" and "BOSTON CHURCHES-R" in perfect block lettering.
"R?" I asked.
"Me," she said, snapping the cap back on the pen.
I shook my head, confused. "You're going to call the churches and ask about Father Carlton—I get that. But you don't know where Deacon's house was. So how do you think you're going to find him?"
"Easy," she said, with a Cheshire cat kind of grin. "Follow me down to the bar, and I'll show you."
6
“And you're going to do what?" I asked, as Rachel led us through the kitchen and into the pub.
"Patience," Rachel said, sliding easily behind the U-shaped oak-hewn bar, but not giving me a clue as to what she was planning. I tapped my foot, growing more and more frustrated. After all, I was the kick-ass demon killer. Yet I was the one standing around with my thumb up my ass not having any idea what was going on. What was wrong with that picture?
She motioned for us to take our seats, then sighed, exasperated, when we were interrupted by a sharp tapping on the front window.
"Hang on," she said, then went to the door. I followed her, wary. Yes, I remembered what she said about not being vulnerable while she was inside the pub, but as far as I was concerned, that particular enchantment remained unproven.
