by J. R. Ward
Except Eddie stayed where he was, staring down at the compass.
"What's wrong?" Sissy asked.
The angel's red eyes lifted, focusing on her, but also on Ad--like he wanted to be sure that both of them heard him. "Nobody breaks the mirror. Do you understand? If you shatter that glass, you end up in a million pieces, too."
Sissy frowned. "Does Jim know this?"
"Yes, but I'm not sure he'll remember. And that's why we have to get to him first."
Holy Mary, mother of OCD.
As Jim stepped from the stairwell into the basement proper, and his knife buddy went clattering off to join its friends, he was momentarily stunned even though he'd seen Devina's collection before: In a dimly lit, vaguely musty space that seemed big as a football field, hundreds of bureaus were scattered around, facing in all directions. There was no order to them, no rhyme or reason to their placement, their style, their age.
So Devina didn't know he was in here yet.
Where were the clocks and the knives? he wondered, searching out the vast space. Had to be here somewhere or Fido the Ginsu wouldn't have run off like that.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall . . . where the fuck are you.
He started forward, heading away from the elevators, because if he were Devina, he'd put his most precious thing as far away from the egress/ingress as he could get it.
He'd gone about ten yards when he pivoted around and decided to give himself a little backup.
Working fast, he started pulling out drawers, and dumping their contents on the floor, creating piles of metal buttons and earrings and watches and signet rings. Glasses with metal rims and the locks to suitcases and car keys and coins and all manner of metal ephemera hit the bare concrete and danced a little, like they were happy to be freed.
Then he turned back and--
Ding!
Ninety-nine percent of his body froze in place. The one percent that didn't unsheathed one of his two crystal daggers as the elevator doors opened.
Whoever it was couldn't be Devina, unless she--
"What the fuck!" he barked.
Eddie came out first. Adrian was last. Sissy was in the motherfucking middle.
Jim's rage went mushroom-cloud. "What the fuck are you bringing her--"
Sissy put her hands up as she walked forward. "Jim, you can't do this."
He ignored her, his grip tightening on the weapon as part of him wanted nothing more than to kill the two criminal idiots who'd apparently thought it was a great idea to bring his woman along for the ride. The only thing that stopped him from attacking? The SOBs were the ones who were going to have to take her the fuck out of here.
"Jim, listen to me." Sissy got up in his face, throwing her body in the way. "You're the soul. Do you hear me? You're the soul--and you can't do this. This is your crossroads, if you try to kill her--"
He pushed her out of the way and went for Eddie, grabbing onto the guy's jacket with his free hand and angling the blade right to that thick neck. "You get her out of here. Now."
But the motherfucker didn't say a thing. He just focused off into the distance like he knew--he knew--that anything he uttered was just going to lead to a fight, and that was not going to be a distraction he allowed to happen.
Sissy grabbed onto Jim's arm. "That's the reason for the halos. You have one. I have one. Vincent diPietro. Detective DelVecchio. That man at my funeral. Nobody else does."
"Don't you cheat me of this," he growled at Eddie. "Don't you--"
"I'm not leaving here without you," Sissy yelled at him. "And we're not going to let you do this--"
"Take her--"
"--because you're not only going to lose the war, you're going to lose yourself!"
"--out of here--"
The rattling started up all around them, the bureaus vibrating on the concrete and then shifting positions, pushing the drawers and the things he'd ripped out of a few of them across the floor, ordering themselves of their own volition into whatever rows and lineups were proper.
"Jesus Christ!" Jim shoved Eddie away and paced in a tight circle. "Fucking hell! This is just--"
Sissy got right up on him again, blocking his way even as he put his hands over his head so she couldn't grab onto his arms.
"You don't have to do this--"
"She hurt you!" he screamed. "She fucking--"
"Don't do this for me. Don't you dare do this for me like some kind--"
"How can I not! She hurt you! She cut your body! She made it so I had to nearly kill you to get you clean! You think I can let this shit go?!"
Sissy recoiled as if he'd struck her. But she didn't back down. "You're not right in the head."
"I'm very fucking right!"
"You're infected. Just like I was."
That stopped him dead for a split second. But then he shook his head. "No, I'm not. And I'm not one of the souls, Sissy--I don't know what you think you're seeing--"
"Your anger is her inside of you, Jim. Listen to me." She reached up and took his face in her hands. "Listen to me--she's inside--"
"No, she's not! Do you think I wouldn't know that?"
"I didn't know it until she was gone, remember? Jim, this anger is going to take us all down."
"This is for you!"
"Bullshit! If it was, you wouldn't be trying to ruin yourself and lose this war! I want you safe more than I care about Devina getting what she deserves! Christ, Jim, please listen to me!"
He gave up reasoning with her and pegged Ad and Eddie with a hard stare. "This is on the both of you. If anything happens to her, I'll kill you, too--"
And then it was too late.
The bureaus stilled, the elevator dinged again, and Devina's voice said in a nasty tone, "Guess I wasn't invited to my own party, huh."
For a split second, Jim wanted to explode at everything: The fact that Eddie and Adrian had put Sissy in such danger. That she was talking bullshit. That Devina had arrived.
Instead, he picked up Sissy and all but threw her at the idiot angels. "Run," he hissed at them. "Fucking run!"
Chapter
Forty-eight
As the demon stepped out of the elevator, Sissy felt herself go airborne and then it was a case of an Olympic sprint she was allowed to have little or no independent opinion of--Eddie grabbed one of her arms and one of Ad's and the three of them hustled like they were being chased through row after row after row of antique bureaus.
She tried to look over her shoulder, but couldn't manage even a glance thanks to Eddie's death grip.
And then the collection changed. Moments later, she had a vague impression of clothes, countless clothes hanging on racks like they were in some kind of department store. And shoes. Handbags. Then a bed the size of a living room, and a vanity with enough makeup on it to do a hundred thousand faces.
Eddie yanked them to a halt in front of a tall, freestanding three-part mirror that was encased in all kinds of fancy French swirls.
"Is . . . that . . . it?" she asked between heaving breaths.
"Not even close." Eddie panted as he looked around. "We've got to take cover."
"No," Ad countered. "We gotta find that mirror and hide it. That'll destabilize Devina and maybe give us some time with Jim."
"So where the hell would she put it?" Eddie muttered.
"Not where it's light," Sissy heard herself say. "It would be in the darkness. Although . . . I have no idea why I know that."
On cue, all three of them looked over to a far corner. Now that the demon had arrived, the overhead lighting had come on, illuminating everything . . . except for that one place.
Back to the dead run.
The three of them raced over into the blackness, and Sissy felt a chill that seeped down past her skin and into her bones.
"It's here," Eddie said in a low voice.
As Sissy's eyes adjusted, she could only make out the dimensions of the thing first. Then the details were gradually revealed to her, everything from the decrepit glass th
at didn't seem to actually reflect anything that was in front of it to the rotted frame and the twisted, contorted bodies that seemed to ornament all four sides of it.
"Man, that bitch is twelve kinds of ugly. And for once, I'm not talking about the demon," Ad muttered.
Eddie cursed under his breath. "She'll know we're moving it."
"But maybe it'll give us some leverage against her." Ad stepped over to the mirror, and braced himself, before grabbing hold. "Come on. Let's do this."
Eddie went to the opposite side and made a grimace of distaste as he put his hands on the frame. "On three. One, two . . . three."
Both angels groaned as they inched the tremendous weight off the concrete floor, their big bodies straining. When they were finally fully straightened, it was obvious Adrian was struggling because of his injuries.
"I'm helping," Sissy said, ducking under Ad's arms and expecting an argument.
Except none came--which told her how dire things were.
"Oh, that's nasty," she gasped as she locked onto the frame and joined the lift. "It's like . . . the flu."
Her entire body reacted to the connection, her stomach rolling, a cold sweat breaking out all over her skin, her head pounding.
"Let's go," she snapped. "I already can't wait to put this down."
It was Devina's worst nightmare made manifest: Every time she entered one of her protected places, her fear was always that something was gone, missing, out of place--and what did she find now? Someone--probably that cocksucker Jim--had ripped drawers out of bureaus and thrown her shit on the floor.
And to top it off? She had to deal with the sight of that now non-virgin and those two fallen angel motherfuckers standing like the fucking tools they were in the middle of her goddamn, motherfucking shit.
It was enough to make her say to hell with everything and kill all four of them.
Jim deserved nothing less for lying to her.
Again.
Tears flooded her eyes as everyone but her lover started running away, going deeper into her basement. Her first instinct was to call her minions and send the crew after them, but she held off. This was the kind of thing she wanted to settle on her own. Besides, that trio weren't the ones who mattered; Jim was. And after this all played out? She was going to own Sissy, Adrian, and Eddie--along with everyone else on the planet--so they were more than welcome to try to hide where there was nowhere to hide.
Besides, she wanted Jim alone without distractions.
Brushing at her cheeks, she wiped her hands on the seat of her leather pants. She'd changed out of her negligee to go see the Creator, but had kept on her beautiful, sparkling Loubous.
Man, she'd been so damned pleased with the audience she'd been granted and happy that He had been willing to see them both. So cocksucking excited about the turn of events.
Except as soon as she'd gotten back, she hadn't made it farther than a makeup check at the hotel's penthouse.
She'd known the instant her space had been violated.
The instant her trust had been violated.
She had to wipe her eyes again--which was a bitch, because she didn't want to smudge her makeup. "Jim . . . goddamn it. Am I never going to learn with you."
The bastard kept looking over his shoulder, checking to see if his precious Sissy and his douchebag besties had gotten away.
It was enough to make her violent. But she needed--
As he refocused on her, the hatred on his face was so deep, so pervasive, so overwhelming, it twisted his features out of place.
Which was kind of touching, really. Also a sign that the infection in him had reached an all-new level.
"You got something to say to me," she drawled, looking forward to the fight they were about to have.
Except all he did was take a step back. And another.
And then tear off at a dead run.
It took a split second for her brain to do the math. And then she screamed--and went airborne.
Her mirror!
Fuck! They were going after her mirror--
Traveling in a scramble of molecules, she gunned for the back corner of the basement--and didn't make it. Somehow Jim was able to pluck her right out of midflight, and the instant the contact was made, she reformed against her will, her body becoming solid and corporeal. And he took advantage of that. With a powerful yank, he pulled her down to the hard, cold floor, and rolled around with her as his hands locked on her shoulders, then her neck.
Her instinct was to fight back--but then she thought, no . . . this was the perfect setup for his endgame, the chance for him to make the decision to "kill" her and follow through on the impulse--his crossroads made manifest, his choice resulting in her winning the game.
Except, fuck, she couldn't lose that mirror.
On a tremendous shove, she flashed out from under him, and things were too urgent for her to try to dematerialize, so she ran in her high heels, streaking toward her wardrobe and her bed--
Jim pulled some kind of flying tackle, taking her down again, knocking her over into her shoe collection, the racks falling down, high heels, pumps, boots going everywhere. But fuck that. Throwing his heavy weight off of her, she sprang up once more, losing her footing and then finding it again even in the stillies, her eyes seeking out that far corner of darkness--
Jim was on her again.
It was as if he had endless reserves of energy--and this time he wasn't going to let her go. His vicious hands tightened around her throat and he shoved her body into the vanity and then her regular mirror, glass shattering all around them as they fought each other, him to take her down, her to get free.
And suddenly, there was a glint of crystal over his head.
He'd unsheathed his dagger.
Now was the time.
Even though it went against the terror of losing her portal to Hell, she forced herself to go lax. The angels and that little bitch weren't incented to destroy the thing, she reminded herself. If they did, they'd just kill themselves in the process.
Let him stab you, she told herself as she focused on his crazed, hate-filled blue eyes. Then they're all yours and you can save the mirror that way.
"Do it," she said, bracing herself.
Unlike the mere kitchen knife she'd been prepared to have Sissy use against her, this was going to hurt like a nightmare.
Ultimately, though . . . it was going to get her everything she had ever wanted.
Chapter
Forty-nine
Jim was going to fucking do it. With the dagger over his head and hatred screaming in his soul, he was going to fucking stab Devina--and not just once. He was going to Hannibal Lecter her into pieces, hack at her until there was nothing left but a pool of her evil blood and shit that looked like the inside of a fucking sausage.
With her locked in his grip, everything came back to him, and it was a slide show of gruesome and sad--starting with his mother on that farmhouse kitchen floor and ending with him and Adrian and Eddie fighting to rip something out of Sissy's pure body. And everything, all of it, could be traced back to this evil of this demon, all the bloodshed and the suffering, even some of his own--
From out of nowhere, the image of Sissy's face appeared and blocked out everything else. He saw her walking over to him from that elevator, getting up in his grille, yelling back at him.
There hadn't been anger in her eyes.
It had been terror.
Jim shook his head like that would clear it and tried to get back to business. But that mind's eye picture of her wouldn't fade, almost as if it had been placed there by some other source.
And oh, God, her lips were moving. She was talking to him, telling him things that made no fucking sense, that went against everything he knew about the way the war worked and what his job was.
"Do it," Devina growled. "Just fucking get this over with, will you! You fucking pussy!"
Jim recommitted to the program, rearing his shoulder back--
I want you safe more t
han I care about Devina getting what she deserves!
Gritting his teeth, Jim fought against Sissy's voice in his head, trying to get around it and do what was right, what was proper--
"Stab me, you sonofabitch!"
Jim snapped. With every ounce of strength he had, he . . .
...spun Devina around once, twice . . . three times, and slung her away from him, sending her careening across the concrete floors, her high heels catching the light and flashing, the clattering of her footfalls echoing all around.
"You can't have me!" he screamed at her. "You can't have them!"
And then shit went slow-mo.
In a series of events that he no doubt was going to remember for the rest of his immortal life, Devina lost her balance and this time couldn't recover, her body falling backward, arms pinwheeling, brunette hair waving around as she traveled across the concrete floor on the verge of landing on her ass.
Except that wasn't where she ended up.
From the one dark corner in the basement, like they were thieves smuggling a painting out of a museum, Eddie, Adrian, and Sissy came into view. They were all on a hustle, the three of them racing across the floor with Devina's mirror hefted up in their communal hold.
It was the hole in one that saved all of humanity.
In spite of the fact that there were acres of floor space for Devina to yard-sale on, whole great stretches of no-big-deal, she tap-danced backward right into the ugly, pitted glass of the mirror, her body shattering the surface, the impact blowing open a suck zone that put that portal the bunch of them had opened up in the parlor in the shade.
He would never forget Devina's expression as she realized what had happened. The shock and horror were the kind of payback he would have been overjoyed with--except for the fact that the instant she was pulled in, something inside of him lurched . . . then got its own pull on.
The center of his chest was yanked forward from his spine, and he felt as though his rib cage were going to blow open. And yet the mirror didn't want him.
Only that part of Devina that was in him.
His torso bowed back so hard, he was sure he was going to snap in half, and he levitated off the ground. Just as he was about to pass out from the pain--
Snap!
Like a rubber band, the foreign substance shot free of him and hit the air, the black cloud of bees exactly what had come out of Sissy's metaphysical incision. And he wasn't the only one who lost something.