by J. Kenner
"Lily!" Kiera had her crossbow with her, and she lifted it now, ready to aim it.
Those deadly claws, however, slashed sideways, knocking the crossbow free and slicing Kiera hard across the face. She yowled, then raced forward, landing a solid kick to his chest. Not that it did any good. He filled his chest up with air, then blew—and Kiera went flying, smashing into the far wall and leaving a dent in the drywall.
She shook it off, her eyes heading toward me, her expression both bewildered and scared.
I didn't have time to reassure her. I was assessing my options. Clarvek might risk killing Kiera, but he wouldn't risk me. He needed me alive. He needed me for my arm.
Which meant that he'd take me. Take me and hole me up somewhere. Lock me away like he'd done Zane, only I wouldn't get a big basement. My cell would be small and cramped and dark and scary. And there'd be no promise of freedom. Instead, I'd get pain and torment and the horror of knowing that my skin was revealing secrets I didn't want displayed.
The very thought was enough to make me freak. And it was not going to happen.
No way, no how.
The only good thing about the whole scenario was the fact that because he needed me alive, I could get closer and fight harder than I might otherwise be able to. And I damn sure did. Harder than I'd ever fought, wilder than I'd ever been.
"You cannot win," he snarled.
"Watch me."
I leaped on him then, deciding to just go for it and score some serious points for the good guys. Beside me, Kiera leaped, too. I had my knife out, and despite the fact that I'd managed to get some solid blows in, nothing worked. His skin was like armor, and he was, literally, laughing at me.
"Pretty damn foolish of me to think you were strong. To think you were worthy." He opened his mouth and laughed—
—and I grabbed his tongue, pulled, and sliced.
It didn't kill him, but it damn sure shut him up. And right then, I was taking my victories where I could find them.
Clarvek backed up, howling, then whipped around, sending a thick tail crashing down through my coffee table. I realized what he was doing and lunged for the tail, catching it just as he leaped for the window.
I heard glass shatter, and then felt the whoosh of air as we plummeted to the ground, landing hard in the middle of the asphalt, me on top of the one creature in all the world I hated above all others.
"Bitch," he said, his mentally blasted words reverberating in the air like some demonic public-address system. "We gave you power, and this is how you repay us?"
"Power? You fucked with my life. You set me up to be some goddamned pawn in your stupid game—"
"We made you to be great. You wield the power, Lily. You."
"Yeah? Well, watch while I wield it on your fat, ugly face."
Not the best line, I'll admit, but I wasn't thinking clearly, what with the rush of the dark in my mind, racing through my head, urging me to kill and kill and kill.
Oh, yeah, baby. Bring it on.
I lunged forward, but he did as well, rising up on his haunches and swinging around with that deadly tail. It caught me across the middle and sent me flying, knocking me hard against the windshield of a nearby parked car.
"Lily!"
Somehow, Kiera had gotten down to the street, and now she was standing still, her crossbow aimed. She let the arrow fly, even before I could release a scream of protest, and it hit true, lodging in a soft spot between two ribs.
That wouldn't be enough to kill him, though, and she knew it. But she rushed forward with her blade, all set to take him out. To claim this kill as her own.
"No!" I screamed, racing forward, because I needed to take him out. I needed his essence, or this whole thing was for nothing.
She turned, baffled, then pissed as I knocked her out of the way. Clarvek roared, and as Kiera landed a hard kick to his groin, I leaped up and thrust my knife hard and firm through his eye and deep into his brain.
He collapsed, his huge bulk melting into goo and revealing a car racing toward us.
I, however, was in no position to worry about what the locals might think. I was too busy doubling over in the street, unable to move because of the force of the essence of a demon like Clarvek.
It was there. All of it. And now I could see it. Now I could use it.
"Get in!" The car screeched to a halt, and I looked up to see Deacon looking out from the driver's-side window.
Kiera's eyes went wide, and she shook her head. "No. No way. What the fuck are you doing with him?"
But I had no time to explain. Deacon was already accelerating away, and I yanked open the passenger door and leaped in, barely dodging the knife that Kiera whipped through the air toward my head.
"Where the hell are Rachel and Rose?"
"My home." He turned to me, his expression fierce. "You didn't think I'd leave you alone with him?"
I hadn't thought at all, but now the idea that he'd come to protect me felt nice.
"Did it work?" he asked.
I nodded. "I think so."
"Then do it."
I licked my lips, sliding into my head, searching for Clarvek, for his skill, for his essence. It was there, a knowledge. A trait, and I knew that he'd been given the skill when the prophecy was forged. He'd been made to train the warriors and to bring the champion into the fold. And now I'd screwed all of that up.
I couldn't have been happier.
"Got it," I said, my head overflowing with the strange words. I sliced my palm, then muttered the incantation that was in my head. A series of words I didn't understand but which seemed to be doing the trick, because as I smeared the blood down my arm, a new pattern arose, one I hadn't seen before. One that, if all went well, would lead to the Vessel of the Keeper.
The rising pattern burned, and I drew another swath of blood to soothe it, then turned to look at Deacon, who had pulled into an alley near the entrance to Zane's basement.
"Go ahead," he said. "We need to know for certain that we're right."
I drew in a breath, then let it out slowly. "Cross your fingers," I said. "And hold on to me." I pressed my other palm down on the mark and immediately felt that hard tug.
The journey was fast and wild, and I landed hard in what appeared to be a strange, glass temple with one wall of water. Behind the waterfall I could see the distorted image of some sort of clay pot, about the size of a coffee can. Other than the glass and the water, it was the only thing in the room.
Having already had some experience with water in these strange temple-like places, I pulled a quarter from my pocket and tossed it into the flow. Nothing happened, other than me losing twenty-five cents. Everything seemed safe enough, and I thrust my hand into the flow.
"Do you give your life willingly?"
The disembodied voice filled the chamber.
"I'm sorry?"
"Do you give your life willingly?"
I turned, trying to find who I was talking to, but there was nobody. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."
"The vessel may be removed only by one who gives his life willingly. Do you do so?"
"If I take the vessel, I die?"
"That is so."
"Oh." I considered that for only a moment, because, like the water, I'd faced death in these challenges before as well. "I can do that."
"Agree only if you speak true," the voice said. "For death is the condition to retrieve the Vessel of the Keeper. Even you, Lily Carlyle, with the blood of eternity flowing in your veins. If you draw forth the vessel, your life will end."
25
“It's a goddamned suicide mission," I said to Deacon, as soon as I was back in his car. I was breathing hard, exhausted, and frustrated.
And, yeah, I was scared of what I had to do, but I knew I had no choice.
I had to go back.
I had to keep my promise to take care of my sister.
And right now, getting the vessel was the only way I saw to do that.
"Are you insane?" Deaco
n asked, after I'd explained all of that to him. "You can't die. I need you. The world needs you." He reached over and grabbed my arm. "We need you to lock the gate and stop the fucking Apocalypse."
"Dammit, Deacon, don't you get it? There is no lock. There is no key. I screwed up big-time. I screwed up the whole goddamned world, but I am not going to screw up my sister."
"No lock?" he repeated. "How the hell do you know? Have you tried, Lily? Have you tried looking for it?"
I hadn't, of course. And I realized then that I could. I was the one person in all the world who could find out if the lock existed.
A tiny ray of hope flared inside me. Because the truth was, I didn't want to die. Didn't want that blackness. That nothingness.
Didn't want to be lost forever in the void because I hadn't yet overcome the weight of my sins.
I shook my head, realizing I'd let my mind get carried away. "No. Even if there is a lock, it doesn't help Rose."
"Just look," he said, his voice plaintive. "I need to know."
I took in his face, the fierce determination and the blatant need. "All right," I said. "But no matter what we find, I'm going to save my sister."
A muscle in his cheek twitched, but he didn't argue. Right then, I figured that was the best I could hope for.
I drew inside myself, calling upon this new power over which I had scant control. "Please," I whispered, then drew the blood and recited the words as the incantation filled my head, a musical chorus that filled me up and spilled over into the world.
When I was finished, I thrust my arm out, and we both peered at it. But nothing changed. My flesh didn't rise. It didn't burn. It didn't even sting slightly.
"There is no lock," I said.
"Bullshit," Deacon countered. "You knew the incantation. There wouldn't be an incantation if there wasn't a lock."
He had a point. "But the arm, Deacon," I said, thrusting it toward him. "My arm finds things. If it's a thing, and it's in this dimension, then I'm the go-to girl. And there's nothing there," I added, shaking my arm for emphasis.
"It's hidden, then. Trapped in another dimension. But it exists, Lily. You know damn well that it exists."
I shook my head, images of Rose filling my mind. Rose in pigtails. Rose at Christmas. Rose with my mother.
And then my mom, asking me to watch after the sweet little girl.
"I have to," I said, hating the way that my voice hitched behind the tears that filled my throat. "She's my priority."
"You save her, and she's still dead," Deacon said flatly. "Do you think the demon hordes will spare her? Do you think Johnson will? She's on his radar, Lily. It'll all start up again. You won't have saved her. You'll have abandoned her."
I winced. "No." I shook my head, not wanting to hear his words, not wanting to believe I could have lost so badly again. "No, no, no."
He pressed his hands to my face, then gently kissed my forehead. "Don't," he said, his voice soft, tender. "It's not about the gate, Lily. You're mine. I've said so all along."
"Deacon . . ." I wanted him, too. Wanted him desperately. I wanted to win. I wanted to save Rose.
And I damn sure didn't want to die.
I gasped, my body stiffening with a sudden realization.
"What?" he asked.
"I don't want to die," I said, the excitement in my voice undoubtedly mystifying him.
"And I don't want you to."
I squeezed his hand tight. "Go get Rose. Tell Johnson I'm on to the third key. Act incredibly pissed, and tell him you're only telling him so because I insisted, but that you're not going to let him get away with taking the Oris Clef. That you're coming, too, and that you'll kill him. Or whatever. Just make it look good. He has to believe I really know where the third relic is."
"And?"
"And get Rose to Zane's. Get her there fast."
26
“Cherie,” Zane said as I burst into his spartan bedroom. He was sitting on his cot, shirtless, the thin material of his sweatpants hugging the tight muscles of his legs. He stood immediately, his hand out to draw me in. "Ma petite, you are a mess."
I had to laugh. As understatements went, that one was a doozy. "I need to ask you something," I said. "I need to ask, and if I'm wrong . . ." I trailed off, because if I was wrong, I was screwed, and there really wasn't anywhere to go from there.
"Lily," he said, the accent disappearing as he cupped my chin. "Speak."
"I've killed Clarence," I said. "I've killed him, I've absorbed him, and I'm going to fight them. The demons. The ones who did this to me."
He leaned backward, his expression unreadable. He wasn't, however, lashing forward to lop off my head. Considering the way my luck had been running, that was a mark in the plus column.
"And you come now to me for what purpose? Do you seek to kill me, too?"
I licked my lips. "Not the way you mean."
His eyes narrowed, his confusion clear. “Tell me," he said. “Tell me everything."
I swallowed, then I started at the beginning, my whole story, including the parts he already knew. Rose. Lucas Johnson. Deacon. The Oris Clef.
And, most important, the vessel that could house Rose's soul. "We'll come back here once we have Rose inside the vessel," I said. "Then I'll find a demon I can kill, only not with an owned blade." Kill a demon with a blade that hadn't drawn its owner's blood, and the demon's body remained. Only an owned kill reduced the demon to goo. "Deacon knows how to get the soul from the vessel into the body." I licked my lips. "Someone like that goth demon you had me kill," I said, referring to the demon I'd killed my very first day of training. She'd had Rose's eyes, and I'd shown her mercy. And I'd almost died because of it.
"And to do this," Zane said. “To save your sister, you must obtain the vessel. The Vessel of the Keeper."
"That's pretty much the score."
"And to do that," he said, "you must die."
I nodded. "If I die—if I step up to the plate to save my sister—then any chance of locking the gates to hell dies with me."
He took my arm, lifted it, and gently traced his fingers over my marked skin. "You do not seek the Oris Clef.”
"Only to the extent it helps me get Rose," I said. "I'm interested in a different key. One that locks. One that seals."
"You are correct, ma cherie. You are the only one with the power to find such a key."
He stood, then walked across the room. He stood in the doorway, his back to me, the training room spread out in front of him.
He said nothing, and I waited, wishing he would nod. Would whisper. Would do something so that I didn't have to actually make the request. He wasn't, however, making it easy for me.
I closed my eyes and breathed in deep. Then I stood and went to him, and pressed my hands to his shoulders. "Zane," I said. "I need you."
He turned, his mouth curved in a wry grin. He traced a finger over my lips, making me shiver. "And yet it is another man that you truly need." He leaned forward, then gently brushed his lips over mine. The kiss was sweet and sad, and when he pulled away, I realized I was crying.
"What you ask, cherie, I long for it. And yet I dread it."
"I know," I whispered, remembering when he'd told me he was immortal. Remembering how he'd described the terror that now warred with longing, a desperate craving for the end juxtaposed against a horrible fear of the unknown. "I understand."
He cupped my cheek. "I will do this. And I thank you, ma cherie, for setting me free."
My heart squeezed, and I forced myself to stop crying. Instead, I drew him close and rested my head upon his shoulder. "Thank you," I whispered.
Deacon found us that way, arm in arm in the doorway. I felt him before I saw him, and I pulled away from Zane to look at Deacon over his shoulder. He stalked forward and took my arm. It burned under his touch, a reaction that confused me, especially when I looked down and saw nothing new happening with the tats on my arm.
He pulled me toward him as Rose stood in the background, and whe
n I saw her—when I saw Johnson—I forgot about my arm.
"Why the fuck are we here?" Rose said, only it wasn't Rose, of course.
"The third relic," I said. "We need Zane to get it."
"That a fact?" Johnson said, jutting out Rose's hip and giving me all sorts of attitude.
"Yeah," I said, forcing myself to remember that this was not my sister. "It is."
I realized that without the mouthless Johnson body joining our party, our plan wouldn't actually destroy Lucas Johnson. Considering we hadn't seen the creature, though, we didn't have much choice in the matter. And right then, I honestly didn't care. So long as Rose was free of him, I'd be happy. At least for a moment. And the prospect of hunting him down and killing him at least gave me something to look forward to.
Right then, though, I needed to just concentrate on making this plan work.
Behind us, the elevator doors slid open, and Kiera stepped out, her crossbow aimed straight at me. “Talk," she said. "Now."
"Ma petite," Zane said, stepping forward and slightly in front of me. "What is the trouble?"
"She is," Kiera said, talking to me rather than Zane. "I get what you did," she said. "I saw it. I understand it." Her forehead creased. "And when Clarence changed, I smelled the demon on him." She worked her jaw, and I knew she was battling back the anger and the betrayal. "I didn't smell it before—the bastard hid it somehow—but I caught the whiff at the end."
She whipped sideways, and now her weapon was aimed at Deacon. "Him, though. Him, I've smelled it on from the beginning."
"Kiera, wait." I took a step forward. I couldn't tell her exactly what was going on—not without Johnson learning the score—but I had to at least tell her something. "I promise you. He's on our side."
"Your side? Or mine?"
"Ours," I said firmly. "I swear."
"You know what?" Kiera said. "I don't trust you. Sorry, girlfriend. I just don't. So I think it's time for us all to sit down and—"
I never learned what we were supposed to sit down and do, though, because Kiera was thrust forward when the floor burst upward, concrete cracking, metal beams jutting forth. The whole room was roiling, as if we were caught at the epicenter of the earthquake to end all earthquakes.