Surrender to Dawn

by J. Kenner

  "Fine," I said. "We'll be back in time."

  Transportation was an issue, of course. I'd left Rachel's car stalled on the bridge—a fact I hadn't shared with her, but since she'd seen the news footage of our demonic battle, I was pretty sure she'd figured that out—and we'd arrived at the pub in yet another stolen car, now parked six blocks away.

  “Taxi," Rachel said. "Steal any more cars, and our luck's going to run out. And while I don't think a jail cell could hold either of you, I really don't think we need to waste the time or the energy getting listed on America's Most Wanted."

  Since she had a point, we called for a taxi, which was waiting for us in the front of the pub when we arrived downstairs after a ten-minute delay to let Rachel and Rose change out of their pajamas.

  The ride from the pub to Alice's apartment was short, and in no time at all we'd divided the place up, with me in the bedroom, Rose in the bathroom, Rachel in the kitchen, and Deacon in the living room. Fortunately, the place was small.

  "It could be anything," I said. "How will we know?"

  "It would be something she wouldn't get rid of," Deacon said. "Something with some sentimental value."

  "Jewelry?" I asked, carrying her jewelry box into the living room, so I'd have company as I worked.

  "Maybe, but doubtful," he said. “Too easy to lose."

  "Will you be able to tell?" I asked. "If the thing is a portal, I mean. Can you feel it? Can you sense it?”

  "Sometimes," he said, his expression grave. "Let's hope this is one of those times."

  Most of Alice's jewelry was early-American flea market, though she also had several really pretty pieces that Rachel identified as her designs. "I should make you toss those," she said. "The company was started with blood money."

  I shook my head. "They're good, and they were a gift, and you've started fresh. Did you give them to Alice hoping she'd come back to the black arts?"

  "God, no," Rachel said.

  "Then forget about it and get back to the kitchen."

  She snorted. "Like my mother would put a portal in a cookie cutter." Then her face brightened. "Actually, Alice loved to bake sugar cookies with Mom. Maybe she would," she said, then disappeared beneath the counter, presumably rummaging for kitchen utensils.

  I went back to the jewelry box, and even though it pained me to rip such a pretty wooden box apart, I forced the drawers out, peeled up the velvet bottom, and generally inspected every inch of it for hidden compartments. I found nothing.

  "No go," I told Deacon. "You?"

  "Nothing." He'd been examining the various knick-knacks that dotted Alice's shelves.

  I headed back to the bedroom to continue my search. I'd already pawed through all of the dresser drawers, so I started looking at all the books on her shelves. Alice had eclectic reading taste—a hell of a lot more literary than mine—and I carefully pulled down everything from paperback copies of current romance novels to pristine old copies of Dickens and Faulkner. Apparently Alice not only read books but collected them, too.

  “There's nothing in the bathroom," Rose said, coming up beside me. "Not unless her mom put a portal in the toothpaste, and Alice hung on to it for a decade." She flopped onto the bed, and I barely moved the books out of the way before she landed on them.

  "Careful! These things are expensive."

  "Really?" Her nose crinkled. "Why?"

  "They're rare. Collectible. And probably worth a fortune."

  "Yeah? Huh." She turned away from the books, then shoved herself off the bed. "Guess I'll go help in the other room. So far, this has been a total—"

  She cut herself off, turning to me with wide eyes.

  "Rose?"

  She didn't answer, but crossed to me in three long steps, then grabbed the front of my shirt.

  "Hey!"

  "This," she said, jabbing my tattoo with her index finger. "I told you it was familiar."

  "What are you talking about?" I asked, willing myself not to get my hopes up.

  "In Rachel's apartment—in Egan's old apartment—I saw a book. Old like those. And that sword was on the cover." She looked up at me, her face bright with anticipation. "That's it. I'm absolutely certain."

  14

  “Told you," Rose said, shoving a battered, leather bound book into my hand. "See. Right there." She tapped the cover and the faded image of a dagger. "It's the same," she said. "I told you it was."

  I looked from Rachel to Deacon. "She's right." Rachel took the book and started flipping through the pages. "They're blank," she said. "But look at this." She turned back to the flyleaf. There, in neat print, was an inscription: For my darling Alice. May you always have the courage to do what is right.

  "Egan took it," Rachel said. "He must have, because I've never seen it before, and I know Alice would have shown me. He was the executor of Mom's will. He had the keys to her house. He took it, and Alice never even saw it. Sleazy, horrid bastard."

  I seconded the assessment, then gently took the book from her and handed it to Deacon. "Well? Are we right? Is this some sort of doorway?"

  He held the book tight between his hands, then turned to face me. "I think we've found it."

  I practically sagged with relief. "So what do I do? Go in, right? Go in, get the dagger, and we just have to use it. Close the gate, lock the damn thing up tight, then we're done. It's over. It's over and we're safe. The whole freaking world is safe."

  "First things first," he said gravely. "How do we get in?"

  That was a question to which I had no answer, but I was damn well going to find one. "Put my hand over the inscription?" I asked. "That's how it works with my arm."

  “Try it," he said.

  I did. Nothing happened. Nothing except me feeling a bit like a fool, as if I were in court swearing on a Bible or something.

  "An incantation?" Rachel asked.

  I groaned. "Great. Something else we have to figure out."

  "Blood," Rose suggested. "Isn't it always about the blood?"

  The kid had a point. I pulled out my blade, prepared to slice my palm. Then I stopped, suddenly afraid. "The last time we went into a portal, we came out over a week later. What if that happens this time? I'd be sucked in and come out after the convergence, and the whole thing will be a done deal."

  "No anchor," Deacon said.

  "What?"

  "We went in together, so there was no one holding you back, anchoring you to this dimension, this time frame."

  "Oh." I hadn't even known that was necessary. "So without an anchor, you're screwed?"

  "Not usually. Usually you come back about the time you leave. But Penemue, Kokbiel, those guys are powerful demons. They may not be able to manifest easily, but they exist across dimensions, and they can fuck you up."

  "So you're saying it'll happen again."

  "Without an anchor, I don't see how you could avoid it."

  "Rachel?" I asked, knowing the answer would be no.

  "Not strong enough."

  I nodded. "You, then."

  "I don't want you going in there alone," he said.

  "Under the circumstances, I don't think I have a choice."

  Rachel glanced sharply at the clock, then frowned. "I didn't realize we were at Alice's for so long." She gnawed on her lower lip. "We're supposed to be open now, and—"

  "It's okay," I said. "We'll tell you what happens." I met Deacon's eyes and sucked in a deep breath for courage. "One way or the other, we'll know pretty quick if this works."

  She gave me a quick hug, then pulled Rose into an even longer one before kissing her forehead. "It's going to be okay. You hear?"

  Rose nodded, but her smile seemed forced. "This won't even end it, will it? It's never really going to end."

  I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

  "Even if we stop the horde coming through the gate, the demons can still come, right? I mean, there are demons here now, so there must be other ways in."

  I met Deacon's eyes, and he nodded. "Those who p
ractice black magic can open a portal to pull a demon through. But it's hard, and no more than one or two can cross at a time. This, though . . . This would be a flood of millions."

  Rose nodded and hugged herself. "I just want it to be over."

  "I know," I said, wishing I could make that come true for her. "Believe me, I know."

  Rachel came up and gave her a hug. "You need me, I'm right downstairs."

  "It'll be okay," I said, taking Rose's hand. "Go."

  "Right. I'll be down there doing my job. Scoping them out. Eavesdropping. Figuring out who's about to stir up trouble."

  I reached for her arm. "Be careful," I said. "Don't do anything stupid."

  "Right back at you," she said, then swept through the doorway. I could hear her footsteps fading down the stairs before the door clicked shut. Then it was just the three of us. Three, and the book.

  "Ready?" I asked.

  "Be careful," he said, lifting his left arm, and nodding pointedly to the hand that was no longer there. "Remember the acid?" He'd lost his hand trying to find a hidden component of the Oris Clef, and it had only been by virtue of the fact that he'd been there to warn me that I hadn't later suffered the same fate.

  "I think it's okay," I said. "Alice's mom would have wanted Alice to find it."

  "Alice," he said. "But not anyone else."

  Point taken. There could be traps. And even though I might look like Alice, I didn't know her history with her mother. If there were secrets between them that would help her navigate an obstacle course, I was woefully unprepared.

  "Guess I'll find out," I said, positioning the knife. "At least, I hope I will." I pushed the tip of the blade into my flesh, drawing a thick drop of blood. Deacon had put the book on the table, open to the inscription, and now he held on to the wrist of my knife hand. I waited, fearful this wouldn't work, and at the same time afraid that it would. It's a queer feeling being sucked through a portal, and even though that suck could lead to saving the world—and myself—I still didn't relish the thought of that freakish tug around my middle.

  And, I thought, after standing there bleeding for a good thirty seconds, apparently I wasn't going to be feeling it that day.

  I spoke too soon. The words were barely out of my head when I felt the yank. A sharp tug near my navel, then—Oh dear God, help me—I was plummeting through space, sucked into the vortex that was emerging from the simple book on the table. Color seemed to swirl around me, and I lost all sense of place and time. I'd gone through portals before, but always to someplace on the earth. Never before had I traveled to another dimension, and I honestly wasn't sure what to expect.

  Or, for that matter, if the journey would ever end, because it seemed to go on and on and on, and just when I was certain that this was all an elaborate setup to trap me here in Neverland, I landed with a hard thud on a glassy black surface. A room, actually, and it was all black. Solid, but with sharp edges. Like lava cooled smooth, then chipped away to make planes and edges, as smooth and sharp as glass.

  I saw my own image reflected at me from every surface, my face illuminated from some unknown source. What I didn't see, however, was a dagger, and I immediately looked toward the walls, my eyes searching for the remnant of the vortex through which I could travel back. Because I had a strong feeling that I didn't want to be there. That this black room was danger. That it was death. Or, at least, as close to death as I could come.

  There was no tangible basis for my fear, and yet it bubbled inside me anyway, and I wanted out of there. Wanted out so much that I started to move back toward the vortex, now little more than a glowing pinprick in the far wall.

  I reached it, and as I stretched out my hand toward it, a face emerged from the wall like a plaster sculpture, formless at first, then gaining shape.

  Gabriel.

  Terrified, I jumped back. Or, rather, I tried to jump back. I don't know how he managed it, but he had my wrist, his fingers tight around me, and I could feel the power that was this being, the raw energy of which he'd been made manifest.

  Deacon, it seemed, was wrong about that whole "Gabriel can't hold you with the Oris Clef” thing.

  "Please," I whispered, because I didn't know what else to say. "Please."

  You dare to beg?

  His voice, low and steady, filled my head though not the chamber.

  You, who would sacrifice humanity out of fear.

  I closed my eyes, shamed because he was right. Because I did fear the torment. I would burn. Dear God in heaven, I'd burn for eternity. "You ask too much."

  I do not ask.

  And even as he spoke, I felt another jerk, and we were gone from the room, gone from the black glass, moving instead through a misty, smoke-filled world. Noxious fumes surrounded us, burning my eyes and making breathing difficult. Pillars of scorched concrete and steel reaching up toward a smoke-filled sky. And beneath our feet, the bones of those who had succumbed to the horror.

  Hell, I thought. The angel was taking me to hell.

  Except I knew this place. This wasn't hell. It was Boston.

  I could feel the angel's presence behind me. His disgust at all that lay before us. And, yes, at me.

  You would let this happen?

  I couldn't think. I couldn't process. I stood there, useless, as the ghostly images of people raced past. A group, all fleeing in terror. One fell. A child. And before the group could turn back, the child was pounced upon, the demons digging in, making a meal of the innocence.

  A harsh cry pierced the air, and they all turned—demons and humans—toward the sound. Two figures stood there, one lithe with dull black hair and listless green eyes. A familiar face that had seen horror all too often. My face. Or, at least, the face that looked back at me from the mirror.

  Beside me stood a woman, thin and athletic, with shocking pink hair and an expression that welcomed the kill. She held blades in both hands, and she spun them, the smile that crossed her face one of cruel anticipation. She spoke, and though I couldn't hear her words, I knew she was egging me on. Time for fun. Time for the kill.

  Rose.

  This. This was what she would become.

  Come with me, Gabriel urged, his voice harsh, yet somehow also gentle. Come with me, and you can stop this.

  I swallowed, terrified of what I saw, of what I knew could come to pass. My mind whirled; my head filled with those dark images and the expression of cruel delight on Rose's face.

  But what he asked of me—oh God, what he asked . . .

  "Please. I need to think. I need time."

  There is no time. There is only—

  But I didn't get to find out what the only was because I was jerked backward, landing with a hard thump on the obsidian floor. Deacon stood beside me, his face hard, his eyes red with fury. "He isn't really here," he said. "He is an illusion. He can't take you. He can't hurt you."

  She will come with me, Gabriel said, and though he wasn't there, he seemed to fill the room, his body huge, the warrior tats on his face emphasizing the anger in his eyes.

  "She does not need to die." Deacon's voice rose with fury, and his wings burst free, ripping the shirt so that it hung in tatters around him. “There is another way."

  You risk all even by searching. Come with me, Lily. Come with me and do what must be done.

  I licked my lips, torn, but it was no longer in my hands. Deacon snatched me up and barreled back toward the vortex. I felt Gabriel's tug as he tried to keep us there, but Deacon was right; he couldn't manifest, and without form, his strength wasn't sufficient to overcome Deacon, especially in the height of his fury.

  I felt a sharp snap as we burst free of Gabriel's grasp, then rocketed the rest of the way through the swirling mist that made up the vortex, finally bursting through on the other side, landing in a tumble on Rachel's couch. Landing so hard, in fact, that we knocked it backward.

  I leaped upon him, a thousand emotions swirling inside me. "Are you crazy? Why did you come? The time thing," I shouted, my fists pound
ing into his chest. "We could have missed it. We could have lost everything."

  I stopped pounding, and he pressed me close, my face against his bare chest, the tattered shirt having fallen away in the vortex. He was trembling from the effort to control himself, and his voice came out a growl, a low rumble that seemed to echo through my body. "It's not too late," he said. "Gabriel's wrong. There's another way. A way for both of us. Together, we'll shut the gate."

  I closed my eyes and drew in a shuddered breath, because of course he was right about what was troubling me. It wasn't only the potential for lost time that had thrown me into turmoil; it was what I'd seen. What Gabriel had shown me. And what I feared that I had no choice but to do. Not if I wanted to save the world, and my sister, Rose, along with it.

  "You still shouldn't have taken the risk," I said, because I was rattled and needed to pick a fight.

  "You were in trouble," he said simply, and I felt his muscles clench, heard the firm cadence of his voice. "You were in trouble, and I couldn't stand for that."

  "Me being in danger? Or you potentially losing your chance for redemption?" Because his vision had been clear. Close the gate together, and he would be redeemed. I manage that on my own, and no matter what good Deacon had done—no matter what help he'd been to me—Deacon was pretty much screwed on the absolution end of things. To my mind, that pretty much sucked. But no one had asked my opinion.

  "Both," he said, unabashedly honest. He drew in a breath, his face and muscles tight, fighting for control. "I protect what's mine, Lily."

  I thought of Rose and closed my eyes. "So do I," I whispered.

  Edgy, I pulled out of his arms, then turned around and yelped. Because I found myself standing face-to-face with Morwain.

  "Mistress," he said, completing a head-to-floor bow.

  "What the fuck?"

  "I called him," Rose said. For the first time, I realized she was in the room, too. She'd been curled up in a chair by the window, and had stood, her expression worried. "Deacon saw. Into the portal, I mean. He could see Gabriel. Or sense him. Or something." She looked to Deacon, as if he could fill in the explanation, but Deacon only nodded. She waited a beat and turned back to me. "But we knew he couldn't go help you. Because of that whole time thing. And I remembered what he said," she added, nodding to Morwain. "And so I called him, and—"