by J. Kenner
His hand dropped down to cover mine, which was over my still-sheathed knife. "You didn't draw your weapon, Lily," he said. "I'd say you have some faith left in you."
I drew in a breath, long and deep, determined to regain a sense of control. "You can come," I said, knowing that I was conceding this round. "But we take Rose, too."
"Risky," he said. "She's your Achilles' heel, and Clarence knows that better than anyone."
I looked toward the bed, toward my little sister, curled up, broken and battered. Her once-dewy skin was sallow, and dark bags hung beneath her closed eyes. Her blond hair was dark with oil and stringy from not having been combed or washed. She looked like a street urchin instead of a princess, and I wanted the princess back. She deserved it, and I was determined to make it happen.
"She comes," I repeated, "but we make sure he doesn't realize she's there. I'm not leaving her alone."
He cut a glance across the room to the bed, then moved toward her and slid an arm under her back and another under her knees.
"What are you doing?"
"Carrying her."
"Now? We're going now?"
"You have a better idea?"
I shook my head. He was right, of course. The time for hiding in dark rooms was over.
From his arms, I heard a small mewling sound.
"Rose?" My throat was thick, my voice barely functioning.
Deacon turned, shifting her body toward me. Even despite those damned glasses, I could feel his eyes on me, watching me, gauging my reaction.
I moved closer, unable to speak from the hope that was filling my chest and my throat.
"Lily?" Her voice was weak. "Lily, what happened?" Her eyes fluttered open, her features slack but aware, and I drew in a breath, realizing the tightness in my chest was because I'd stopped breathing.
"Rose. Thank God." She was okay. She was Rose.
Whatever he'd done to her, she'd fought it off. It hadn't stuck. This was my baby sister, and she was going to be just fine.
Two seconds later, she proved me a liar.
"Lily," she said, her voice sharp and panicked. "Lily, what's happening?"
"Deacon!" I cried, because I didn't know. Rose's body was convulsing in his arms, her eyes rolling back in her head until only the whites remained. I screamed her name, screamed at Deacon to do something. And then I slammed my mouth shut in horror when I heard her speak again.
"Sweet Lily," my sister said, in a voice not her own. "I'm fucking your sister. Again."
3
I recoiled in horror from the vile words. And Deacon, who I'd never seen rattled, tossed her forward, dropping her on the bed even as he stepped sideways, his body moving between the bed and me.
"This time, I'm filling her up, from the inside out." I knew that tone. That sound. That lazy cadence.
I knew him, and the urge to eviscerate the beast inside Rose nearly overpowered my reason.
Lucas Johnson. He was right there, deep inside the person I loved most in all the world.
"Get out!" I screamed. "Get the hell out of my sister!"
Without thinking, I leaped toward the bed, then kicked and flailed as Deacon grabbed me around the waist and held me back. "It's still Rose," he said, his voice icy calm. "Hurt him, hurt your sister."
On the bed, my sister's body shifted, sitting up on her knees, then tossing her head back and breathing deep. Her breasts rose beneath the sacrificial silk gown they'd put her in, nipples straining against the material. I watched, revolted and helpless, as the demon inside her forced her hand to slide down, over her breast, then down farther until he cupped her crotch. "Pretty, pretty," he said. "And so soft and sweet. I bet she's all wet inside. What do you think, Lily? Is your sister wet for me?"
I hacked back a wad of phlegm and let it fly, hitting him—hitting Rose—square on the face.
The hand on her crotch lifted, and he used the back of Rose's hand to wipe away the spitball. "Now, Sugar-lips," he said, "is that any way to treat your kith and kin? We're close now, you and me. Real close."
"Get out of her," I said again, slowly and carefully. "Get out of her right now, or I swear I will end you."
"You try that, Sweetpea. You go ahead and try." There wasn't the slightest hint of worry in his voice. I was no threat to him, and we both knew it. Even so, he took his hands off my sister's body.
Why?
I watched through narrowed, wary eyes, wondering what was to come. Why he had given in so easily?
His actions gave me no clue. Instead, he eased back against the headboard and breathed in deep. "Haven't been inside a girl in at least a thousand years," he said. Then he chuckled. "Well, 'course we both know I've been inside a girl. But this—this here's different. This way, I'm touching her everywhere."
I heard a low, feral growl, then realized it was coming from my throat. Deacon's arms around my waist tightened, making sure I didn't do something stupid.
"Aw, see, now you're going to hurt my feelings," Lucas said. "Make me feel unwelcome."
“What do you want?" Deacon asked.
Rose's head lifted, slowly and deliberately, until her eyes—with Lucas behind them—faced Deacon dead on. "I don't converse with traitors," he said. Then he smiled, and the expression was all Rose. "I find that kind of behavior unbecoming," he said, but this time he used my sister's voice.
Hot tears trickled down my cheeks, and, behind me, I felt Deacon's body stiffen with rage. I reached up and held fast to his arms around me. It was my turn to hold him in place.
"Goddammit," I hissed, "answer the question. What do you want?"
"What do you think I want?"
I was afraid to answer, fearful that he wanted Rose. That he wanted to crush the life from her. That he wanted her fully, body and soul, and he wanted to thumb his nose at the fact that I'd failed her on so many different levels.
"I said, what do you think I want?" he snarled.
I squeezed my eyes closed, releasing more tears, but refusing to put voice to my biggest fear. "I don't know. How the hell can I know what a monster like you is thinking?"
"I want the key, you ignorant bitch. The key, the key, the fucking key." His voice took on a manic, singsong edge.
"Yeah? Well, join the club."
"Not the key you seek. I seek the Oris Clef—the key to open the gates—all the gates. The masses await, and on the night of convergence, Kokbiel will rise above all others, allowing entry only to those who swear fealty to his grace."
Since I didn't have a clue what he was talking about, I only gaped. Deacon, however, was right there with the program.
"All this time, and you still serve Kokbiel?"
"I am his most loyal servant. Wherever I have wandered, it has always been Kokbiel that I have served." His eyes narrowed as he looked at Deacon. "And you, Deacon Camphire, whom do you serve?"
"I serve no master."
"Oh, but you have," Johnson retorted, making Rose's sweet voice hard and harsh. "Have you told her? Have you told the little girl whom you've served? What you've done?"
I jerked out of Deacon's arms and turned, needing to see his face, but it gave me no clue.
Johnson laughed. "The powerful Camphire, the—"
Without warning, Deacon lunged, knocking Rose back, his knife at her throat, his knee hard on her chest.
"Deacon!" I sprang forward, my own blade drawn, and pressed the tip firmly against Deacon's temple. "Don't you even think about it."
"I know about you," Johnson hissed. "I know everything. Every stinking thing."
"I sincerely doubt that," Deacon said, his voice icy calm.
"She doesn't know," Johnson said with a low laugh. "She doesn't have a clue what you've done."
I could see Deacon's muscles tighten. "Deacon . . ."
"Lily wants this body alive," he said, ignoring my blade. Ignoring me. His sole focus on the body beneath him. "I don't. I suggest you keep that in mind before you provoke me again."
Rose's eyes closed, and Johnson bar
ked out a laugh. "What an impasse. What a pretty predicament. She really doesn't know, does she? She doesn't know what you are. What you've done. What you're capable of." Rose's mouth pursed into a little moue. "Does the widdle boy just want to impress the pwetty girlie? Or have you got another agenda to be with the bitch?" he asked, ending with a harsh accusation. "One more suited to your nature."
Deacon's lip curled, and his arms flexed.
"Don't fucking move," I said, fearing he'd press down with the blade. And in case he didn't get the message, I thrust forward just hard enough to draw a drop of blood. It trickled down in front of his ear, the scent of it enticing, making me edgy and ready for a fight. "Pull back, Deacon. Pull back right now."
"I can tell you, Lily," Rose said sweetly. "I can tell you everything I know about him. And I know lots. Dirty things. Dark things. Red things. Cruel things."
"Shut the fuck up!" I snarled. Because the truth was I did want to know—I did—but I didn't want any truth that came from the mouth of Lucas Johnson. More than that, I feared if I gave in—if I let Johnson tell me—then Deacon really would kill my sister, and I might not be fast enough to prevent it. "You want something from me, fine. You want my attention, you've got it. Now, get on with it and tell me."
I dropped my blade and took one step back. "Let him go," I said to Deacon, and when he hesitated, I repeated myself. "Let. Him. Go."
Deacon pulled back, his knife still out, his jaw tight.
I focused on Rose—on Johnson. "Now, spell it out for me, because I'm tired of playing twenty questions. Start with the Oris Clef. Where is it?"
"Isn't that the question of the hour?" Johnson said.
I faced Deacon. "You, then. Tell me."
"No one knows," he said, looking at Rose rather than me. "The Oris Clef was forged in secret by Penemue."
"Who?"
"An angel. He wanted power, and he secretly created a key that would force all nine gates open—and would instill the gatekeeper with power and dominion over those who passed through the gates."
"So what happened?"
"The archangels discovered his treachery before he could use the Oris Clef,” Deacon said. "He was cast out of heaven, transformed into the vilest of demons, and the key was dismantled. Broken into three pieces."
"Since Penemue made it, only he could destroy it," Johnson said. "So those holier-than-thou fucks were stymied, weren't they?"
"And that's the key you want," I said, shooting a scathing look toward Johnson. "So that this Cookie demon you work for will be the big demon on campus."
"Well, well, not such an idiot cunt after all," he said, the words so harsh from my sister's mouth.
"What does this have to do with me? With Rose? I don't know where your damn key is."
"But you will." A wide, sweet grin split Rose's face. "And when you get it, you'll give it to me."
"The hell I will."
"Oh, you will." He fell backward onto the mattress, Rose's arms out to her sides. As I watched, Rose fell silent, and her body relaxed. Her eyes opened, slowly, as if she'd awakened from a long sleep, and she started to sit up. "Lily?" she said, her voice confused and frustrated. "What's going on?"
I rushed toward her. This was Rose; this was my sister. That thing inside her had gone away. "It's okay," I lied. "It'll be okay."
She screamed, the sound so loud and piercing I thought my eardrums would break.
"Get him out! Get him out!" She started brushing at her body, ripping at her clothes, as wild as a child who'd sat down on a fire ant mound. "Lily! Lily! Off! Off!"
I couldn't answer. I couldn't speak for the tears in my throat. Instead, I pulled her to me, held her even while I looked helplessly at Deacon. He was rage. Pure rage, and there was nowhere for him to direct it.
"I will," I managed to whisper to Rose. "I'll figure it out. I'll get him out."
But I don't think she heard me through her screams.
I held tight, rocking her back and forth, and watched, mystified, as Deacon stalked to the bathroom. Moments later, I heard the mirror shatter.
As if that was a signal, Rose jerked out of my arms. She fell back, her whole body convulsing.
"Deacon!"
He raced back in to find me shoving the belt part of my thigh holster into her mouth, holding down her tongue to prevent her from swallowing it.
Beneath me, Rose writhed and lurched, and nothing I did could calm her. "I can't let her ride it out," I yelled, my face wet with hot tears. "This isn't a seizure. It's him. He's gonna kill her. If I don't agree to find this fucking key, he's going to kill my little sister."
Deacon stood watching, breathing hard, nostrils flaring. The glasses had come off, were hooked to his T-shirt, and his eyes flashed red with fury. "She's a pawn, Lily, and we're playing on a celestial chessboard."
I could only shake my head, my throat thick with tears. "No," I finally managed, spitting out the word. "Don't you even fucking think it."
"Let her go, and his hold over you is over. It's done."
"No!" I screamed the word, wanting to hit, wanting to pound, but I had to hold my sister. Had to keep her safe.
"He's near," Deacon finally said, his voice low, his head cocked as if he'd just figured something out.
"What? What?”
He held a finger up. "What if he goes too far? What if her little body can't handle it?"
"Oh, God. Oh, God, Deacon." I could barely speak through the tears. What the fuck was wrong with him? What the bloody hell was he talking about? Why wasn't he doing something?
"Safety net," he said, then met my eyes. "He's nearby. He'll need to have someplace for this piece of him to go if she dies."
I still didn't understand, but his lip lifted into a snarl, then he stalked to the door, marched over the threshold, and disappeared. Minutes passed. Minutes that seemed like hours, with Rose writhing and moaning, her screams no less pitiful and painful with the leather strap in her mouth. Then the door burst open, and Deacon came in, leading a shirtless man in blue jeans and bare feet.
Deacon had the man's arms trapped behind his back, and the man didn't say one word.
The reason why was easy to see—he had no mouth, just smooth skin where the orifice should be.
I'd never seen the man before, but I knew him instantly, and not only because Deacon held him with such furious certainty. Six black dots lined each side of his face, three tracking beside his nose and three curving under each eye. I knew those marks, had watched those dots as they seemed to float above his skin as life faded from me.
Lucas Johnson had found a new body.
4
Deacon held his blade pressed tight at Johnson's neck. "One wrong move, and I will drop you into a bleeding pile of waste."
On the bed, Rose stopped convulsing, and for the briefest of moments, hope flared in my belly. Then she started laughing, and hope died once again.
"Laugh it up," Deacon said. "But I kill you, and your essence is going to leave this body. Both bodies."
"Fool," Johnson spat, in Rose's voice. "I would have thought you above all would know better. You kill that body—that shell that holds the bulk of me—and I will move entirely into the girl. I'll become her. Meld with her."
He ran Rose's hands over her body, sliding down to stroke herself at the crotch and sighing with ecstasy as he did so. I shivered, my body sore from the effort to keep from leaping upon him and knocking his fucking head off.
"She'll be me, and I'll be her, and there will be no going back. And it'll be on your hands," he said, Rose's eyes staring hard at Deacon. "Do you think your pretty Lily will want you then? Do you think she'll let you touch her if you've killed her sister?"
"You're bluffing," Deacon said, the knife pressing hard enough by then to leave a line on the grotesque, mouthless man's throat.
"Deacon—" My voice was not my own, squeezed small by the paralyzing fear that had gripped me.
"You want to find out?" Johnson asked in Rose's soft, sweet voice. "Go ahea
d. I'm growing tired of that body anyway. So thick and clunky. Nice to have something new. Something young. Something nubile."
I swallowed and realized my head was shaking, back and forth, back and forth. "Deacon," I whispered, my voice filled with a plea.
In his arms, the mouthless Johnson pulled back toward Deacon's body and away from the knife. Deacon reacted in a flash, jerking the knife away, but then slamming Johnson's body to the floor. I heard the crunch as his nose broke, then saw the blood when he rolled over.
My nose twitched, my mouth filling with saliva.
Blood.
I wanted it—craved it.
And I hated myself for this weakness I didn't want and hadn't asked for.
Johnson pushed himself up onto hands and knees, his eyes on me as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. Beside me, Rose leaned closer. “Taste," she whispered. “Take and taste. You know you want to."
"Shut up!" I screamed, pressing my hands to my ears, fighting the urge to lash out, to send her flying across the room. I didn't want blood. Didn't, didn't, didn't. And I sure as hell didn't want the blood of Lucas Johnson.
"Take," Rose whispered again. "When you taste, you'll know. I can be your greatest ally. Taste . . . and see what I can offer you."
"Never," I whispered, but dammit, I wanted to. The blood. God, the lure of the blood . . .
I still wasn't used to the bloodlust, and to have it forced on me so unexpectedly was horrific. I didn't have the strength to fight. Not then, not after all that had happened.
And what if he was right? What if I could catch a glimpse of him through the blood? What if I should drink in order to understand? To see? To learn how to defeat him?
I knew—knew—that it was the bloodlust talking. That I would learn nothing from him but would only sink further toward the demonic side of me. That it was peeking out. Calling to me from where I'd hidden it.
Open the door, and the essence would burst through. I'd give in to the nature of what I'd killed, what I'd consumed.
Do that, and I couldn't protect Rose, much less the world.
Do that, and I really would become that which I abhorred.