“Now what?” I asked.
“You’ll have to infiltrate the Nephilim.”
“Excuse me?” My voice was so loud I startled a bird from a nearby bush.
“How you think you’re gonna get the key back?”
“Kill them all and take it?”
“Could.” Luther’s bony shoulders lifted, then lowered. “But there’s a lot more of them than there were, and they’re gettin’ stronger every day. Infiltrating is a better bet.”
“They know me. I’m not going to be able to sneak up and pretend to be one of them.”
“Don’t sneak, child; walk right in the front door and volunteer.”
“And they’ll believe my sudden change of heart because they’ve all had recent lobotomies?”
“No, Lizbeth.” Luther took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, looked toward the mountain, up at the sky, back to the house, the hogan and finally me. “They’ll believe it because the Phoenix is your mother.”
CHAPTER 17
I was speechless. Might be a first. But seriously, what could I say to a revelation like that?
“I—uh—” I blinked several times and finished with, “What?”
“Did you think your name was plucked out of a hat?”
“Sure.”
“It wasn’t.”
I wrestled with the word “duh.” If I let that comment past my lips, I’d only get smacked. I swallowed hard; it felt as if the comment were literally a rock in my throat, but I forced it down.
“Isn’t this something I should have been told before she rose from the dead and flew off with the key to ruling the world?” Or at least all the demons in it.
“What good would it have done?”
“What good?” My voice rose; hysteria bubbled just beneath the surface. “What good? Isn’t knowledge power?”
“She was dead, Lizbeth. I had no idea she would crawl out of her grave and fly away.”
“Isn’t that what a phoenix does?”
“Not exactly.” Luther’s full, youthful mouth puckered in a very Ruthie-like way. “A phoenix dances upon the flames of its funeral pyre, then rises from its own ashes to live another thousand years.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” I muttered. “My mother was—is—a Nephilim.”
It was a revelation on par with discovering that the Uncle Charlie everyone was always referring to had the last name of Manson.
“Not exactly,” Ruthie repeated.
“What exactly?”
“She’s other.”
“Like Sawyer?”
“No one’s like Sawyer.”
Another comment that deserved a “duh” but wouldn’t be getting one.
I thought back to what I’d been told about those who were “other.” Grigori plus human equals Nephilim. Nephilim plus human births a breed. But a Nephilim breeding with a Nephilim gave rise to something apart from both humans and monsters. A being that could never truly be either one. By combining two forces of evil, those that were other could become stronger than either of the parents who created them.
“My mother is other,” I murmured. “The product of two Nephilim.”
Somewhere in the back of my mind, the demon began to laugh. I ignored it. I was getting better at that by the minute.
“What kind of Nephilim?” I asked.
Luther shrugged. “Seers see the Nephilim at hand, not their entire family tree.”
“Someone should know.”
Luther glanced toward the mountain again, then quickly back. “Perhaps. But not me.”
“What about my father?”
“What about him?”
“Who is he? Where is he? Should I expect him to try and kill me any time soon?”
“I’ve never heard a word about your father.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
“I’ve never lied to you, child.”
I laughed. “You told me I was an orphan.”
“You were as far as I knew. Your mother was dead, your father a mystery.”
I stared into the familiar dark eyes set in a face that was far too young for them and wondered. Had Ruthie ever lied to me? She’d omitted a helluva lot, but an out-and-out lie? I wasn’t sure. I did know that if she’d lied, she’d had a good reason. I also knew that if she’d lied for that good reason, she certainly wasn’t going to admit the truth to me now just because I’d asked.
“You’ll meet her soon,” Ruthie said, “and then your questions will be answered.”
All my life I’d craved a mother. Even after I’d found Ruthie, or she’d found me, and the constant ache had faded, I’d still wondered; sometimes I’d dreamed. Now I had a mother, and she was a double-damned half demon. Or maybe a quarter demon. So what did that make me?
Same thing I’d always been.
A freak, but a very, very powerful one.
“Okay,” I managed. “Where do I go from here?”
“Infiltrate the Nephilim, take the book, do whatever’s necessary to send the Grigori back to Tartarus.”
“I don’t believe the Nephilim are going to buy my defection.”
“There’ll be tests.” Ruthie sighed, and glanced away again. “There always are.”
“What kind of tests?”
A long, dark finger tapped against the glittering stones of my dog collar. “There’s a reason for this. A reason for everything.”
“The only way to fight them is with a darkness as complete as they are,” I murmured.
“Exactly.”
“Jimmy—” I began.
The boy’s huge palm cupped my cheek, but Ruthie stared out of his eyes. “I’d never send you there alone, child.”
Then the kid blinked, and she was gone.
“Wait—” I began. But it was too late. “Shit.”
Luther dropped his hand from my face and backed up. I tried not to be offended when he rubbed his palm on his pants.
“Sounds like you need to go,” he said.
“Wish I knew where. I doubt the forces of evil are all gathering for a convention in a town called Hell.”
“You never know.”
My gaze sharpened. “Do you know?”
He shook his head and silence settled between us. I wasn’t sure what else to say. Take care. Watch your back. Trust no one. Kill first; ask questions later. He knew all that, had probably known it before he’d met me.
“Well”—I cleared my throat—“no sense hanging around.”
“You gotta fly to Milwaukee? Have the gargoyle let you back into . . . ?” He pointed to the ground.
“No.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a plastic bag containing a spoonful of dirt. “I have a key.”
“Stole earth from the Otherworld.” Luther’s mouth curved. “Nice.”
In truth, I hadn’t stolen it, though I should have. I hate to admit it, but possessing the key to the lock on the Otherworld was nothing short of an accident.
If I’d been thinking clearly, if I’d still been the me I once was, I never would have left Jimmy behind with no way of getting him back. That I had only showed how far away from the old me I’d come.
When I’d returned from the Otherworld, I’d found grit in my hair, underwear and socks, so I’d gathered it into my palm; then I’d put it into this bag.
“If Sawyer shows up . . .” I paused and Luther tilted his head, waiting. I sighed. “Never mind.”
“He could help,” Luther said. “Just let me know where—”
“No,” I said. All I needed was for all three of us—or four, or even five if Luther told Sawyer and Summer where we’d be—to go charging into Nephilim land. That would really look suspicious. I still wasn’t sure how I was going to manage it.
I headed for the nearest hill, which in New Mexico was more of a mountain. I wouldn’t need to go all the way up. Considering how I’d gotten in the last time, I figured a foothill would do.
On the way, I glanced back at Sawyer’s place. I thought Luther would be watching,
maybe he’d even wave, but he was gone.
The wind swept across the desert, dry and hot, ruffling the short, shaggy length of my hair. I found myself straining to hear Ruthie’s whisper on that wind, missing it and her all over again. Sometimes I was so damn lonely.
I’m here, the demon whispered.
“Not for long.”
The only response was more laughter.
I lay on the crackling dry scrub, ignoring the rocks that cut into my shoulders. Quickly I took a pinch of earth, held it up to the clouds, thought better of the angle considering the wind and lowered my arm before releasing it.
The remnants of the Otherworld cast across my cheeks and chin like silt, and like before, the ground beneath me churned as the sky fell away, and the earth closed in.
Darkness reigned. I didn’t dare breathe. For a long, terrifying instant, I lay caught between one world and the next. My muscles tensed as I prepared to fight my way out; then the earth beneath me loosened, and I tumbled free.
At first I thought the dirt in my ears was scratching together too close to my eardrums and creating a god-awful racket. Then I shook my head; the dirt came out, and the sound became even louder.
Someone was screaming.
I jumped up; earth fell like hail all around me, disappearing through the clouds billowing at my feet. The sky remained the shade of tree bark, and mist shrouded everything.
“Hello?” I called.
The screaming grew louder.
“Shit.” I pulled my silver knife—since Jimmy had given it to me several months ago the thing rarely left my possession—and moved toward the sound. Whoever, whatever, that was, I had to make the shrieking stop.
Then it did. Abruptly. Completely. The resulting silence seemingly louder than the screaming had been.
The mist thickened, brushing against my face like cobwebs of ice, curving around my neck, sliding down my back, so slick it almost seemed to whisper.
Lizzy.
I paused, straining my eyes, my ears. Was that the mist? Or was it Sanducci?
I was glad the shrieking had ended, and then again I wasn’t. The sound was crazy-making, sure, but without it I was lost in a world I didn’t know.
What had been screaming? More important, why?
“Hello?” I called again, and something in the swirl of white shifted.
My fingers tightened on the knife. Who knew what lurked here? Who knew if silver would do anything but piss it off? Nevertheless, silver was better than nothing.
I waited, trying to slow my breathing, to blend into the mist. But I was too big. I glanced down at my hot pink tank top and winced. Too bright. And my heart was beating too hard and fast.
I was a target, plain and simple. Luckily I was a target that was very hard to kill.
CHAPTER 18
I narrowed my eyes, squinting at the place where I’d seen the shifting sliver of darkness, but it was gone. My imagination, perhaps?
A scuffle behind me. I turned.
Nothing.
Something there? Or perhaps there?
Only the mist swirled.
I had to stay where I was. In this place, I could be lost forever. I could walk into a black hole. I could fall and never again get back up.
So I continued to wait and watch. I don’t know how long I stood there, knife clasped in my sweaty hand. Eyes and ears straining. Heart thundering despite my best efforts to make it slow.
I drew in a long, deep breath and caught a whiff of cinnamon and soap. Familiar hands slid around my waist; then familiar lips nuzzled my neck.
“You came back,” Jimmy murmured. “You didn’t leave me here to—”
I frowned. I had left him here to—
So why wasn’t he?
“Where’s—?”
“Shh.” He spun me around. I caught the sparkle of dew like diamonds in his dark hair; then he kissed me before I could stop him. Not that I wanted to.
The kiss was pure Jimmy—all I’d once loved, all that I still did. I should push him away, but I couldn’t. He hadn’t kissed me like this since—
My eyes burned. I couldn’t remember. There’d been so much between us—hatred and sadness and pain. Sure, we had our memories. First kiss. First love. First time. How did you ever get past that?
Making each other into vampires was a pretty good start.
So why was he kissing me now as if he meant it?
I didn’t ask. I was afraid if I did, I’d break whatever spell we were under. And it had to be a spell, because this certainly felt like magic.
The mist swirled faster, cooler and thicker. The only warmth in this place was him. I stepped closer, pressing my body the length of his, and realized something.
He wasn’t wearing any clothes.
Mist clung to my eyelashes, making them so heavy to lift. That was all right. I didn’t want to see any more than I wanted to speak.
He smelled like Jimmy, and he tasted like Jimmy too. For just a little while, I wanted to remember what it had been like to be loved like this. Back when forever wasn’t a curse but a promise. Back when everything was fresh and new and full of hope. Even me.
His palms traced my waist, my rib cage, skated over my breasts to smooth my shoulders, then skimmed down my arms. One hand cupped my wrist, squeezed just a little, then his fingers spread over mine, and I was shocked to realize I still held the knife. Shocked further when I let him take it.
I tensed, but the soft thud as he dropped it to the ground was reassuring. Not that a knife could hurt me.
No. That wasn’t true. It would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill. A major distinction these days.
His tongue moistened my lips, tickled my teeth. My hands no longer clenched; I was free to run them over him. Jimmy’s face might be just short of pretty, but his body wasn’t short of anything. That olive skin was slick and smooth, rippling over sleek muscles. His body lithe and long, I’d once spent hours learning every dip and curve until they were as familiar to me as my own.
I knew how best to touch him, where to stroke, how hard and for how long. I knew his moans, the way his breath would catch if I traced his nipple with a fingernail. How his belly would clench, the muscles rolling against my hands, or my lips, like the lap of a river against the shore.
I buried my face in his neck, drew in the scent of him, one that always caused competing waves of peace and lust. Jimmy was safety—or at least he had been. He’d protected me; he’d killed for me.
But he was also sex and danger—a lethal, irresistible combination. As teens, we’d had to hide what we felt, definitely what we did. Ruthie would have killed us. So we’d had sex in closets, on countertops, against the wall in the upstairs hall while Ruthie and the little children had put away groceries downstairs.
Hey, I never said we were smart. We were hormone-driven kids.
I suckled his neck, teased a fold with my teeth. He tasted of summer and salt, the only warmth in a world that had become so damn cold.
Blood, whispered the demon. You know that you want it.
And I did. So badly I could almost taste the flow.
You won’t hurt him. You can’t kill him.
That wasn’t true and I knew it. So did the demon. Sneaky, lying bastard.
I took a deep breath and lifted my mouth from Jimmy’s skin. It was a lot harder than it should have been.
I imagined shoving the demon—which in my head was a misshapen, cloven-hooved monster—behind an iron door. I slammed it shut; the sound made my ears ring. The demon began to fling itself at the door, screaming and pounding, throwing a tantrum like a child. I turned my back on that door and tossed away the key.
Ah, that was better.
The mist had thickened further; I couldn’t see anything but the shadow of Jimmy’s head so close to mine. Mist that thick didn’t exist.
On earth.
“Remember the night we snuck out?” Jimmy’s voice was disembodied, though his breath brushed my cheek.
I gave a short, sharp laug
h. “Which one?”
“Close your eyes,” he whispered as his lips skimmed my temple, then each of my eyelids before skimming over my cheekbone. “See if this rings any bells.”
His teeth grazed my chin and memory flickered. A chill in the air—October—the scent of just-fallen leaves from a pile beneath the big maple tree in the yard, the crunch of my bare feet across a few that had been torn free by the autumn wind. Me cringing at the sound, which seemed as loud as thunder in the secret navy-blue night.
“You gave me a note,” I said as his fingers crept beneath my tank, his palm against my stomach large and hot. I rubbed myself against him and tried not to purr.
“Meet me at midnight.” His face to my neck, he licked the throbbing vein, pressing his tongue to the pulse, scraping his teeth back and forth to the rhythm of my heart.
I wanted him to bite me; I wanted him to drink from me as I died.
“Shit,” I muttered. We were both so fucked up. But then we always had been.
We might lie to ourselves that the demons within us were new, but Jimmy and I had always had demons. The only thing new was our letting them out.
“I thought Ruthie saw,” I continued, voice more breathless by the minute. “I flushed the note, just in case.”
He laughed, the movement brushing our chests together. I ached to feel skin on skin. Maddened, I leaned back and yanked the tank over my head. Before it even hit the ground, he’d released the catch on my bra with a deft twist, then lifted my breasts into his palms, cupping and caressing, lowering his head, letting his breath trickle over the gooseflesh raised by both the mist and our memories.
“Touching you made my hands shake.” He pressed a kiss to my collarbone, skimmed his fingers there too, and I felt him tremble. “It still does.”
My throat felt funny—thick and tight—and my eyes burned. There must be something in the mist besides water.
What had happened down here? The Dagda was supposed to have released Jimmy’s demon. Instead he seemed to have brought back the Jimmy I’d lost. The boy who’d needed me and loved me, the almost man I’d adored.
Apocalypse Happens Page 14
