by Davis, L. C.
"That's a terrible burden to place on a child," he said, his tone laced with disgust. "If that had gone on up here, you would've been taken away."
"I wish I had been. Maybe then things wouldn't have gone the way they did." I shrugged. "But they did. My mother and brother were attending a tent service along with four-hundred other people when it all went up in flames."
He grimaced. "I'm so sorry. About all of it. Was it an accident?" he asked warily.
"According to the fire marshal, it was a faulty amp," I said dryly. "My father and I were the only survivors, so it's hard to say. I just know what he told the police and what he actually thought weren't the same thing."
"He couldn't possibly have blamed you. You were what, how old?"
"Twelve, almost thirteen. He at least suspected it enough to keep me as a prisoner in our own house for the next five years."
"How did you get out?" he asked, his voice rough with some emotion I couldn't quite read.
"That's the strangest part. To this day, I don't remember. I just know one day I tried the door on a whim, and it was open. Maybe it had been for a long time. I ran and I remember being sure he'd pop out around the corner to grab me and drag me back down to that basement, but I made it outside and just kept running until I couldn't anymore. A police officer picked me up, took me to a shelter, and my life went from a single basement room to a media circus."
"That's why you changed your name," he said, running a hand through his hair.
"The judge sealed the record so my father couldn't find me, but I've been moving ever since then."
"Shit."
"Mhm," I agreed, taking a sip of my refill. "His lawyers argued that the trauma of losing my mother and brother just pushed him over the edge. That was how I learned that you can put a price tag on anything. The settlement was more than enough to start over, but he'll be out in a few years with good behavior. I was kind of hoping I'd be able to disappear somewhere sleepy by then, but..."
"Stillwater is a bit more awake than you expected?"
"Must be the coffee," I teased. "Wow. I can't believe I told you...well, any of that. You sure you're not a hypnotist, too?"
"No," he chuffed. "Afraid not, but I can promise your secret is safe with me."
"Thank you."
He watched me with renewed interest, hesitating. "You know, if you still want to leave, I understand, but you could have ended up in a worse place."
"Jersey?"
He snorted. "If there's one good thing about a town full of secrets, it's that people get good at keeping them. Nobody keeps secrets like the Whitakers."
I frowned. "I don't think I could ever trust Nick with my phone number after what he did, let alone what I just told you."
"He cares about you. More than you think. I know it's hard to believe, but he thought he was keeping you safe."
"From what?"
"Your father, among other things." He shook his head. "I shouldn't be enabling this kind of nonsensical bullshit, but given the circumstances... You remember when I told you about those weird ideas the Whitakers get from time to time?"
"Yeah."
"Well, the weirdest one revolves around an old family legend that every Whitaker has a soulmate."
"That's not that weird, all things considered."
"No, but they take it pretty far. They don't even believe in dating until they find their soulmate. Nick and Brent rebelled," he said, rolling his eyes. "At least, until you showed up."
"Don't tell me you buy into this."
"No, but Nick does. You've seen his uh, intensity firsthand."
"Putting it mildly."
"I'm not defending him, and I think this is all bullshit, but I'll say one thing. If I were in the market for a bodyguard, I couldn't think of anyone better than a Whitaker who was convinced I was his soulmate," he said with a smirk.
"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Daniel." I glanced at the clock and found myself shocked by how much time had passed without my noticing. "I should get back."
"I'll walk you since I kept you after dark."
I wasn't sure how I felt about the fact that Daniel thought I needed to be walked home, but all the talk of my father had left me feeling less than secure, and I wouldn't mind another few minutes in Daniel's company. "Thanks. Hopefully Nick won't be waiting at the door when we get there."
"Oh, I don't think you need to worry about that," he said, pushing the door open. The full moon shone brightly against a backdrop of stars and blue velvet, and with a view like that, I was beginning to understand why the Whitaker family had chosen Stillwater to settle down in.
"Why not?"
"Let's just say there's no love lost between Julia and Nick."
"Don't tell me Mrs. Marrin was one of Nick's conquests," I teased.
"Ugh, no. But her niece was. It ended badly, to say the least."
"Huh. So my landlady is the garlic to my stalker's vampire. Good to know."
He smiled down at me. "He's not so bad if you give him a chance, the hypnosis thing aside."
"Spoken like a hypnosis victim."
He gave a rich, genuine laugh and I realized in that moment that there were two sides to Daniel. There was the curmudgeon before his time, the man who'd bite your head off before you had the chance to say hello and jumped to the worst possible conclusion. And then there was the guy who'd do anything for a friend, even if it was becoming increasingly clear that it went against his own judgment. I still wasn't sure I'd ever trust Nick again, but I could say one thing for him. He had good taste in friends.
Nine
HOLDEN
After saying goodnight to Daniel and creeping up the stairs to avoid waking Mrs. Marrin, I stumbled through the dark and set the bags down on the counter. Fortunately, there wasn't anything that required refrigeration except the sour cream, and I was contemplating whether it was still good as I groped the wall for the light and slipped out of my shoes.
"Don't you look precious?"
I froze at the sound of the vaguely familiar voice coming from inside the room. The white-haired man from Carla's party was lounging on my bed, rummaging through my CD collection. He picked up a CD and wrinkled his nose in distaste. "'Call Me Definitely' disappointed in your taste in music. Aren't witches supposed to like metal? Throw in a little Sabbath at the very least."
I turned for the door immediately, but he was in front of me all of a sudden, blocking it. I staggered back and looked at the empty bed where the covers were still rumpled from him sitting on them two seconds earlier. "How did you do that?"
"You're not the only one with party tricks, Henry," he said with a dramatic roll of his eyes. "Although you've been suppressing your power for long enough, I'd be surprised if you could light a candle at this point. And here everyone thinks the town vet is the closet case."
"Did my father send you?" I asked, my heart lurching as I inched further away from him.
"Please, like I'd work for a country preacher," he scoffed. "I'm an independent operator, cupcake."
"You're not human..." His eyes were too green, but when he blinked, they didn't shift like color contacts did. My throat grew tight as one possibility occurred to me. "Are you an angel?"
"You really need to get off the holy track," he purred, gliding towards me. "Think South."
"A demon?"
He folded his arms. "You think I'm an angel and you get all 'Sixth Sense' on me, but a demon doesn't elicit as much as a shiver? There's a wire crossed somewhere."
"So I've heard," I muttered. "If you're not working for my father, who are you and what do you want with me?"
"I'm your best friend in the whole wide world, sugar." He took another step forward and I stepped back, only to fall back into him as he teleported behind me. His long fingers curled around my shoulders, eliciting that shiver he wanted as he whispered, "You just don't know it yet."
I darted away from him and grabbed a knife from the block on my kitchen-slash-living-room counter. "Don't touch me."
>
"Ooh, scary," he said, pulling his hands to his chest in mock terror. "I'm an ancient demon with untold power, but in a matter of moments, you've discovered that my one true weakness is cheap cutlery."
I frowned, looking down at the brand stamped into the base of the blade. "It wasn't cheap."
One moment, the blade was in my hand. The next, it was in his. He held the tip against his finger and twirled it absently as he paced the room. "See, as much as I love a bit of dramatic tension in my come-to-the-devil speeches, it's a full moon and I'm on borrowed time since your dinner date with Daniel ran long. Bad idea, by the way," he said, pointing the knife accusatorily in my direction. "Leave the bisexuals to the seasoned players. You're batting way out of your league."
I blinked at him, still not quite sure of whether I should be afraid or confused. Both seemed to be a natural reaction in his presence. "Me and Daniel?"
"Don't think I didn't see the goo-goo eyes. You're not half as subtle as you think you are," he said, bringing the knife down on top of my bookshelf. It went straight through the binding on the book I'd left sitting on top and it stuck in. If he was trying to intimidate me...it was working.
"I'm sorry, I literally have no idea what you're talking about."
"Save the innocent little preacher's kid routine for someone who cares. I know you're a witch."
I groaned. "Like you said, I don't use my powers often."
"Not all of them," he said, running his hand over the potted plants in my windowsill. I flinched when he reached my favorite flowers. They weren't hardy enough to go outside yet, and I had taken great pains to travel with them. A coy smile tugged at his lips and he plucked a single petal off one of the white roses. "He loves me..." He plucked another. "He loves me not...'
"Stop it," I snapped. The lights flickered overhead, and if it hadn't been for the look of surprise on the demon's face, I might have assumed it was his doing. "Just tell me what you want."
"I have a proposition," he said, pressing the tips of his fingers together. At least he was leaving my roses alone. "A deal, if you will."
"What kind of deal?"
"You have something I want, and I have something you want," he said in a voice like silk. "Protection from your father."
"No offense, but I don't think trading one psychopath for another is something I'm interested in."
He pressed a hand against his silk shirt, as if deeply offended. "Psychopath? Histrionic Personality Disorder I could see, but that's just hurtful."
"Still not a tempting offer."
"Ah, but there's more!" he cried with all the flair of an infomercial salesman. "I know who killed your mommy and Ezekiel."
I flinched at the sound of my brother's name. There wasn't anyone who should have been able to connect that name to Holden Adams. Evidently, someone had dug even deeper into my illustrious past than Daniel had. "
"Now I've got your attention."
"It was an accident. No one killed them."
"Poor thing. You must've been in that basement a long time if you believe that." he was in front of me again, leaning in. "But you don't, do you? You know it was someone else. You saw him."
"No." The shrill scream that had started just before I blacked out with Nick rang in my ears again, getting louder with each word he spoke.
"There's something that keeps you from thinking too hard about it," he said with a pitying shake of his head. "Whenever you push, it pushes back, keeps you focused on the lie, pushes you back to where it's safe. Back to where it doesn't hurt so bad." He tilted my chin towards him, his full lips pouting. "Deep down, beneath it all, you know that it wasn't really a tragic accident and you've always been afraid that daddy was right. That it was you."
"Please," I gritted out, barely able to hear my own voice through the ringing. His voice was loud and clear.
"Do you want to know a secret, Holden?" he purred, leaning in to whisper in my ear. "It wasn't you."
My eyes flew open as something snapped inside my mind. The pain I had felt as Nick tried to force that last answer from me was nothing compared to this, but the relief of pressure that followed was worth it. I stared at the demon in a mixture of horror and awe as the mental block shattered and the memory it had been holding back for so long settled back into its rightful place.
"The angel," I whispered. "The eyes... Those awful, white, spinning eyes, he... he was there."
"That's right," he said in an encouraging tone, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with almost maternal affection. "He's the one who killed all those people, and used you to cover it up. He altered your memory and made you suffer for all these years, thinking it was your fault they're gone."
"I can't see his face," I said, straining to keep it in my mind. Like a fading dream, it flickered but I couldn't hold onto it for long.
"I know," he coaxed, gently pushing me into a chair at the kitchen table. He slipped a folded piece of paper from his pocket and smoothed it out on the table in front of me. "And I can help you remember. All you have to do is agree to help me in return."
The trance of his soft words was broken when I looked down at the paper. Etched in black script at the top of the paper was the word, "Contract." I looked back at him, frowning. "What is this?"
"The fine print is just a bunch of legal jargon," he said, perching on the edge of the table with a dismissive wave. "All very standard. The long and short of it is, I'll keep you safe from the not-so-good Reverend Hurlow and I'll even throw in revenge against the angel who's been playing you for a fool all these years."
"In return for what, my soul?"
"Please, like I don't already have a dozen of those lying around. I want something of far more value than that," he said, kicking his foot lazily in the air as he leaned back. "Your virginity."
"Excuse me?"
"Hm, let me rephrase that," he mused, pressing a finger to his lips. "I need you to lose your virginity in a specific ritual context."
"Thanks for clarifying that, because otherwise it would've just been silly."
"So sassy," he said, wrinkling his nose. "I was hoping you'd be sassy."
"Why do you talk like you know me?" I asked, fighting a building migraine. I was still reeling from the mental block he had just shattered.
"Oh, every demon knows the Whore of Babylon. You're a regular celebrity." He paused. "Or, you know, you will be. "
I groaned. "I knew this had something to do with that bullshit prophecy."
"Quarter in the swear jar," he sang. "I hate to be the one to tell you, but Bertie's prophecy was spot on. Her macaroni salad, not so much."
"How did you --?"
"This is old news where I'm from. Fact of the matter is, you're destined to become the Whore of Babylon if you play your cards right. That means whoever gets their hands on you controls the beginning of the end, and that's about all a demon who has everything wants for Christmas, so if you could just go ahead and read this over," he said, slipping the contract into my hands.
I looked over the script, barely able to read some of the more faded parts. "How long have you had this?"
"Eh, somewhere between the Cro-Magnon era and the Crusades, it all gets a bit jumbled."
I stared at him and he made it a point to look exhausted. "Revelation is just the latest edition. I've been waiting a long time to make your acquaintance, and I'm not the only one, but trust me when I say I'm the best offer you're gonna get."
"I don't understand. If I'm who you think I am, why didn't you show up sooner?"
"Yeah, funny story," he said, sweeping a lock of hair behind his ear. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was a show of self-consciousness. "I kind of lost track of you when you bounced from Gosham."
"And I'm supposed to trust you with my life?"
He gave me a mocking smile. "I got to you first, didn't I? And come on, I set you up pretty nicely. Cute guy, quaint little town. Um..." He paused, looking around my apartment. "Central AC?"
"You didn't have anything
to do with any of that."
"No? You think that article on the least-religious towns in the U.S. just magically appeared in your inbox?"
"Yeah? That's kind of how email works. I've been subscribed to that website for ages."
"Whatever. I've been your guardian demon, gently leading you to sanctuary ever since I picked up your scent in Poughton."
"Say I do believe you. Why Stillwater?"
"Ever heard of holy ground?"
I nodded.
"Think the opposite and you've got Stillwater. It's a long, boring story that dates back to the pilgrims, but every team needs a base of operations. I've been working on this place for a while. Gathering all the pieces on the board, making sure things are nice and comfy for my queen," he purred. "Isn't that thoughtful? I mean, if Michael got his hands on you, you'd be locked up in Paradise. I'm offering you protection and free reign."
Queen? I had a bad feeling I knew exactly which Michael he was referring to, but for the moment, I decided living in ignorance was preferable. "In exchange for what, exactly?"
"Thanks to a particularly unpleasant incident two-thousand years ago, give or take, demons can only take on human form on the three nights of the full moon. Otherwise, we're condemned to walk the earth as familiar spirits...unless we contract with a witch, in which case I can feed off of your energy to maintain the fabulousness you see before you."
"So you're a parasite."
"A parasite only takes. I'm a giver," he said proudly. "In certain contexts, at least. You've got plenty of raw power, but right now, you're a diamond in the rough. You need a handler to refine and mold that power into something useful."
"You mean to bring about the apocalypse?"
"If you fell into the wrong hands, yes. But the thing is, I like this world. It's cozy. Heaven and Hell, they both want the final battle, but me? I just want to enjoy the ride."
"Because you're an independent operator," I muttered.
"Bingo. World peace being the impractical and boring goal that it is, the next best thing is to take the weapon off the board entirely. The children can't fight if they don't have any toys to squabble over."
