Turned

by Julie Kenner

“You’re staying,” I said, but with not quite as much force. I was afraid. Afraid of making the wrong decision and losing her.

  Rachel reached out and squeezed my hand. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’ll go into the apartment. I can add protections there.”

  “Rachel—”

  Her smile flickered. “For good,” she said. “Not for black. I’ll be fine.”

  “I—”

  “Go. You may not have much time.”

  “It’s no fair,” Rose said.

  “Please,” I said, moving to stand in front of my sister. “I can’t deal if you argue. Just do this, okay? Stay. Stay and help Rachel find the priest.”

  “Fine,” she said, managing to make the one word sound much more like “fuck you.”

  “Call me before you come back,” Rachel said. “I’ll see if I can find out where Jarel holes up.”

  “Jarel?” I tried to shift my thoughts away from Rose and come up with a face to go with the name, but nothing popped.

  “The redhead,” she reminded me. “The one you should—” She ended her sentence with a pantomimed knife slice across her throat.

  “Oh. Right. But I’m not sure I should be risking my neck going after them. I mean, he might leave me alone.”

  She shrugged. “Or you might be giving him the time to gather a miniature army to take you out good and proper. Trust me when I say that I wouldn’t put something like that past a guy like Jarel.”

  Okay, she had a point. “I’ll call,” I said.

  “Good. In the meantime, Rose and I will dig in, right, Rose?”

  “Whatever.”

  I bit back a laugh, because no matter how freaky our lives had become, that tone in her voice would forever mean home. And normalcy.

  “My bike’s at my apartment,” I said to Rachel. “Can I take your car?”

  She frowned, and I could practically see her saying a mental good-bye to her pristine Mercedes. “Good of mankind,” I prodded. “Saving the world. All that stuff.”

  “Driving to meet a ferocious demon who almost killed you . . .”

  “He didn’t almost kill us,” I said. “He just lunged at us in a really mean way.”

  She cast her eyes up toward heaven. At least that was what I thought until she spoke. “Upstairs. Keys are on the hook next to the refrigerator. It’s parked in the back.”

  “I thought you guys were going to hole up in the apartment with protections?”

  She nodded toward the bar and the collection of bottles. “As soon as I put the place back together.”

  I left Rose sulking with Rachel, snagged the keys, then checked myself in the mirror by the apartment door. I still wasn’t used to Alice’s face staring back at me—I’d always been plain, not pretty, and seeing those bright green eyes and that flawless skin always threw me for a bit of a loop. The body was more functional, too. More athletic and less burdened by the baggage left over from too many Kit Kat bars.

  I tugged down the collar of the tank I wore to display the dagger tattoo on my breast. Why on earth would a woman suddenly decide to tattoo her adolescent daughter? I’d marked Rose because I hadn’t wanted her to forget who she was. Had Alice’s mother had the same sort of motivation? Or was I seeing connections where none existed?

  I didn’t know, but at the moment I was hardly inclined to think about it. I adjusted my thigh holster, shrugged into my red duster, then strapped the demon’s scabbard onto my back and slid his sword inside. My blade, a sword, and a switchblade. Probably not enough, but unless I was going to carry a knife block and a set of steak knives, it was all I had at the moment.

  “Here goes nothing,” I said to my reflection. I looked like what I was—a warrior. And while I normally wouldn’t go out on the streets of Boston looking like that, with only four days left in my countdown, I wasn’t much worried about appearances.

  I had a goal, and the sooner I got to the bridge, the better. I swept out of the apartment, down the stairs, and out the back door of the pub—at which point I ran smack into Jarel.

  Apparently Rachel was right. He was one demon who needed killing.

  “I hear you got something special hanging from round that pretty little neck of yours,” Jarel said, and I winced, forcing myself to keep my hand at my side and not raise it protectively to my throat. “Don’t seem fair a little thing like you would have such a fancy necklace. Does it, fellas?”

  A low murmur of negatives filled the alley, and though I could see no one else, I knew they were there. Demons, hiding in the darkness. Demons, waiting to whale on my ass.

  “Just try and take it,” I said, with more bravado than I felt. I might be immortal, but that didn’t mean I was impervious. Lots of nasty things could happen to me. Like, for example, they could cut off my legs. My arms. My head.

  I could hardly find the missing key without my various appendages. And if I wasn’t mobile, I wouldn’t be much good at getting to the portal to toss myself in, either.

  Not that I knew exactly where the portal was opening. I frowned and added that to my mental to-do list. Honestly, it was amazing how much preparation had to be made before the end of the world.

  At the moment, though, I needed to be focused on staying whole and keeping the Oris Clef away from my buddy Jarel there. A task that, at the moment, seemed easier said than done.

  They were coming at me from both ends of the alley, six on each side, and they were moving close together, as if they were one body with one purpose.

  Great. A coordinated force of well-trained demons. Just what I needed.

  I kept my blade sheathed and pulled out my sword. I hadn’t yet made it my own, and I took care of that little detail by sliding my hand down the razor-sharp edge. A line of blood rose, and as I stared at the demons, I smeared it on my blade. “This will end you now,” I said to each of them. “Make no mistake.”

  Unfortunately, they didn’t run screaming from my announcement. So much for my scary bad-ass persona.

  Just the opposite, in fact. Because two of them stepped away from one demon chorus line and started walking toward me. Then two from the other line joined the party.

  Four against one, with eight held in reserve. Not good odds.

  “Well, hell,” I said, then went postal on their asses, swinging the sword and managing to lop off two heads with one blow. I felt like the brave little tailor, except that two demons stepped in to replace their fallen buddies, and these dudes had even bigger nasty swords. And unlike the movies, they weren’t coming at me one at a time. They were all coming at once, and I really didn’t have time for this. I needed to be out searching for Deacon. Not fighting demons. And certainly not getting my various body parts amputated.

  I swung around hard and fast, slicing the gut of one of the approaching demons open. My blade was still in his belly when one of his buddies came at me from behind. I slammed my leg back, managing to nail him in the groin and send him tumbling backward into two of his buddies.

  What I didn’t anticipate, but should have, was the demon that lunged in from the side and grabbed my leg even as I was pulling back in from my thrust. Jarel, and Rachel was right—he was a mean one.

  He had a solid hold on my ankle, and he twisted, forcing me to turn or lose the leg. I lunged forward as he pulled me over, leading with the sword, but my aim was seriously compromised by the fact that he was jerking me all over creation, and I ended up tumbling to the ground, landing flat on my back, the sword still in one hand but my pride utterly lost.

  Not that I had time to think about pride or swords or battle plans, because Jarel was on me, his own knife out, and he was coming at me. I lashed up with the sword, hoping to slice him in two at the gut, then cried out in pain as my blade hit something metallic and solid.

  Chain mail. The little fuck is actually wearing medieval-style armor under his Boston Celtics T-shirt.

  Honestly, I had to admire his preparation if not his sentiment, but not too much, because he’d pretty much fucked my arm up bad. So much
so that when I tried to redirect my aim to his neck, I smashed uselessly against his upper torso. My whole arm was tingling, as if it were one giant funny bone, and even though I’m much better fighting with my right hand, I transferred the sword—or I tried to. Because he dove on me midtransfer, wresting the blade from my hand and pressing the tip against my neck.

  “Killed by your own blade, bitch,” he said. “There isn’t much less honorable than that.”

  “Screw you,” I said, trying to figure out how the hell I would get out of this predicament.

  “I should keep you alive,” he said, apparently not realizing that I already had that base covered. “I’d like to see you kneel before me when I ascend to the throne. Kneel before me now,” he added with a leer, “and maybe I will spare your life.”

  “Happy to,” I said. “So long as you don’t mind losing your cock when I bite down hard.” I shifted, grimacing, and felt the tip of the sword cut into my flesh. Damn.

  I really didn’t have a lot of options. I was pretty much down to hoping he wouldn’t actually disconnect my head, when his muscles tensed, and he whispered, “Die now.” But before he had the chance to make that command a reality, he went flying sideways across the alleyway, something small and lithe clinging to him like a monkey.

  I didn’t bother to question the odd nature of such timely assistance. Instead, I scrabbled to my feet, grabbed my sword, which he’d dropped, and lashed out hard, mowing down two demons who were staring dumbstruck at the spectacle.

  So was I, now that I turned in that direction: Morwain had latched onto Jarel, his sharp incisors yanking the skin of the demon’s shoulders off, his clawed hands ripping the flesh all the way down to the bone.

  I looked away. Help was one thing, but . . .

  The cluster of demons did not rush to assist Jarel, but neither did they run away. Just the opposite. Morwain’s attack seemed to have mobilized them, and instead of a fight, I found myself in the middle of a mob. There was no rhyme or reason, simply slashing and stabbing, thrusting and defending.

  Over the din, I heard Morwain calling for support, then a second voice.

  Rose.

  “Get inside,” I shouted, thrusting with my blade, then pulling it back out. The demon fell away in a puddle of goo, and I drew in the strength and played off it, using the demon’s own essence to take down the two buddies nearest it.

  Yes. Oh, heaven help me, but yes, yes, yes.

  I wanted more, and I had demons for the choosing. As the power rushed through me, I wasn’t seeing the cluster of demons so much as a scary mob, but instead as a delicious buffet. And I was determined to sample it all.

  “Lily! Behind you!”

  I whipped around, lopping off the head of an attacking demon. “Dammit, Rose, get back inside!”

  “I just saved you!”

  “I would have been fine,” I countered, and was rewarded with a dubious snort.

  “Mistress,” Morwain called. “The odds. Go. Go and protect the crown.”

  Honestly, I was half-tempted. If I could get inside the damn pub, maybe I could get out the front door and leave the alley to these crazed demons. I mean, I was all for reducing the demon population, but I needed to go find Deacon.

  “Come on,” I said to Rose. “We’re going in.”

  Except the door burst open, and Rachel came out.

  “Dammit,” I cried, thrusting sideways to nail an approaching demon. “What part of ‘stay safe inside’ do you people not understand?”

  Of course Rachel ignored me, shouting out that I needed to toss her the car keys. I didn’t argue. What was the point?

  As I tackled a handful of demons, Rose whacked away at another cluster, clearing Rachel’s path to the car. I got a little distracted by the demon aiming at my face with a mace, but when he suddenly became road-kill—courtesy of Rachel’s raging Mercedes—I had to admit that she’d caught my attention.

  The demons’ attention, too. There were only a handful left, and they finally scattered, bowled over not by the awe and fear they felt toward Prophecy Girl but persuaded instead by the silent purr of German engineering.

  I stood in the carnage, letting the dark essence rage through me.

  I tilted my head back and drew in a deep breath—and saw someone dressed all in white standing on the roof of one of the restaurants across the alley. I squinted, trying to figure out who it was.

  Gabriel?

  Except it didn’t look a damn thing like Gabriel. And if it was Gabriel, why wasn’t he swooping down to catch me?

  Footsteps echoed behind me, and I turned to find Rachel trotting toward me. “Do you know him?” I asked, jerking my chin toward the rooftop.

  She squinted, then shook her head. “Not a regular in the bar. Are you worried?”

  “Not sure,” I admitted. “Maybe I need to pop up there and see what he wants.”

  “And maybe you need to go find Deacon,” Rose said. She was looking at the roof, too, her brow creased as she frowned.

  “Rose? What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” she said, although I didn’t believe her.

  “Do you know who that is?”

  She turned to me, shoulders dropping and head tilting to one side as exasperation oozed off her. “Like I know a lot of demons?”

  “You’ve encountered a few,” I said, but her point had been made.

  “I’m just saying he could be a human for all we know. Some dude who heard the fight and came to watch. But you know you have to go see Deacon, so do that already.”

  “She’s right,” Rachel said.

  “I know she is,” I said, even though I was still convinced that my little sister was playing coy. “Fine. I’m going.” I pointed at Rachel. “But I want you two inside. Now. And keep the pub closed today, okay?”

  Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll keep it closed today, but I’m not keeping it closed forever. For one thing, I was right about Jarel, and I can help you keep an eye out for others like him, and I can do that better if the bar’s open—even if just for drinks—and they’re coming inside.”

  “Rachel—”

  She held up a hand to stop me. “For another, if the world doesn’t come to an end—and it won’t—this pub is our livelihood, and I am not going to shut it completely down for four full days. You understand me?”

  “Just today,” I said. I glanced back at the opposite rooftop, an unreasonable knot of dread twisting in my gut. “Put protections around the apartment and stay safe. Just do that for me, okay?”

  She took Rose’s hand, then nodded. “We’ll clean. Egan’s apartment was utter filth, and I’ve barely made a dent.”

  “Great,” I said, not caring what they did so long as they were inside and safe. “Awesome. Terrific.”

  “Go,” Rose said.

  And so I went.

  EIGHT

  The Zakim Bridge is a Boston landmark, partly because it’s such a cool bridge and partly because it was part of the whole Big Dig construction project, which made its own headlines because the project was both massive and expensive.

  The bridge itself is part of I-93 and runs over the Charles River, none of which is particularly interesting, but what is cool about it is the way it looks. It’s a cable-stayed bridge, which probably means nothing to you unless you’re an architect, but if you’re looking at it from a distance, the bridge looks like it has two pyramids atop it. Not solid pyramids, but pyramids made of tons and tons of taut metal cable which rise up and attach to eighty-foot concrete towers that jut perpendicularly out of the bridge itself.

  It’s cool enough that photos of the bridge make up a large percentage of Boston postcards, and, frankly, I think it gives the skyline some much-needed pizzazz.

  At any rate, it’s big. And although Deacon’s dragony demon form was also big, I’ll confess that I was hoping to meet up with his much more manageably sized human form. How I was supposed to find one man on an entire bridge, though . . . Well, I really didn’t know. Especiall
y since pedestrians are technically not allowed on the bridge. And, honestly, I felt rather grumpy about the whole thing.

  Still, I needed to do this, and so I decided to take the boring, methodical approach and walk the damn thing. And, yes, I realized that was not allowed. But I was über-girl-fighter-chick, and I was in a pissy mood.

  Besides, I was wearing a knife and a sword. How much more bad-ass could a girl get?

  Not that it’s easy to walk the bridge. For one thing, it’s raised, which means that unless you want to go all Spider-Man, you have to walk a long way, starting way back from where the freeway is actually on the ground. Do that, though, and the Massachusetts Transit Authority or the Boston police or whoever the heck is in charge will toss you in the back of a black-and-white without even giving you time to blink.

  Again, I had the knife, not to mention my surly inner demons, but even so, I wasn’t keen on stumbling through the whole Most Wanted routine. Still, I had to find Deacon, so I started out driving, then flipped on the hazard lights about the time I was midway over the Charles River. I lifted my foot from the accelerator, let the car roll to a stop, then killed the engine. And just to make it look good, I slammed my hand down hard on the steering wheel as if I was yet one more pissed-off commuter.

  When you break down on the bridge, you’re supposed to pull over to the side and wait patiently for help. You’re not supposed to get out of the car and start walking.

  What can I say? The demons made me do it.

  Since this was Boston and it wasn’t 3:00 A.M., the traffic was terrible. The infamous late-lunch, early-evening drive-time rush hour. Which meant that I was risking my body (if not my life, what with being immortal and all) by walking on the little strip of asphalt that formed the shoulder. A shoulder that, honestly, did not provide room for a car to stall out. And that, frankly, was a bonus. Because I could hear the screech of brakes and the curse of commuters as they approached my supposedly stalled vehicle, then had to ease one lane over to get around it.

  One particularly pissed-off soul rolled down his window, tapped his horn to get my attention, then lifted a fist to me. “Hey, lady!” he roared. “Mooove the fahkin’ caaah!”