Marcus nods thoughtfully. “With my dad—stepdad—he never really said the words, but he would do things. Like when I got an A on a test, he would pat me on the back and take me out for a burger or a hot fudge sundae. Or when I loaded the dishwasher and took out the trash all month without having to be asked, he would take me to a movie or a ballgame.” Marcus screws his face up tight. This time there’s no pain in his eyes, just curiosity. “Stuff like that. To me…that was love.”
I spent fifteen years wondering about my father. Dreaming about him. Praying he would find us and help us. Jude may not be the father I dreamt about, but I no longer have to wonder. I close my eyes against the pain that surges in my chest.
“You have to meet him,” I whisper.
“What?” His tone is knife sharp.
“Garret.” My voice gathers strength. I can’t think of myself. I have to think about Marcus. He deserves to know his father, to be loved. I don’t want him to waste time wondering, and I don’t want him to have regrets. I open my eyes and give him my most reassuring smile.
“I’m having a hard enough time with Camille.” Marcus releases a shaky breath. “I’m not ready to face him right now.”
Something inside of me snaps. “You know what? My dad left, too, but at least your dad is on the side of good. My dad’s a frickin’ demon, and I met him and put up with him and have to go to his house on Saturday for demon training. What do you have to complain about? What if this is a limited time opportunity? Maybe he’s only here for a week or two. You owe it to yourself to meet him. Otherwise, the regret and the ‘what ifs’ will haunt you forever.”
Marcus pushes himself upright and swings his legs over the bed. “Yeah, that worked so well for you, didn’t it?”
I take a deep breath, then sit up. “Don’t bring Jude into this.”
“You brought him up, not me. And on the subject of Jude, when were you going to tell me about demon training?”
My mouth falls open.
“Let me guess.” Marcus’s voice is sweet as saccharine. “Dylan’s going to be there.”
“Don’t change the subject.” Did I really forget to tell him about training with Jude? I try to remember the point I was trying to make. “Garret. You need to meet with him.”
“Sounds like Jude’s getting his wish. When are you going to wake up and realize this is his ultimate goal? You and Dylan, together, and me out of the picture?”
I fling my arms out to my sides. “It’s demon training, Marcus, not some twisted love fest.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Lucy. Give it a couple of weeks. We’ll see where things stand.”
Angry tears burn my eyes as I storm from his bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
Chapter Ten
“I feel sick,” Dylan mutters as he pulls to a stop at the massive gate outside Jude’s creepy Lake Forest mansion.
“Something you ate?” I ask.
Dylan’s mouth twists into a grimace as he surveys the house. “I think it has more to do with the fact that Jude’s really bad for my health—yours, too. I spend a lot of time wishing he would just disappear. Then we could put everything behind us like a really bad dream.”
My eyes are glued to the dark gray monstrosity beyond the bars of the wrought iron gate. I remember like it was just last week. The attack of the crows, their sharp beaks attacking my face, neck, and shoulders. Struggling to breathe as Seamus sent me soaring over the roof’s ledge and into a tree. The sound of crunching as the back of my skull made contact with the solid, gnarly trunk. The branches tearing at my skin.
I wrap my arms around myself, so Dylan won’t see me tremble.
“Let’s get this over with.” Dylan lowers his window and buzzes the house. Seconds later the gate clicks and opens.
Dylan and I fall silent as we creep up the driveway. I peer out the windows at the trees, looking for small dark shapes with red eyes. I know the evil crows aren’t there anymore, but it still makes the back of my neck prickle.
Turn around, I want to tell Dylan. Let’s go to the mall. Or the dentist. Heck, I’ll go play football with him. Anywhere but here.
We come to a stop in front of the house. I’m paralyzed by the boulder-sized fear in my gut.
Dylan grabs my hand, his expression grim. “If things get out of control, we leave. Not one of us, both of us. We watch each other’s backs. Okay?”
A loud thudding noise fills my ears, a heartbeat out of sync with my own. I squeeze his hand and find my voice. “I promise.”
We exit the car and approach the front door. I’m relieved the shapeshifting Rottweilers aren’t here. I’m not sure if it’s a sign we’ve passed some sort of test or if Jude is simply trying to make us feel welcome.
I press the doorbell and glance at Dylan. I haven’t talked to Aiden about Dylan’s powers. Have any other unusual incidents occurred since the basketball game? Will there come a day when Dylan won’t have my back against Jude. The thought makes me shudder.
Jude answers the door himself, a task usually delegated to his minions.
His eyes sparkle as he invites us in. I’ve seen him this happy one other time, when I stayed here briefly to recuperate after Seamus nearly killed me.
“Lucy and Dylan. So glad you could make it.”
As if we had a choice.
He opens the door wide and beckons us in with a grand sweeping gesture. “Lunch is being served in the kitchen. I’ve made some of your favorites.”
Dylan aims a curious look my way as we follow Jude down the hall. I think I can guess what he’s thinking. How does Jude know our favorite anything?
A cold shiver races over my skin as we walk past the dining room. The ghost of my nearly dead self wraps her arms around me. I flinch at the sight of the mahogany table. Visions of my limp, bleeding body come flooding back to me. Jude’s blood soaked sweater propped under my head as Persephone spread some herbal gunk on my skin. The entire group: Persephone, Henry, Jude, Aiden, and Dylan circled around me as they chanted. Jude reached behind my head, cradled it as he worked his own healing magic.
My legs give out, and I gasp as I relive the agony of that magic.
“Lucy!” Dylan catches me before I hit the ground.
Jude reaches my other side in an instant.
“Are you okay?” Dylan asks.
Jude’s eyes—dark and intense—burn into mine. He expresses concern in the same way he expresses anger; he tries to read me. His gaze flickers toward the table then back at me. “Let’s get her away from this room.”
Jude is cruel, but every once in a while he surprises me with his understanding.
They each grab one of my arms. I try to push them away, embarrassed. “I can walk.”
The two of them lead me toward the kitchen. I like this room. It’s brighter and prettier than any other room in the house.
An elaborate mural covers the opposite wall. How did I miss that before? It looks like one of those vintage French posters that are so popular. A plump man throws his hands out to his sides as if he’s introducing circus acts to an excited crowd. The whole scene is loaded with rich shades of blues, reds, and yellows. The windowsill, which runs the length of four spotless windows, contains pots filled with basil, oregano, cilantro, rosemary, and thyme. The smells remind me of Gram.
Once I’m settled at the stainless steel topped table, Dylan scoots his chair close to me and sits down. Jude examines me again, as if to be sure I won’t break or keel over. Then he retrieves two casserole pans from the oven. He sets them on top of the stove, then reaches back into the oven and pulls out a baking sheet full of crusty bread. The most amazing smells fill the room. Tomato sauce, basil, oregano, and cheese.
“You cook?” The words are loaded with more surprise than I intended.
Jude smiles wickedly. “Do you think I only spend my days plotting the demise of humanity?”
I blush and duck my head a little because yeah, I really only think of Jude as a killing machine.
Dylan
’s mouth falls open as we watch Jude squeeze lemons into a bowl, drizzle in some olive oil, add chopped basil, garlic, salt, and pepper, then whisk the ingredients together. He tosses the homemade dressing onto a large salad, then doles the salads onto small plates and delivers them to the table.
Dylan and I look at each other, baffled. A demon who cooks?
As if reading my mind, Dylan mutters under his breath, “This would make for a great new series on Food Network. Ladies and gentlemen, The Demon Gourmet.”
“It would give Hell’s Kitchen and Cutthroat Kitchen a run for their money.”
We both burst out laughing.
Without pulling his attention away from his plate, Jude adds, “For the record, I would win. Now let’s eat our salads while the lasagna rests.”
Lasagna needs to rest?
I stab the lettuce and a tiny grape tomato. The dressing tastes delicious. The texture and flavor of the lettuce mix are more delicate than what I’m used to. There are garbanzo beans and little slivers of red onion. I try to take another forkful, but my plate is empty. I look up, coming out of my daze and see Jude and Dylan are only half done.
Jude takes my plate to the counter, refills it and returns to the table.
Is he still trying to convince me to move in with him? I thought I made it clear last time I’ll never leave my uncles.
Jude rises from the table to remove the empty salad plates. He returns with larger plates filled with layers of vegetables, noodles, sauce, and cheese oozing all over the plate. Oh, and buttery, garlic bread.
“Yours is vegetarian.” He nods at my plate. A moment later, he plunks down plates of meat lasagna for Dylan and himself.
Jude went to the trouble to make two different meals for us? “Th-thank you. This looks great.”
We eat in silence. I try to think of something to say, but come up with nothing. Dylan focuses on his plate, ignoring Jude. I stifle a smile when I notice Dylan devouring his food. It’s impossible to hate the meal. Jude’s a great cook.
Suddenly, a chunk of pasta lodges in my throat. I shouldn’t be enjoying this, as if the three of us are one big happy family. We’re not. Dylan and I are here against our will. My family—Sheldon, Bernard, and Marcus—are over at the three-flat.
“So…what’s the plan for today?” I ask Jude stiffly. “Are we going up to the roof?”
Jude takes the cloth napkin from his lap and wipes his mouth. “No. Today we’ll be working out back.”
My insides tingle. “Doing what?”
“You and I are going to work on fireballs.”
“But I already know how to throw them,” I point out. “I want to learn something new.”
“You’re too emotional. You need control. To engage and respond with confidence. Then I will teach you tactics.” Jude turns his attention to Dylan. “And you will work on your fighting skills.”
Dylan leans back in his chair. “What? I don’t get to throw fireballs?”
“Have you accidentally hurled any fireballs? Have you felt uncontrollable heat in your fingers, your hands?”
“No.”
“Then mortal fighting skills will have to do for now,” Jude says, smirking.
Dylan rolls his eyes but follows Jude and me out the back door.
The term yard doesn’t do it justice. The grassy expanse that runs the length of Jude’s property line is the size of St. Aquinas’s football field. It has fewer trees than the front; although, they’re still the giant, knotted kind, resembling petrified ogres. Chirping birds draw my attention to the treetops. Common sparrows. Common is good.
An all-too-familiar voice calls out, “You rookie demons ready to get dirty?”
Aiden. Why is he here? Aiden helped save me, and he’s a good pseudo brother to Marcus, but I don’t trust him.
The feeling is mutual, and he greets me with an unfriendly smile. “This should be fun.”
I narrow my eyes at him then call out to Jude, “Please tell me I get to throw fireballs at Aiden.”
Jude turns to Dylan, ignoring my sarcasm. “Aiden will be your sparring partner.”
“Lucky you,” I say to Dylan.
I watch Aiden lead Dylan to the opposite end of the yard. If he hurts Dylan, I’ll turn him to burnt toast.
“Ow!” I slap my hand to my face to smother the burning spark Jude shot at me. “Hey!”
“Do I have your attention?” Jude asks.
I rub at the sting. “You know, a normal father would just yell at me. Not try to burn my face off.”
“We are not normal. Conjure a fireball.”
My mouth falls open. I’ve never been asked to create a fireball on command. This is cool!
Across the yard, I hear bodies slam together. I flinch. The urge to turn and check on Dylan is strong, but Jude’s expression stops me.
“A fireball, Lucy. Now.”
I focus my mental energy on Aiden. If anyone can inspire my anger, it’s him. What if he hurts Dylan? My muscles quiver as heat flushes through my body. I hold up my palm. Nothing. Bodies slam behind me. Dylan swears at Aiden.
Need something more. I close my eyes and focus on a memory. Dylan in a hospital bed barely alive after Jude awakened his powers.
My fingertips start to tingle. Then my palms. I wiggle my fingers as the sensation runs back and forth, back and forth, growing stronger. I hear a low hum, and the current moves along my arms, to my palms, up each of my fingers and back again. I recall Marcus in his stone form on Jude’s roof the night of the homecoming dance. Angry tears burn behind my closed eyelids.
“You want him, there he is,” Jude said dryly. “Take him. Just know that he will never be human again.”
Why not? My eyes darted from Jude to the gargoyle and back again. He was stone before, and it wasn’t permanent then. What did Jude do to him?
“Turn him back!” I cried, my heart pounding painfully in my chest. Every nerve ending in my body screamed.
“Better take him soon, Lucy.” Jude leveled his dark glare at me. “I would hate to see what would happen if someone knocked him off the roof. My guess is he would shatter into a million pieces.”
I gasp as fury rips through me. On instinct, I extend one arm in front of my body. I open my eyes, startled by the fireball balancing on my right palm.
Jude suppresses a grin. “You want to throw that at me, don’t you?”
I purse my lips and focus on the fireball, trying to gain control over my anger, but it’s too strong now.
“You nearly destroyed Marcus.” I glare at him. “And you tortured Dylan.”
Jude’s eyes darken. “The gargoyle is not worthy of your concern. As for Dylan, what I did was necessary to trigger his powers.”
I shake my head, my body trembling with anger. The fireball glows yellow and red in my palm. Jude is only ten feet away.
“I begged you to turn Marcus back, but you wouldn’t. It wasn’t until you needed him that you changed him. Why?”
The fingertips on my left hand tingle. Then my palm. I welcome the fiery sensation. I roll it over my palm, bounce it from one hand to the other. I pull at the flame with my fingertips until it separates.
I raise my left hand. Now two fireballs burn.
Jude ignores my question. “Better. Still too emotional, but you’re starting to exhibit some ability to conjure.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Aiden roars behind me.
I spin around. Aiden’s got Dylan face down on the ground, his arms pinned behind his back. Like a gunshot, I take off. I reach them in seconds and hurl the fireballs at Aiden, one after the other. He jumps off Dylan, effectively dodging both of my attacks. Dylan climbs to his feet, red-faced.
“What’s your problem?” Dylan shoves Aiden.
Aiden steps toward Dylan, stops halfway, and looks at Jude as if called. Can Jude speak telepathically to Aiden, too? Aiden jabs Dylan in the chest with his finger. “The next time you try to remove my arm from its socket, I will tear you to pieces.”
I tug Dylan by the arm in an attempt to break their killer eye contact. “What happened?”
Dylan’s whole body twitches. His skin is hot to the touch.
“He attacked me,” Dylan snarls. He lunges toward Aiden and I jump between them.
“Dylan, you can sit out the rest of the session. You’re not ready to learn what Aiden has to teach you,” Jude calls out.
“That’s a load of crap!” Dylan yells.
“Lucy, we’re not done with your session. Turn around. Your next target has just arrived,” Jude says.
Dylan and I whip around as a large white-tailed deer enters the yard. It’s a buck with eight points on its antlers. His reddish-brown coat twitches.
A block of ice settles in my stomach. I peer over my shoulder at Jude. “You expect me to kill it?”
He glances at his watch. “Today, Lucy.”
How does killing a cute, furry animal help me train to kill demons?
“Lucy! Take it down or I will, just enough to maim it, so Dylan can snap its neck.”
“What is it with people always telling me what to do?” My insides grow hotter; my heart beats faster. “If it’s not Persephone, my uncles, or Marcus, it’s you!”
“Exactly.”
I meet Dylan’s gaze. The anger on his face mirrors my own.
He feels what I feel.
Dylan’s irises turn black. Similar to Jude’s but without menace. He holds his hand out to me. Power he wants to share with me. I grasp his hand. An energy, invisible and strong, moves between us. It’s like drinking ten Mountain Dews, but better. An adrenaline rush courses through my veins. Is this what Dylan felt when he played basketball with his friends? The power stokes me. I feel…unstoppable.
Jude and Aiden argue, but I pay no attention. Dylan squeezes my hand, and another surge of energy courses through me. My heartbeat pulses through my body. I close my eyes as the throbbing sensation grows stronger. The sudden urge…the need to get rid of all this energy, this anger, takes over.
My eyes fly open. I want to destroy something. A hot, electrical current zips up and down my arms. I hold up my hand, palm side up. I grin at the large fireball resting there.
The Girl and the Gargoyle: Book Two of The Girl and the Raven Series Page 5
