Apparently reading my mind, the demon on my back whispered in my ear, "You're right. It is for the best. Come home to your master and all this trouble, all the hardships, will be gone."
And then I got pissed.
I had picked this fight. I had followed the demons because I wanted to make something hurt as much as I did. What better focus for all my anger and pain than two of the hellspawn responsible for so much of it? I dug deep, scratching off the scab covering old wounds and old hurts until rage filled me. Every one of the physical and emotional blows I'd taken over the years fueled my body and mind. I flipped the switch. Blinded by fury, I became a mindless fighting machine.
As powerful as I am wicked.
I let loose a powerful right blow to the demon's jawbone, knocking him away. Reaching behind me, I grabbed a hold of the demon on my back, rocking forward as I finally ripped him free. I rolled to the side and popped up on my feet, making sure my back was to the wall, forcing the demons to come at me head on.
An old wooden kitchen stool poked out from the top of the dumpster. I grabbed it, smashing it against the ground until one of the legs busted loose. With my makeshift stake, I jabbed the first demon in the chest, driving it back until the wood smacked against the brick wall. Slumped over and not moving, it appeared to be dead.
The other demon scurried away in an attempt to escape. I pulled another stool leg free and launched it like a javelin, surprised when I actually hit the bastard. The beast went down, but wasn't dead so I closed the distance between us and finished him off.
Bloodied, filthy, and exhausted, I marveled over the fact I'd bested not one, but two demons. And not with some half-ass banishment for them to return another day. No, I'd taken them out for good. My victory celebration was short lived, however, as the adrenaline wore off and the pain in my arm came rushing back. My injuries demanded attention.
My apartment was less than a block away. I had antiseptic, bandages, pain relievers, and some old antibiotics from a sinus infection a few months before. Chills raked my body—a mild fever was already setting in. I needed to make it home unseen, which given the lack of interest people living in this neighborhood had to anything that happened, shouldn't have been too hard. I shuffled toward the street when something moved on the rooftop.
Shit. I'd forgotten about whatever it was up there.
A shadow fell from the sky, landing on the fire escape railing with a loud clank. Its features were difficult to make out in the darkness, managing to catch a glimpse of wings as it made its descent from the roof. The words feather or leather alike ran through my mind. Certain the wings belonged to a creature of the leather variety, I prepared to defend myself against an upper-level demon. I made certain to keep the street in my line of sight in case I had to haul ass out of there.
"They're not vampires. You don't have to stake them in the heart to kill them." The voice from my dream wafted down from his perch on the railing.
"Who are you?" I stumbled back a step, nervous when whoever it was didn't attack and more than a little weakened from the infection settling in to my arm.
"You already know the answer to that question." He dropped down from the fire escape, landing a hair's breadth away from me.
"Impossible."
"Just because you refuse to believe it doesn't make it less so. Would you prefer I look like this?" He shifted into the kid I'd been looking after for the last couple of years.
"Tommy? How?"
That was about all I managed before it was lights out.
THIRTEEN
Fishing weights had been attached to my eyelids. There was no other explanation for why they felt so heavy and impossible to open. Or, it could have from the ass kicking I'd taken the night before. I fumbled around, trying to turn on the light on my nightstand. Except there wasn't a light or a nightstand.
That woke me up faster than a red eye latte. I bolted upright, trying to survey my surroundings so I could get out of wherever I was. The room spun like a cheap carnival ride, halting my escape from the strange bed in a strange room. I eased back down on the pillows, holding my head until the spins stopped and the nausea eased.
Once my equilibrium returned to normal and I no longer felt like I was on a Tilt-A-Whirl, I tried again. Slower. Finally managing to sit up without feeling like I was going to pull a Linda Blair, I took in my sparse surroundings. The room was devoid of any decorations. White walls, white bedding, white curtains. Clinical, not unlike a hospital, but there were no machines or equipment to speak of. Just a white wash basin with pink tinged water and blood soaked rags. Bandages covered my arms where the demons clawed me up. Reaching around, I gingerly explored my shoulder, finding another bandage covering my bite wound. Someone brought me here and took the time to fix me up.
The angel. I remembered white feathery wings enveloping me just before I blacked out. It appeared to me just after I permanently dispatched the two demons, taking on Tommy's appearance. My sluggish brain struggled for a moment to put it all together before the pieces slammed into place. The angel didn't appear as Tommy, Tommy was the angel.
Holy shit. My life was even more fucked up than I thought.
I threw back the covers, unnerved to find myself in clothes I didn't recognize. Still, I supposed it was a necessary step once I'd been treated. Tommy walked in before one bare foot hit the floor.
"I thought you might be hungry." Tommy carried a tray with coffee and what smelled like cinnamon rolls from Blue Moon. "We'll start with a little caffeine and sugar to get your brain going. You've got a lot of catching up to do."
"You've got a lot of explaining to do." I reached for the tray, not in the least concerned over the food being contaminated. He didn't go through all the trouble to patch me up just to poison me.
"Where to start. There's so much to tell you." Tommy looked like the older version of himself, the one from my dream.
"How about the beginning? Are you an angel? Was there ever a Tommy or have you always been him? Wait, were you in my apartment the other night? That wasn't a dream, was it? Who's the Sin Eater? My mother, well my aunt, actually, of course you already knew that, didn't you? Anyway, she mentioned him, too. Who is he?" I slung a barrage of questions at him without taking a breath.
My stomach growled its discontent. More eating, less talking. I had skipped lunch to make my visit to the prison and I'd obviously missed dinner. I was starving and devoured the first cinnamon roll before Tommy had a chance to respond.
"That's hardly the beginning but I'll answer what I can and we'll go from there. Yes, I'm an angel. A Power or Authority of the second sphere, to be precise. I'm one of many given the task to oversee the distribution of power among humankind. We've also been called conscience bearers and historians.”
I waited for a flash of wings, disappointed when I didn’t so much as glimpse a halo.
“My name is Thomas. I prefer it to Tommy, actually. I have always been him. It was easy to project the image of the teenager you knew because I was that young man once. We are able to take on many forms when we appear to mankind, although it is easier when it's a version of ourselves." He paused, allowing me to take that all in.
"Is this your true form? And what about your mom? I met her. Who is she really?" I drank some more of the delicious brain juice otherwise known as coffee.
"This is the form my body was in when I died. I was twenty-five, if I recall correctly. It is as close to my true self as mortal eyes can process. My “mother”, Marian? Another angel, I'm afraid. All part of the disguise."
"My god, the ruse. Is there no end to your deception?" I was only half-joking. The web of lies I'd been caught in pretty much all my life was an intricate, complicated trap that had no boundaries.
"I wanted to tell you so many times." Thomas reached for me, cupping my face the way a man would and for the first time, I didn't see him as the teenager I thought I was keeping an eye on. "It was necessary, I assure you."
"And the Sin Eater?"
Th
omas stopped caressing my cheek, pulling away. I almost whimpered from the lack of contact. I felt warm, relaxed, when he touched me. I hadn't realized how much of my pain Thomas took away until he removed his hands from my face. My arm and shoulder flared up and I winced. Noticing my discomfort, Thomas placed a hand on my leg. Even through the blanket, I felt the heat of his touch.
"You already know the Sin Eater. So I'll explain what he is instead of who. It was once believed, as recently as the late eighteen hundreds in fact, that when someone died suddenly, unable to confess they would, depending on the severity of the sins, be forced to walk the earth unable to rest or be condemned to Hell.” He removed his hand from my leg.
“By performing a simple ritual, the Sin Eater takes on the sins of the departed, damning his own soul for the deceased. It was a solemn and reviled existence, still it was viewed as a necessary one. In recent years, for those who still know and follow the old ways, it has become somewhat respectable. Especially to those less deserving of forgiveness." Thomas spat out the last words, disgusted by the very idea that someone else attempted to provide absolution.
"I thought everyone deserved forgiveness."
Of course we both knew that wasn't true. Some things were so horrible they could not be forgiven. I know--I'd asked repeatedly since I was seventeen and had been denied every time.
I thought about what he said while I scarfed down the last cinnamon roll and chased it down with more coffee, absently wiping a finger through the extra cream cheese icing and then licking it clean. The plate sparkled by the time I whispered his name.
"Dane."
"I know what you're thinking, Jax, but I'm warning you, do not seek out the Sin Eater. A man who betrays God will betray you."
"And what about me, Thomas? Haven't I betrayed God? I sold my soul. I'd say that makes me a little worse than the Sin Eater."
I don't know why I felt so compelled to defend Dane. Maybe because, despite how badly our date ended, I couldn't deny my feelings for him. Maybe it was because in some weird way our situations were connected. Or maybe it was because if what Thomas said were true, Dane McDonough could save me from damnation if I died.
"He isn't as noble as you think. There is, however, a way to salvation and I am offering it to you."
"You can get me my soul?" I hadn't realized until that second just how much I'd missed it. Sure, I was constantly reminded of its absence, the hollowness I felt every day, and yet faced with the possibility of its return, every cell in my body wept for it.
"In a manner of speaking."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Thomas grimaced at my choice of words. "It means that I have a proposition for you."
"I'm listening." Anything was better than my so-called existence, waiting for the Devil to claim me.
"Work for us. Work for the righteous and holy and you will be saved."
"What's the job?" Saved? Whatever the work, I was ready to say yes.
"You've proven yourself useful when it comes to ridding this world of demons. We'd like you to do that for us. On a full time basis."
"Like a demon hunter?"
"You could call it that. We would train you, of course. Provide you with the right tools, weapons, and, of course, words. I must say, however crude it is, what you've picked up along the way from popular culture has worked quite well."
"And when I die? I'll go to Heaven?"
"No. You have no soul, child. Heaven is not for the soulless."
"Then what's the point? I'm literally damned if I do and damned if I don't."
"Is that all you care about? Saving your own skin? One person in a sea of many. Would you watch the world burn just to save yourself?" The Angel shook his head in disappointment,
"We weren't talking about the world, Thomas."
He stood and cleared his throat. With his hands clasped behind his back, he paced the room, clearly contemplating exactly what and how much to tell me.
"There isn't a snowball's chance in Hell of this working if you're not honest with me, Thomas. It's pretty obvious there's a lot you're not telling me. I recommend spilling it, all of it. Or I'm out of here." I still felt like crap on toast. The thought of getting out of bed made me want to hurl. "As soon as I can stand up."
"What more do you need to know? You will be given the power and the skills to rid the mortal realm of demons. To save your fellow man from the corruption of Hell's beasts."
"Look around, Tommy. Do you see a whole lot of goodwill toward men in this city?"
"You would refuse?"
"‘A pint of blood, a pound of flesh, or even losing your soul. Whether it's for those above or below, the work will take its toll.’"
"I don't understand."
"Neither did I, until just now. My mother told me that. Right before she killed herself. Let me know when you're ready to talk."
Tommy’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly, making him look like a fish out of water. I knew there was more he wanted to say, but either couldn’t or wouldn’t. He stormed from the room instead of continuing our conversation, the door a thunder clap behind him as he slammed it shut.
I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. Recovering from an infection from a demon bite sure took a lot out of a girl.
FOURTEEN
I woke to an eerie silence. Nothing stirred outside the room where Thomas kept me. No light crept in from under the door. Curious to know if I had been left alone, I got out of bed and began exploring the apartment. I moved from room to room, opening cabinets, drawers, and closets. And found nothing.
Not a scrap of clothing or a single crumb. It was like no one ever lived there. Completely devoid of furniture or any signs of life, I assumed the lack of shackles or jailer meant I was free to leave.
If and when Thomas decided to tell me the whole truth, he knew where to find me.
I stepped out of the apartment complex into the sun, taking a moment to bask in its rays, marveling that even after traveling all that distance through space, it stilled provided warmth. Over the years, I found that when you're faced with life-altering shit, like the Devil or demons or in this case angels, it helped to focus on the little things.
After a moment or two, I recognized the neighborhood, surprised Thomas would have an apartment in the cultural corridor of Bolton Hill. I walked a few blocks headed toward Fells Point and my apartment; grateful for the time to myself to contemplate what I'd learned in the last twenty-four hours. I was almost home when the orange neon open sign for the Mount Royal Tavern caught my eye.
A drink sounded pretty good right about then so I climbed the stairs and went inside.
It was late enough in the day for liquor but early enough there were empty seats at the bar. I headed for the stool furthest from the door, a signal to patrons I preferred to be left alone, mentally groaning at the irony of the artwork adorning the bar. I wanted to wash my worries down with a couple Kamikazes not stare up at a reproduction of the Sistine Chapel's ceiling. Any other day I would sit and admire the artistic beauty of the painting .After learning I was a distant cousin to the angels pictured above and that I was handpicked to be the next demon hunter, I wasn't really in the mood for Michelangelo's rendition of the Book of Genesis.
That didn't stop me from slamming back the shot when the bartender set it down. I asked Jim, the bartender, to pour another. It went down easier than the first. He moved to pour a third just as I put my hand over the glass to signal I wasn't ready. Satisfied with the slow burn already making its way down to my belly, I looked up at the depiction of The Creation of Adam.
God's hand stretched out to Adam, my kin, and the angels behind him. I wondered if Thomas was in the pack of winged beings crowded behind God. Everything I thought I knew about him, about my life, was a lie.
I stared up at the Almighty—what was His divine plan? Why me? I had to be a disappointment, the wrench in the masterful scheme called life. Someone other than myself had to be better equipped to handle demon hunting
full time. Oh, and of course saving the world. I still hadn't figured that one out yet.
Not that a certain angel was giving me the information to do so.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Jim finished drying the highball glass and placed it on a shelf beneath the bar.
"Yeah." I tried to separate the art from its subject matter and failed.
"Come on, don't tell me you don't like it."
"It's not that. It's just... I've got some heavy shit on my mind right now." I swirled the shot glass around on the bar mindlessly before sliding it closer to Jim for a refill.
"Let me guess, fate of the world is in your hands. The battle between good and evil stands on a razor's edge. One false move and the fragile balance tips in the wrong direction."
"Something like that, yeah." I drank the shot, placing the small glass upside down on the bar. The vodka had lost its appeal. Time to close out my tab and go home. I reached around for my wallet, patting my right back pocket a couple times before realizing the familiar weight of the chain was missing and I wasn't wearing my own clothes.
I'd forgotten about my stuff being covered in a disgusting combination of blood from me and the two lesser demons I'd fought the night before. I checked the rest of the pockets just in case, relieved when I found my cash and license in the left pocket.
"Ready to settle up?"
I almost fell off my stool when I looked up from the small stack of bills to find the Devil behind the counter in Jim's clothes. I tried to run, ignoring the fact he looked better in a plain black t-shirt and jeans than he did in a suit. He caught my arm before I could slip away, slamming it down on the bar top.
"We have a deal, Jacqueline Lilith Rhodes." His grip eased, his fingers lightly caressing my forearm. "I keep thinking back to that night. You remember, of course, the night you agreed to become mine. I've been thinking about what you said, what you first offered me in exchange for helping you. All that sweet flesh. For five years, I've done nothing but think about you."
Payable On Death: A Jax Rhodes Novel, Book One (The Jax Rhodes Series 1) Page 8