by J. Kenner
That hope was countered by the more mundane tasks of my new life. Things like learning how to draw Guinness from a tap. Struggling to check the table-number chart without anyone catching me peeking. Even carrying on an innocent conversation with Gracie as we refilled saltshakers and balanced ketchup bottles precariously on top of one another.
All things that required my full concentration if I didn’t want to give myself away.
“So how come you didn’t call me back?” Gracie asked, after we’d finished with the saltshakers and had moved on to pepper. Previously, our chatter had centered on whether she should take Caleb up on his offer to make her an order of cheese fries. Now, apparently, we were getting to the meat of the issue, and I wasn’t sure whether I was dreading the conversation or desperately curious.
“When?”
“Forget it,” she said, standing and picking up a tray loaded with saltshakers.
“No, wait, I’m serious. My uncle told you I got sick, right? I’ve been a complete head case.”
The tray went back down.
She turned slowly as she scoped out the tables, looking to see if anyone needed a refill or a check. Apparently we were safe, because she slid back into the seat and pulled out her tip money, then started organizing it by bill. “Really?”
“Totally. I haven’t even checked my messages.”
“Oh. Well, okay, then. But I was bummed you didn’t call. We were supposed to go to the movies Sunday before work, remember?”
“Oh, man,” I said, trying for sufficiently contrite. “No wonder you’re pissed.”
“I’m not all that pissed,” she said, blue eyes looking up from under her bangs. “But I was worried. You’ve been so—you know—these last few days.”
“Yeah? How so?”
“Well, distracted, for one. That’s what you called it, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, starting to load up another tray of completed shakers. “That about sums it up. I told you why, though, right?” I said it with a smile—a confidence between friends.
“Very funny.”
Apparently I hadn’t told her. “Sorry. I’m just teasing. But I should have said something. I mean, if you can’t share stuff with your friends—”
“Exactly.” She leaned in closer. “Do you wanna talk about it now?”
I waved off the question. “Nah. It’s no big deal. Guy trouble.”
“Noah?”
“Excuse me?”
“Him just picking up and heading to Los Angeles. I mean, what a prick.”
“Major prick,” I said, making a mental note to search Alice’s apartment for anything related to a Noah. Maybe he killed her and then fled the state.
“It’s been over a month, Alice. It’s kinda time to move on.”
“Right. I know. You’re right.” Cross Noah off my suspect list.
“Brian’s interested, you know. I can tell he wants to be more than just friends.”
“Yeah, well, you know,” I said, hoping I sounded noncommittal instead of absolutely freaking clueless. I had no idea who Brian was.
Gracie laughed. “Try not to look that uninterested around him, okay? You might hurt his feelings.”
“Sorry. It’s just—”
“You’ve got someone else in mind,” she said, sounding like a girl with a secret.
“I do?”
She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Lily. Do you really think Deacon Camphire’s gonna be interested?”
I sat up straighter, my eyes wide and hopefully innocent “What are you talking about?”
“Come on. I saw you talking to him last week.”
“So?”
“So?” she repeated, incredulous. “Don’t you think he’s kinda scary?”
“Like tonight, you mean.”
“Well, duh. I mean, Leon was being more of an A-hole than usual, but what Deacon did—I mean whoa.”
Her whoa pretty much summed up my reaction to the mysterious Mr. Camphire on all fronts. Not that the people I hung with were all that straight-arrow, squeaky clean. You start scrambling to pay the bills at the ripe old age of fourteen, and you either stick to your principles and stay broke, or you cut a few corners and meet some unsavory individuals. My corners were so cut I only owned circles.
I had a feeling that Miss Hello Kitty didn’t have to scrape the way I had, though. But before I had the chance to prod Gracie for any more info about Alice’s recent conversations with the enigmatic man, Egan’s booming voice interrupted. “You two gonna gossip all night? Or is someone gonna finish the side work and close out these checks?”
We both popped out of our seats like he’d sent an electric shock to our butts. Our eyes met, and we started laughing. Real laughs, as if the world were going to collapse around us, but we didn’t care because something was just too damn funny.
I hugged myself, trying to get control despite the fact that I didn’t want the moment to end. I felt alive right then. I felt as I had with Rose, before Lucas Johnson ruined everything. The way we’d bump hips in rhythm when she washed the dishes and I dried. The way we’d laughed. Rose was the reason I’d busted my tail—and stained my soul. To keep Rose safe and normal and protect her from the dark underworld I’d moved through while trying to keep us all alive. It had almost worked, too. Almost, however, isn’t worth shit. It won’t keep you alive, it won’t pay the bills, and it damn sure won’t get you into heaven.
“Alice?” Gracie asked, peering at my face.
Without thinking, I reached over and gave her a hug, needing human contact. She flung her arms around me exuberantly and hugged me back, and the intimacy—the connection—was so real it almost broke my heart. Because it wasn’t real at all. I hardly knew her, but I’d latched onto the first light of humanity I’d found.
From behind the bar, Alice’s uncle glowered at us, until we had to either calm down or risk psychiatric evaluation. Gracie grabbed a tray and moved away, then turned as a new thought occurred to her. She came back, then leaned in so she was speaking directly into my ear. “I got a callback on that receptionist job. I’m nervous as hell—but thanks for setting it up.”
“Anytime,” I said, wondering why Alice would be shooing her friend away. Better money? Better career track? Or something else altogether?
I grabbed my own tray, the questions circulating in my head, and went back to work. The rest of the shift whizzed by like a final exam, the night passing quicker than the traditional turning of a clock’s hands. At one point, I grabbed one of the paper menus Egan kept by the door, then scribbled down the names of everybody I’d met that night. Later, I’d run through the list, making sure the names were burned in my brain. Alice’s homework.
The pub closed at nine on Mondays, and by the time Egan announced that I needed to cart the trash to the alley, my feet and calves ached, and I realized that I’d actually managed to learn quite a bit about Alice’s life. On top of that, I also hadn’t blown my cover. All in all, I considered the evening a success.
As I wrapped a twist tie around the top of a bag filled with greasy pub food remnants, Egan went to lock the front door. The pub had been expanded from the original tiny tavern, but the back section that snaked behind the public areas and ultimately opened to the alley was original construction. The kitchen, of course, had been thoroughly modernized, but as I passed through the door into the section the staff called the “Back,” I left stainless steel and bright lights for damp wood, ancient brick, and low-wattage lightbulbs suspended from the ceiling by thick insulated cords.
The dim light barely permeated the darkness, and I imagined monsters hiding in the shadowy corners, their cackles barely disguised by the creak and gurgle of ancient plumbing coming from the lower level.
I knew the set of stone stairs led down to a stockroom and a second walk-in refrigerator supplementing the one in the kitchen, and I was curious about what else was down there. Now, though, exploring wasn’t on my agenda. Instead, I followed the rough brick walls to where a steel fire door
had replaced what must have once been a thick wooden entrance.
I pushed the exit bar with more force than necessary and escaped into the relative illumination provided by a few sputtering streetlights. The Dumpster was about twenty yards away, shared with all the tenants that opened onto this alley. I hefted my bag and moved toward it, holding my breath against the inevitable stench of garbage from a row of restaurants and bars.
The Dumpster lid was open, which I considered a blessing as I didn’t want to touch the nasty thing. I lifted the sack and tossed it in, surprised at how light it seemed. It landed with a satisfying thud, and I congratulated myself on a job well done.
I’d pulled my hair from the ponytail, and now it fell in my eyes. I brushed it back behind my ears, not used to this new length. That was when I saw him. The creature from my awakening. The Hell Beast I’d coldcocked instead of killed.
And damned if he wasn’t rushing right at me.
7
“I do not need another freaking test,” I screamed, a complaint that had absolutely no effect on the beast rumbling toward me. Much more effective was the kick I landed. Straight up, so that my heel collided with what I assumed was his sternum, resulting in a satisfying smack that sent the creature spinning backward.
I made a dash for the back door to the pub, desperate to get out of there. Clarence might insist I was some hotshot assassin for evil, but at the moment, I really wasn’t feeling the love.
Unfortunately for me, the creature cut for the door at the same time, tackling me even as I lunged for the handle. We tumbled backward, and I gagged on the putrid stench, my hands slipping on the thin layer of slime that seemed to cover its otherwise scaly body.
A clawed hand reached back, then lashed forward, razorlike fingernails catching my arm and slicing from shoulder to elbow, drawing a narrow line of blood. The sting came after that, an intense burning that could only be the result of something poisonous in the creature’s touch. I yowled in pain, flinching back as if I could press myself into the concrete merely by trying hard enough.
Of course I couldn’t, and that left me only one option. I had to fight.
With the beast straddling me, I couldn’t get up, but that didn’t stop me. My fingers were free, and as much as it disgusted me, I jammed my thumbs straight up into the creature’s eyes. It roared in agony, shifting back and giving me the leverage to get it off me. I shoved with all my strength, and the thing went flying backward with more velocity than I’d anticipated.
I jumped to my feet, awed by my own strength and faced with the chance to test Super Me out again when the beast made a second rush forward. I kicked up and out, landing a solid thrust to its chest. The move wasn’t artful, but it was effective, and the beast tottered backward. It rallied, coming back toward me with strength that matched my own, and skill that far exceeded mine. Apparently, Super Me needed some super training.
What I didn’t have in skill, I made up for in hard and fast hitting, kicking, and pounding. Not a bad method, frankly. I hadn’t yet won the battle, but at least I was still in the game.
And the game was getting pretty damn aggressive. Our fight sent us tumbling all over the back alley, slamming up against hard brick walls and rusty trash bins. Against drainage pipes and a rickety fire escape ladder.
We bounced off the ladder, breaking off a rusty metal bar in the process. It clattered on the ground, the sound the only thing other than my breathing that made it past the dull roar of ferocity inside my head.
We rolled along the wall until the monster pinned me, his hand encompassing my entire neck, and his grip tight enough that I began to wonder if I wasn’t about to die again. I started to thrust my hands up in an attempt to break its hold when I saw a flash of something bright, then a dull thud as the something connected with the demon’s head. The demon released me, and spun around, and when it did, I saw Deacon.
“What are you—” But I didn’t get to finish the question. The demon launched himself, and Deacon twisted, turning to get out of the beast’s path, but it was no use. The creature tackled him, knocking him to the ground near the fire escape and kicking him soundly in the ribs before bringing one heavy foot down on Deacon’s throat. A tiny bit more, and Deacon’s neck would snap.
And I was so not letting that happen. At least not until I had some answers.
I shoved off from the wall and leaped onto the creature’s back, pulling him sideways off Deacon and sending us both tumbling to the ground. The beast landed on top of me, knocking my breath out, but even so, I was able to heave him off of me, throwing him down the alley a hell of a lot farther than your typical Boston waitress could probably manage.
I climbed to my feet as the creature did, and found Deacon up on his knees beside me. Slowly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes locked on the demonic target, his features skewed with rage, his eyes neither drifting nor blinking. I stood rooted to the spot, watching both of them, unsure who I feared more.
Deacon smiled then, and the malevolence seemed to drip like honey. The demon looked at both of us, then made a decision. It turned to run away.
No, no, no. Because this was one creature I had no interest in meeting for a third time, I scooped up the part of the fire escape that had fallen. Even as Deacon sprinted after the beast, I hauled back and heaved the beam like a javelin. Whether skill, blind luck, or divine intervention I didn’t know, but it hit the mark, penetrating the thick skin and sending the demon crashing to the ground.
The body stuttered and shook, then went limp, life abandoning it. As I watched, Deacon reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a switchblade. The earlier fury had vanished, replaced by a battle-worn acceptance, as if this were any other day, any other fight.
I watched, mortified, as he tossed the corpse over onto its back, then bent over and plunged the blade into the beast’s heart, releasing a thick black liquid that I had to assume was demon blood. Then he wiped the blade on the beast’s haunches before retracting the blade and returning it to his pocket.
I stood there, dumbstruck, as the demon dissolved in front of me, the oil-like substance disappearing into the cracks and crevices of the alley’s pavement, a faint greasy stain the only remaining evidence of this surreal encounter.
As I watched the demon, Deacon watched me. And this time, it wasn’t rage or acceptance that filled his eyes—it was curiosity. But not about the bizarre creature he’d just slain in an alley. No, this man’s curiosity lay with the pub waitress standing in front of him.
“What are you doing out here?” I demanded.
“Saving your ass, I thought,” he said, without even a hint of the rage I’d witnessed, both inside the pub and as he’d battled the demon. No, this man stood calm and controlled, the wildness I’d seen now buried beneath the surface, burning deep, but locked in. “Then you turned around and saved mine. Guess we owe each other a debt.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, not at all sure what I’d planned to say. Instead, I backtracked. “Are you here because of the test? I passed, right?” I indicated the greasy stain. “I mean, that has got to be a pass.”
“The test,” he repeated, his head slightly cocked as if he still couldn’t figure me out.
“Never mind,” I said, gingerly removing my foot from my mouth. Hopefully the ability to keep my mouth shut around civilians wasn’t part of my final exam.
“Was this what you meant?” he asked, easing closer to me. “When you told me that you thought you were in danger?”
I blinked, wishing I knew the details of that conversation.
“And how’d a slip of a girl like you manage to piss off a demon like that?”
“I—I don’t know,” I said, but my head was spinning. Alice had known she was in danger. But in danger from what? Or from whom?
“No? Funny, because I think I do.”
“You do?” The fear that rippled through me wasn’t because of the man himself, but what I was afraid he saw inside me—Lily hiding within the shell of Alice
.
“I think you’ve taken up killing demons,” he said, his eyes locked on mine as I desperately tried to maintain an innocent countenance. He stepped closer still, then stood broad and foreboding in front of me, the tension within him so tight I feared I wouldn’t escape the fallout if he exploded. And all of that intensity was aimed right at me, those dark eyes seeing everything. “Or have I misread the situation?”
I swallowed, my palms sweating and my entire body singing. I told myself I was too nervous to be turned on, and yet there was no mistaking my reaction. A physical reaction to a gorgeous man, yes, but also more than that. He was taking my measure, and I feared I wouldn’t pass the assessment.
“Maybe I am,” I said, boldly. “Everybody needs a hobby, right?” Clarence might not approve, but it wasn’t like I was revealing that I was some anointed demon assassin girl. And if Deacon was right, maybe it was her new career choice that got Alice killed.
“Interesting,” he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He kept me locked under his gaze as he walked around me in a circle. “And curious.”
“Nothing curious about it,” I said, trying to keep my cool. “There’s obviously a need.”
“And you were coming to me why? Because you were afraid you’d pissed off the wrong target?”
“Something like that,” I said. I cast a glance toward the spot where the demon had fallen, now just a stain on the pavement. “He and I have tussled before.”
“Have you?” His eyebrows rose, and I regretted my big, fat mouth.
“Least I don’t have to worry about him again.” I frowned, remembering Clarence’s instructions to kill it, not give it a headache. “Did I kill it? Or did you?”
“That would be you,” he said. “All I did was make sure the thing didn’t come back.”
“Oh.”
“Maybe you need a little more on-the-job training before you jump straight into this new career.”
“I’ll take it under advisement,” I said wryly.