The Lariat (Finding Justus Series)

by Ashley Dotson

  Who’s on his way? Cyrus? Orrin? Someone else? I kept my thoughts to myself.

  The radio was turned up, the Civil Wars played as I led him toward my favorite taqueria. He talked and I listened.

  “Music has become an escape for me, a way that I can block out the useless noise of humanity,” he turned the music down, “but right now, with you, the silence is preferable. It allows me to hear all the things you don’t want me to know.”

  “That’s not exactly fair, you know. Neither is asking for my help with coffee. Seriously, I’m the Beacon. My birthright is for those in serious peril, not those looking for a caffeine fix.”

  “Thank you for enlightening me,” his words dripped with sarcasm. “Before I forget- I also need help finding somewhere to sit and I need someone to talk to for a couple of hours.”

  “One hour. I have plans with my roommate,” I huffed.

  “That’s perfect. One hour alone with you is a great start.”

  He slowly reached for my hand, sliding his down off the steering wheel first, then resting his hand on his leg. I saw his movements out of the corner of my eye. He was watching me watch him, wondering if I was going to let it happen or pull my hand away.

  Skin on skin.

  A spark.

  Fire.

  The promise of his touch before did not disappoint. It was the second time his skin met mine, another moment that would change us forever.

  I tried to keep my thought to myself, but I knew I wasn’t successful. I just couldn’t help sensations flowing through me at the thought of this angelic stranger.

  “It’s okay. I feel it too. You don’t have worry.” Cyrus brought my hand to his lips. That was the moment my broken heart began to heal. He continued to hold it to his mouth even though the car filled with the smell of burning flesh.

  I looked at my hand which was now cooking his own. I pulled it away stammering, “I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…Are you okay?”

  He opened his own hand and revealed is palm which was healing quickly, “It’s fine. Look,” he twirled his hand around. “I would gladly endure any punishment for the touch of your skin. To one day kiss those lips.”

  My mouth hung open. My heart raced. No one, even Orrin, had ever said anything like that to me. Well, maybe he had, but at that moment in time I could not think of a single occurrence.

  And again Cyrus laughed. “I’ve waited a long time to turn your brain to mush like that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ll explain when we sit. I have an hour, right?” He laughed again, exceptionally proud at my state of befuddlement.

  “You should know I hate being left in the dark,” I said a few minutes later. My words were not enough to wipe that jolly grin off his lovely face.

  As promised, I directed him fifteen minutes to the south side of San Antonio. He opened the door onto a dirty and industrial corner of the city. The people walking the streets looked as if they had been steamrolled by life. The sides on many buildings were covered in graffiti or dilapidated siding. Cyrus was unfazed. He opened the door to the small white ramshackle taqueria and gestured for me to lead the way.

  “Hi Layla,” Anna, the waitress greeted me by name, “Did you have an order to pick up?”

  “No,” I explained, “I think we’re going to sit for a while and have some coffee.” I eyed Cyrus with a frown, but there wasn’t as much feeling behind that frown as there was an hour ago.

  “Come here often?” Cyrus was a little surprised.

  “It’s my favorite place for coffee. They have great carne asada too.” And tequila, I thought to myself. He heard enough from me. It was time to work on that control I used to have.

  We were the only two patrons in the dining area. I could hear the cooks trading insults in Spanish through the wall. It had been an easy language to learn. It was one of thirty languages I had bothered to learn during my time at Trinity.

  Our time without Orrin, my daemon protested. It didn’t like spending time with an angel. Resentment bubbled forth from that part of me, and instead of aiming it at myself, I aimed it at Cyrus. I knew it wasn’t fair, but my resentment was the only thing preventing me from falling hard for this guy.

  For the first time, I was conflicted. Thoughts of Orrin and feelings for Cyrus assaulted me at once. I looked at Cyrus for a reaction but he chose that moment to give nothing away, which is why I knew his feelings had truly been injured.

  “It’s okay,” he admitted, chagrinned, “Being in love is wonderful, and painful at the same time.”

  I withdrew from the table and folded my arms into my lap, waiting. “You said you had some information on the…events from the Coffee Shack yesterday?”

  “All business, huh?” He sighed, “Okay, we have time.”

  I looked at my watch, “Actually counting drive time, and the fact that I have plans with Bennet, you only have twenty minutes left.”

  “Bennet? Your roommate? What’s she like?”

  “No,” I interrupted his diversion, “Don’t change the subject. I need to know what happened. You say you have information, and you say you aren’t responsible. Then tell me who is to blame and I will kill them.”

  I felt my eyes light up. My tattoo itched and I rolled my neck trying to pacify my daemon. It was in no mood.

  His face fell, “I was right to assume you don’t know what you’re up against. That message the Vagabond brought you was a threat. You’re in danger.”

  “Is it Lillith? I’ve taken her on before,” I said a little too cocky, “but she’s bound in Hell. The only way she can get up here is through her Vagabonds. If that’s what you’re worried about- I can deal with that.”

  “We,” he corrected.

  “We?” I asked.

  “Absolutely. You are now a We. You won’t have to take on any of this by yourself. We will handle it together.”

  I smiled letting him down easily, “Thanks but I don’t need your help. You’re super-hot, and I realize we have this strange chemistry, but I refuse to add anyone else to my team.”

  He sipped his coffee unfazed, “I’m not asking.”

  “And I’m not accepting.”

  “You don’t have a choice, Beacon. Either you accept my help or I demand it from you.”

  He was cruel to remind me. If he phrased it like a request for help, then I would be powerless to resist.

  “I am going to assume for a moment that you know enough of Lillith and the prophecy surrounding your creation.”

  I rolled me eyes, “You assume correctly.”

  “There are those who would like to see that prophecy come true. As the Queen of Hell, she has many allies that would help her, especially now that she has been imprisoned in Hell and not allowed to come to Earth any longer.”

  “But she can still use a host, possess a human being. I have been ready and waiting for the day she shows up.”

  “Really,” he scoffed, “Losing your senses and yourself in alcohol is hardly what I would call ready and waiting.”

  “Shut up,” I boiled.

  He just laughed.

  “You’re right, but it’s not her.”

  “I thought it would be. But then again, I would have felt her. Her presence would have come over me like it has in the past. I would have felt her in my soul even if she was disembodied.”

  “I agree. You would have felt her. It seems someone else is after you now too.” Cyrus rubbed his stubbled chin with his forefinger driving me to distraction.

  “Now I feel the need to inform you, this isn’t my first rodeo with deamonic entities. I’ve gone up against Lillith twice now. Besides being the Beacon, it is my sole mission to stop that damned prophecy from coming true. I teamed up with Orias when I took a walk through Hell itself for a friend a few years back. Whatever big bad uglies lay in wait, I’m okay. Lay it on me.”

  He smiled, unimpressed, “Like I said before. I know much more than you think, which is much more than you want me to know.” He w
aited for that information to sink in for good this time. I wasn’t sure what he was getting at, but Cyrus, like Orrin, was here for a reason. All members of the Vulgar, we were few and far between. We did not move or take action without reason. Cyrus fancied himself my hero and I was about to nip those ideas in the bud.

  “Listen, if you have something to say…

  “No, you listen. I still have,” he glanced at his cell, “seventeen minutes.”

  “And you are getting on my nerves.”

  “I know,” he offered. I sat there while he searched my eyes for the slightest bit of amusement. When he found none, he continued, “Okay, okay. By now you know there is only one daemon truly more powerful than Lillith and it’s not Orias.”

  “I read about a few others who have that power,” I cut in. “Sorath and Azazel.”

  “No. Those are still minor daemons in comparison.”

  “Minor? You’re calling those guys minor?”

  “In comparison, yes.” he answered.

  “There was only one angel created by God with the ability to affect the human world and the people in it. He retained this power when he fell and claimed the throne of the Underworld.”

  I sat up, sure I was misinterpreting his comments. I could feel my daemon curl into itself and growl.

  “This daemon leaves a very distinct calling card.” He rolled his sleeve revealing three slashes on his forearm. It reminded me of the scar that was left on Jamie after I pulled the metal from her chest and healed her.

  With a will of their own, my fingers moved to touch his dark scar. Like an assailing camera flash, an image of Cyrus in full armor, wings spread, was fighting back a monstrous black figure. It knocked his heavy sword away with ease and then slashed the long bloody grooves into Cyrus’ arm. After that he was gone. The figure left Cyrus with his pain and impending death.

  For that long moment I could feel the poison within him, his anger, his determination to live and kill the daemon another day.

  And as abruptly as it began, it ended. Cyrus was looking at me, knowing exactly what happened.

  His eyes were waiting for mine to return.

  “He was stronger than me. He still is,” Cyrus clarified, but my mind was still fuzzy.

  “How did you do that? How did you pull me in? I’m awake.” My stomach fell to my feet, taking my brain with it.

  Throne. Stronger. Scar. He was hinting at the absurd. The impossible. Wasn’t he?

  “I’m sorry about that. Some memories have a power all their own. And I’m sorry to tell you,” He frowned his words leaving no doubt, “the daemon after you, or this other individual who has yet to be determined, is Samael.”

  It was a mere whisper within but my daemon shrunk back, its hunger now extinguished.

  I shuddered from feeling its own horror.

  The devil himself.

  7

  “Thank God you’re back. We gotta go,” Ben poked her thumb toward the window, “Who was that dropping you off in the effing awesome car? I would chew him up and spit him out. Ooh, better yet, you could. I know it’s been a while, huh? And it’s not like you’re getting any younger.”

  I smiled at her exuberance. What she lacked in subtlety she made up for with sincerity. Bennet Taylor was my best friend. I would do anything humanly or inhumanly possible for her.

  “It’s no one,” I lied.

  “That’s not no one. You’re already blushing.”

  “Fine. It’s no one I want to talk about yet.” I clarified.

  She made a noise and mumbled, “Well that’s not gonna last long around me.”

  I changed the topic before she could weasel out any more information. “Are we ready to go?”

  “Almost,” Ben was examining a camera lens before putting it into an oversized black bag.

  I agreed to help Ben with her final portfolio. She was an art major with an emphasis in photography. In a few weeks the graduating art majors were preparing their best pieces for a show in a gallery downtown. It was also a major benefit for the college, and Who’s Who of the San Antonio art world would be there. I wasn’t sure where Bennet wanted to establish herself. The only thing that was awaiting her at home was an over-involved mother that needed to find a hobby now that her daughter was officially a grown-up.

  I grabbed an apple and a bottle of water for the road. We were headed to one of the oldest high rises downtown- The Montrose. With its grand steeple, tall windows and gothic architecture, it was unique among the downtown Spanish inspired buildings. It was also condemned. Bennet has badgered the city for an entire year to no avail. They would not let some young college kid photograph a building with unstable rotting floors and walls that could go with a strong wind. The building had been on the list to be demolished numerous times, but the historical society always managed to get the final decision tabled every time it was brought up at city council meetings. I knew this only because Ben had been dying to get in there from the moment she stood in its massive shadow.

  All that, and it was apparently haunted.

  Daemons probably. Great.

  My own daemon relished the thought of killing a few, but it was two-to-one in my head, angel and human against daemon, and that request fell on deaf ears every time.

  “How did you get approval for this anyway?” I wondered aloud, not a mind reader like Cyrus.

  “I told you, remember?” Ben was avoiding my stare.

  She was walking quickly, her little legs still no match for my longer strides, “Remind me.”

  She said nothing, only attempted to walk faster. She was staying silent for a reason. I quickly surmised she didn’t have permission, and now she knew I knew too.

  “Ben. Really?” She was about to get into some trouble and I was glad I was there to stop her. I stood on the sidewalk, breaking the strides of many tourists around me, “Hell no to this stupid plan.”

  Ben looked around and then walked over to me, “It’s not stupid, but you’re right. Quit being such a pansy-ass and come on. Someone might see us.”

  “I want to hear you admit it. You don’t have permission then?”

  “Sshhhhhh!” she spit at me, “Someone might hear you. I don’t need anyone to know.”

  “But you’re taking pictures. They’re going to be on display for other to see. They’re going to know you went up there without permission.”

  She cocked her head to the side, “Well it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”

  “Always a good rule to live by,” I added dryly.

  She pulled my hand until I matched her hasty pace again.

  “What if there’s…stuff in there?” I complained, avoiding any otherworldly words.

  “Like what stuff?”

  “I don’t know,” I sputtered, “Homeless people, rotten floor boards, raccoons.”

  “I’ll protect you.” She batted her large eyes and kept going.

  We reached the front of the building. It wasn’t on the river walk, so it was out of view of most of the tourist traffic. A few people walked in front of the alley but no one paid us any attention. We walked to the corner of the building, and I looked up scanning the buildings around us. Ben pretended to look through her bag. A camera was perched on top of the stop light near on the adjacent corner. If it was in fact on, we would be found out. I stared intently at it, letting the fire flow, burning its internal components. The smell and smoke was undetectable to the human around but I knew I had taken care of the initial threat.

  The crosswalk sign was working fine- or maybe it wasn’t. The word STOP was flashing quickly. It could have short circuited too, or maybe it was another message meant for me.

  I didn’t see any other cameras from where we stood, so when I noticed a lull from the pedestrians on the sidewalk I pulled Ben into the alley and darted to the back window. I didn’t stop or let go of her hand until we reached a dead end. No one could see us now.

  Ben shook free of my grasp, “Not here, Layla, I’ve already staked out the buildi
ng. This door is locked with chains on the inside.” She demonstrated by shaking the door. A distinct metallic rattle came from within the building. “I planned on going to another corner of the building and going through an old ventilation shaft.”

  “That’s idiotic…”

  “I got this, Layla. I just need you to be my lookout.” She turned and stomped back up the alley.

  It was either go in with her or have her do this stupendously dangerous stunt on her own. So before she could get too far, I walked to the door and gave it one good yank. The heavy dead bolt broke and the chains snapped.

  “Ben,” I yelled in mock amazement.

  Her face lit up, “Shut up.” Her favorite phrase. She ran back, “How on God’s green earth did you do that?”

  I shrugged, “I don’t know. Maybe you just didn’t pull hard enough. It opened right up for me.”

  “Figures,” she grumbled, “But I’ll take it. Thanks.”

  I opened the door wide, “After you, mademoiselle.” But before she could enter I threw my arm to stop her. “Wait,” I whispered.

  This felt all shades of wrong, and I wasn’t trusting that feeling. It was like I was indulging a child against my better judgement. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but the air felt wrong. It was too still, too sealed. I felt like we were entering a tomb. The alley in front of us seemed to lengthen and darken, but I blinked away the tricky sensation.

  It wasn’t a shadow, but more like a breeze that flowed down the alley. It swept through our hair, swirled around our bodies reminding me of the cold bony fingers that greeted me in Hell. I couldn’t tell if it was a blessing or a warning. I listened for my mother’s soft voice, but there was nothing benevolent or reassuring around this place. It was an empty tomb.

  “You know this place is rumored to be haunted, right? Some guy fell down the elevator shaft and his body stayed there for years.” Ben asked, bringing me back to our current bad decision.

  “Yeah, you’ve told me many, many times. But you never found any proof to that. The historical society even said that was all a lie.” I tried to listen as she rambled about the dead man, but my senses were on overload.