Maybe it’s just a sign that we’re headed in the right direction. That what we’re doing is what we’re supposed to do. I send a thank you out into the universe, hoping the correct recipient hears it.
Doug and Owen pester Heidi for answers too. She just laughs it off, wearing an air of confidence I’ve never seen in her before.
“I told you,” she says. “I don’t know any more than you do. I just woke up and felt great. More amazing than ever before. Just look at these guns!” She flexes her biceps, and Owen reaches forward to give them a squeeze.
“Dang! Rock hard.”
“Yup.” She laughs, shaking her head, and glancing over at me. “Remember when you used to call my biceps pancake and syrup?”
The memory rushes back, and I laugh. I’d forgotten all about that. But that was when she was just a little girl. “It looks like they’ve graduated to something more.” Her shoulders are also more defined, as is every other muscle in her body. What happened to her in that hospital? She was dying and now she’s whole. No, more than whole.
I drive us back to our motel. And even though Heidi is revved up and ready to go, the rest of us are exhausted. There are two queen beds, so it’s going to be tight, but sleep beckons, and I can’t hold it off any longer.
I crawl into one of the beds and fall flat on my face. My brain shuts off, and I tune out everyone. There’s a discussion going on, but I don’t listen. I feel the bed dip and crack open one eye. Heidi sits next to me on the edge of the bed.
“I can’t sleep. There’s just no way.” She smiles down at me. I can tell from her tone that she’s informing, not asking permission for anything.
“Okay. Just watch TV,” I suggest, mumbling into the pillow.
“Yeah. Okay.” She flips on the television that is mostly static. There’s one station that is kind of coming through, so she puts her feet up and reclines in the chair. Jag plops down on the other bed next to Doug, which leaves Owen sharing with me. I totally don’t care.
Chapter Forty-three
Heidi
It doesn’t take long for all four boys to fall asleep and start snoring in four-part harmony. I smile, knowing my moment of freedom is at hand. Feeling something deep inside that I’ve never felt before, I slip out the door, completely unafraid. I’ll be back before they wake. I have a runed dagger on one hip and Bret’s Nephilim dagger on the other. He won’t mind if I borrow it.
The streets are dark and warm, even at this time of night. Shadows hide the fact that it’s a war-torn, earthquake-destroyed city, but it actually seems quiet and peaceful… unless you look hard enough. A soft breeze blows with the scent of earth, sand, and flowers.
I roll my shoulders and then my head, loosening up. There’s no fear inside me. None at all. Not like last night when I was attacked. Was that just last night? It feels like a year ago, and I can’t believe I feel so different.
There’s no comparison. I’m a completely different person today. The scared, weak Heidi is gone. She doesn’t even exist.
Starting out at a jog, I make my way a couple of blocks farther into town. You’d think the streets would be empty, the people sleeping safely in their beds, but not here. There’s a nightlife going on, not unlike the one in L.A.
The downtown strip is busy with revelers, all with their very own gray man inside. I start out on the edges so I don’t bring attention to myself. A silent slash here, a quiet stab there, and the piles of ash begin piling up.
I’m full of adrenaline and kicking butt. I’m Desmond Miles in Assassin’s Creed, taking down my enemy with the silence of a shadow. Shouts of “Nephilim dagger” rise on the wind. And after that, rather than coming at me, most of the demons turn and run, trying to hide from the deadly swipe of my dagger.
I move down the street, a samurai warrior, unstoppable, and it feels so good. Nothing can stand against me. Every demon I face dies. Every single one… until I round the corner.
I come face to face with something I’ve never seen before. A being at least seven feet tall, with red, leathery skin, black horns, and sharp teeth, like a vampire. I slow my attack and let the victim at my feet—a gray man—scramble away.
I face this new form of demon, a dagger in each hand. A smile comes to my lips as I balance on the balls of my feet. “Come to mama,” I taunt.
The demon smiles. “It will be a pleasure, but first, who are you? I’ve yet to meet a mortal with the courage to stand against me.” His lips pull back into a savage snarl, which I think is supposed to be a grin.
“I’m your worst nightmare.”
“I don’t have nightmares,” he growls. “I am the nightmare.” He steps toward me with heavy clomps of his hoof-like feet. “And you don’t scare me, little mouse.”
“I don’t need to scare you. Just kill you.” I begin to circle him, studying his moves, searching for a weakness, which I’ve yet to find. His shoulders are huge and well muscled, and his clawed fingers flex and contract. Powerful thigh muscles make him strong, but not fast.
“You can try, but it might prove difficult,” he says.
“Then let’s dance.” I don’t say another word. I didn’t come here to talk. I came here to kill, and now I’ve been given the ability to do just that. I feint to the right, and he falls for it. He counterattacks, but his movements are sluggish. Weakness number one. I swirl in a circle, my dagger an extension of my hand. It nicks his skin. I expect a puff of ash, but nothing happens, and then I realize I’m holding the runed dagger in my right hand instead of the Nephilim. I would have to stab deeper with that knife to kill him… I think. He’s not in a human meat suit, so this is all new for me.
He laughs, robust and deep, like thunder, and throws a meaty fist at my face. I duck, and he misses me by a hair’s breath. We circle one another, his fangs glistening with saliva. “You’re quick.”
“I like to think so.” I smile, giving him a wink. I might be playing the over-confident card a bit, but it feels good after how afraid I’ve felt for the last five years. It’s as though my dagger tattoo has finally imbued me with the magic I yearned for. Better late than never.
I push forward, slashing with my daggers, one after the other, until I force him back against the brick wall of a building and he has nowhere to go. “Looks like you’re out of street.”
He stops and lowers his fists. “It does, doesn’t it? I guess I’ll have to say goodbye then. Don’t want to get pricked by that pretty dagger of yours. One quick question though, before I go.”
I stare at him as if he’s crazy. Where does he think he can escape to? I have him trapped. If he tries to dart either way, I’ll get him, and he knows it. “Okay. One question before you die. Seems only fair.”
“Where’d you get the Nephilim, and who taught you to use it?”
“That’s classified.” The corner of my lip curls up at the same time as his.
“Touché.” He inclines his head toward me. And then, just like that, he’s gone. Not in a puff of smoke, but gone. Disappeared. Invisible to the naked eye.
I swirl around, fully expecting him to be standing behind me, ready to deal a death blow. He’s not, and neither are any other demons. I’m alone on a quiet street that not long ago was disorderly and raucous. This just doesn’t happen. Demons like that don’t run from a fight, and I keep half expecting him to reappear and stab me in the back.
When he doesn’t come back, I jog to the next street, anxious to find more demons to dispatch, but they’re gone. All of them… on every street. How disappointing. With a deep breath of resignation, I turn and head back the way I came, all the way to the motel. The door handle turns silently in my hand, and when I push through, the boys are all still asleep and snoring.
My belt slips off, and I kick my boots from my feet. It feels good to have worked my muscles, and I’m now tired enough to fall asleep. From the foot of the bed, I climb up the middle and snuggle against Jag, breathing him in as my eyes close.
***
The morning dawns and I
stretch as the sunlight filters in through a slit in the drapes. “Man, it feels good to be alive!” I slide from the bed to notice Jag studying me with inquisitive eyes.
“Oh?” One of his eyebrows rises in question.
Man, he looks good today. I’m tempted to say that right in front of everyone, to take his face in my hands and lay a passionate kiss right on his mouth, but I refrain. “Yep. Let’s get going and kick some demon butt,” I say instead.
Normally, I take a while to wake up. It takes copious amounts of coffee and sugar to feel I’m among the living. Today, I don’t need a thing. I strap on my belt and tie my boots, grabbing my stuff to take out to the Jeep.
“Jeez, Heidi. Give us a minute,” Doug says, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
Jag is still staring at me, taking slow sips of his coffee. “How was your night?” he whispers when I sidle up next to him to pour myself a cup also.
My eyes snap to his, my innards twisting. “Uh… same as yours.”
A sly smile comes to those rosy lips I love as he shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he whispers, his mouth grazing my ear before he walks away to sit on the bed.
I watch him, wanting to defend myself or say something quirky, but Owen is watching. Doug is in the bathroom and Bret has gone to the office to speak with the desk clerk. So, I bide my time. Jag gives me another knowing look, and I give him one right back. “I’m going to load the car.”
“I’ll help.” He follows me out, still wearing that dang smile.
Yanking open the back, I toss my bag inside and he does as well.
“So,” he says. “The big guy eluded you.”
I glance up, knowing there’s no point in lying. Somehow, he knows I snuck out, and it looks like he followed me. “I guess.”
“Did he mention his name?”
“You didn’t hear the conversation?” I shut the door and lean against the car, my arms folded.
He matches my stance. “Nope. Wasn’t close enough.”
I sigh. Why be cryptic? If he’s going to get mad, he’s going to no matter what I say. “Naw. But he was friendly. I’ll remember him.”
“So will I.”
“You’re not mad?”
“Should I be?”
“Well, normally you would be.” I turn to face him as he sets his coffee mug on top of the Jeep, taking both my arms and pulling me close.
“Did you not see yourself last night? I don’t think we have anything to worry about where you’re concerned. But I didn’t know that at first, so yeah, I followed you because I heard you leaving. I didn’t want you to be alone if you happened to need help.”
He’d held back and watched, never once giving his presence away. A sense of pride begins to grow inside me because I’m fully aware of what he saw… a fighter who is equal and possibly better at this than he is. Does that bother him?
“I have to admit, it felt really good.”
“It was amazing. I need some of your mojo.” He kisses me deeply, as though trying to draw out some of my magic for himself, and then he goes back inside the motel room to grab his stuff. By this time, the others are all packed up and ready to go too. We load up and head out by seven. We’re only a couple of hours from the border, and then only a couple of more to The Door. I’m itching to get there, so I hop into the driver’s seat before Bret can.
He stares down at me as I sit there with my hands on the steering wheel.
“I call shotgun,” Jag says, sliding into the passenger seat.
“Sorry, bro. You’re in the back.” I smile, remembering the old days when our dad was around, and Brecken and I would fight for the front seat. I’d wink at him and gesture to the rear with my thumb, giving him an I own you expression—like I do now. Does he remember? When his eyes narrow in mocking defeat, I know he does.
“Fine. Just be careful.” He slides in behind me, and I glance at him in the rearview mirror. He’s frowning and I’m tempted to tease him about pouting, like old times, but there’s nothing more annoying than sibling rivalry in a car when you can’t escape.
But inside… I’m smiling.
Chapter Forty-four
Dean
The living room is full of demons, sitting on the sofas and chairs, visiting. Wide windows line the front wall and lush, soft couches fill the rest of the room. Fans circle above us and everyone socializes as if it’s a family holiday.
They’re waiting in line… for me. I sit in a corner of the room where morning sunlight flows in through the high windows, creating the best illumination. I have already painted three portraits and I’m tired, but they won’t let me rest until it’s time to eat. So, I’ll get three breaks a day and that’s it.
The only thing that makes it worth it is that I’m memorizing each face, and then in the privacy of my room, I’ll sketch them out again, adding things on the inside, creating bacteria, viruses, parasites, and other pests that will eat them from the inside out, things that will be highly contagious, but only to demons. I know it will work. It’s all about intention.
There’s excitement about the demons getting sick and dying. I try not to think of the suffering I’m causing, but it’s my only way to even up the odds in this war. I’ve learned something new, living here with my enemy. Once a demon takes a body, he can’t get out of it until it dies somehow.
The demons I’m painting right now aren’t the big wigs, but they aren’t the grunts either. They’re the rooks, knights, and bishops of the demon kingdom. These guys pay a lot for their portraits, and I laugh when I think about it. They have no idea what they are in for. That they are paying me to kill them slowly.
The man who sits before me now reclines with one leg crossed over the other. His flaming red hair is spiked up and bleached at the tips. He has a gray man on the inside, but he wants me to paint his mortal body rather than the demon one. He visits with his cronies who watch me work from over my shoulder. It’s beyond annoying, but the last time I asked them to back away, one of them smacked me over the head with a magazine. I keep my mouth shut now, although when it’s his turn…
Red Spikes’ eyes turn to me. “How’s it coming along, Don?”
“It’s Dean.”
“Right. How’s it coming?” He wears a serene, condescending smile.
I shrug and frown, studying the depiction. “Hmm. Not sure. Something’s missing.”
“I think it looks fine,” demon number two states, looking over my shoulder.
“No, something is definitely missing.” I mix some colors and deepen the color of his eyes, adding tiny slashes in the irises. In my mind, I tell these slashes to widen during the night, so that this vain being won’t be able to look at himself anymore. He didn’t want a picture of his ugly demon body, but one of this handsome mortal man that he stole. That tells me everything I need to know about him.
When I’m finished, the demon behind me nods, his arms folded over his chest, his finger tapping his lips. “Yes. This is good. Very good. He painted you perfectly. You’ll love looking at this every day. Where will you hang it?”
Red Spikes comes around the easel to gaze down at my work of genius. “Wonderful! It’s perfect. I’ll hang it over the fireplace of my new home in Paris.”
“You have a house in Paris?” I ask. “And you came here just for a portrait? How did you even hear about me?” These demons have quite the underground network.
He gives me a knowing smile and glances at his friend. A silent message passes between them. “We have our ways.”
I take his painting and gently carry it to the other side of the room to dry with the others, a whole wall of demonic faces smiling back at me. I shiver in spite of myself. Red’s friend sits down in the chair and I walk back over to him, taking my seat in the sun. I study the demon’s mortal face, and then look deeper to his demon visage. He’s also a gray man, which makes this easy.
“Which do you want painted?” I ask for what feels like the hundredth time. These demons are all different in what they are hop
ing for.
“I want you to paint my face, but with the body of an angel.” He smirks, and I’m not sure if he’s kidding or not. With this new gift I have, a portrait like that could have repercussions.
“Are you serious?”
“Of course.” He stares at me, unblinking, and I stare back, trying to figure out how to give him a weakness in a picture like that. “Okay. Let’s see what I can do then.” I smile and get to work.
***
The afternoon sun dips below the horizon, and my neck and shoulders scream from the abuse I’ve put them through. I seldom paint this long without a break, and I’m starving. When I think dinner will be announced, Coem slams into the room, the door banging against the wall. The demons in the room jump in fright.
“Everyone! To The Door!” He darts back out, and I sit there watching with my mouth hanging open as they scatter like ants.
I have no idea what is going on, but I’ll leave them to their drama. I take my brushes to the sink with the intention of rinsing them out and cleaning off all my supplies, but my guard rushes in and grabs my arm. An icy sting zings down to my hand and numbs my fingers. I yank away.
“Don’t touch me!” I glare at him, at the end of my rope where he’s concerned. “I’m sick of you doing that.” I can barely hold my brushes and palette because my arm hurts so badly.
His eyes narrow and his lips twist into a snarl. “It’s a little late to complain. You’re to get out to the car immediately.”
“I’m going too?” And then what Coem said sinks in. Get to The Door. What door is he talking about? I wrack my brain for some reference to what he’s talking about, but I come up with nothing. Still, I feel the tension in the air, like static before a lightning strike. Something big is happening.
Throwing only my pencils and a sketchpad into my pack, I hurry back downstairs. My heart races with anticipation, and I wonder what could possibly be so important that the demons are running around like it’s the end of the world.
The Undoer Page 26
