I was standing now, but I can’t say I was in a significantly better position. My three attackers looked pretty damned determined, and pretty damned scary, too. Two towered above me, with hide like an armadillo’s skin, a snout where a human nose would be, and eyes as flat and dull as a shark’s. Both walked on muscular legs with cloven feet, had tails dragging the ground as if for balance, and were armed to the teeth with so much metal I would have expected to see them in a video game.
The third appeared human in form, but I knew that meant nothing. Like the Goth girl, this demon’s blood would run black.
The front-runner demon flashed the sword again, but I leaped over it in a perverse version of jump rope. The failure of its sword to make contact as expected knocked the demon backward. I, however, couldn’t take advantage of its misstep, because I needed to focus on the mace that Demon Boy Number Two had whipped into a frenzy and sent flailing my way, the chain stretching out behind it.
In what was either an absolutely brilliant maneuver or a shining example of pure, blind luck, I reached up, grabbed the chain, and thrust downward, pulling Demon Boy Two to the ground with me. I grabbed the handle from its clawed hands, then thrust sideways, jabbing it in its soft underbelly even while I straightened up and whipped the mace around on its flail.
I held my breath, then let it fly, landing a solid blow on the third demon even as it was rushing me. It collapsed to the ground, pushing over the first demon—my friend with the broadsword—as it was getting back into the game.
“I don’t think so,” I said, then dove on it, landing a solid punch to its snout with one hand while I snagged the broadsword with the other. I whipped around, slicing Demon Boy Two down the midline as it lunged for me in a futile attempt to attack me or rescue its companion. I hesitated a second, waiting for the strength that should have fueled me, and when it didn’t come, I realized that I hadn’t killed the beast with my own blade. I didn’t own the kill, and I wouldn’t gain the strength.
No matter. I was strong enough as it was, and I whipped around, making the full arc with the sword. I ended by stabbing down, impaling the demon at my feet with its very own sword.
Bilious fluid from the two demons pooled around me, but I didn’t have time to enjoy the rush of victory because the third demon—the human-looking one—climbed back to its feet and got medieval on me, the mace I’d tossed now in its hand. It held the handle, eyes burning with hate as it twisted at the wrist, spinning the spiked ball faster and faster. That, however, wasn’t the scary part.
The scary part was the five additional demons racing up the alley.
“Bring it on,” I whispered, feeling foolishly, desperately confident.
“Bitch,” the human-looking demon shot back, releasing the mace. It arced toward me with pinpoint precision. I dove forward and down, the ball so close I felt the spikes comb my hair. I landed in a forward roll, then jumped up, the sword still in my hand. With absolutely no wasted movement, I jammed the sword into the human-looking demon’s throat, then lifted my arm, raising it above my head.
Impaled on the blade, the demon’s body twitched and shook. Blood dripped from the wound down my arm as life left the creature’s body. I breathed in its coppery scent, letting the lust for more fill me and make me stronger.
With one hand on the hilt of the sword and the other on the demon’s hip, I shook the body as a warning to the other demons who’d come to give me shit.
Then I tossed it to the ground. As I did, a gray cloud rose from it. A cloud that seemed to have eyes and teeth and a mouth that screamed in silent rage, opening onto a dark, black maw that looked like it could swallow the world. On the ground, the body twitched, and dim blue eyes stared at me. The mouth opened, a bubble of blood clinging to the lips. He uttered a single word, “Help,” and then collapsed, lifeless, on the ground.
I shook myself, confused and overwhelmed, unsure what had just happened. All I knew was that the body was dead and the cloud was gone, and I considered all of that good. But the five demons in the alley were still there, and that was very, very bad. I widened my stance and stared down my five new foes. “Do it,” I said. “I am so in the mood for more.” I could feel the blood in my head—making me rage. Making me hungry for a fight.
The demon in front locked eyes with me, and for a moment, I really thought we were going to rumble. Then he stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle. That was all it took. The others ripped for the street.
I stepped over my trophy demon and started to give chase, then decided not to. I was tired. I was freaked.
And I wasn’t keen on chasing demons down the streets of Boston.
I shouldn’t have relaxed. I should have stayed on guard.
Because right then—right there—the leader of the five demons thrust his arm out, revealing a crossbow that had been hidden in his jacket. I saw it a half second too late—his other hand was already there, supporting the weapon—and as I dove toward the ground, he let the arrow fly.
It struck me in the chest, and the world turned red, my ears filled with the thrum of my own blood, my heart exploding under the point of the arrow.
My useless limbs collapsed beneath me as I fell to the ground, my eyes wide open and staring at the demon I’d tossed down only moments before. He was already dead, that one.
Soon, I’d be joining him.
I struggled to breathe, but only gasped, finding not oxygen but bloody spittle.
The demon’s eyes stared out as the last bit of life slipped from me, his message clear. See you in hell, he was saying. And see you soon.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“One, two, three. Breathe. One, two, three. Breathe. One, two, three. Breathe.”
Blackness.
“Dammit! I need the defibrillator. Where’s the—”
Serpents. Twisting around me. My legs. My arms.
“Charge!”
Pulling me under. Ripping me up.
“Clear!”
Their eyes glowing red.
Ker-thwap.
Forked tongues darting out.
“I got nothing. Again.”
Tasting me.
“Charge!”
Wanting me.
“Clear!”
No!
Ker-thwap!
No!
“Hold on. I think—yeah. I got a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there.”
No!
“Alice. Alice, can you hear me? Squeeze my hand. Open your eyes.”
I squeezed. Then opened my eyes to meet concerned compassion in the form of pale blue eyes. Eyes I knew. “Thom?” I whispered, the word barely coming out past the cotton in my mouth. I knew him from my EMT training ride-alongs, but Thom had known Lily, not Alice, and confusion crossed his face.
“Oh, God, Alice!” Gracie’s voice, her whole body emphasizing her relief as she pulled my head into her lap and hugged me close. Brian and Aaron stood behind her, their expressions blank with shock. “Oh, God. Oh, God.” Tears streamed down her face, and she clung to me. I sat there, not so much in shock as baffled. Something had stabbed me in the heart, and that wasn’t the kind of thing a defibrillator fixed. So what the hell had happened?
“Thom!” someone called. “We’re bringing in the gurney.”
“I don’t need it.” I shifted, trying to sit up, hoping to prove my point.
“Stay still, Alice,” Brian said urgently, but I shook my head.
“No. Can’t. I’m okay.” I remembered nothing except the demon’s eyes and then blackness. And then the sound of the world coming back.
I shivered.
I seemed to be making a habit of dying.
I took the blanket Thom offered me and wrapped it around my shoulders. Then I looked around, taking stock. An easy task, because other than me, the paramedics, Gracie, Brian, Aaron, and the onlookers gathered in the fire door, the alley was empty.
“What happened to you?” Thom asked.
“There was a guy—” Actually, there were
several, and they were demons, but I figured I shouldn’t mention that.
“What happened?” Gracie asked.
Don’t I wish I knew . . .
“There was this guy, and he jumped me,” I said, fabricating as I went. “And then he stabbed me—”
“Stabbed you!” Gracie said as Thom and his shadow shifted closer, faces both concerned and a little freaked.
“We didn’t find any—”
“I meant hit,” I said, brushing away Thom’s hands as they came close to my blanket. The material of my shirt had been ripped by the arrow; I was certain of that. But I was equally certain of what he’d see if he pushed the blanket aside. Perfectly healed flesh, right over my heart.
I’d died, yeah. But once again, it hadn’t stuck.
Dear God, dear God. What have you done to me?
“Alice? Alice!”
“He hit me,” I said, shaking my head, forcing myself to focus. “We, um, fought. He ripped my shirt. Hit me. And I guess I hit my head. He . . . I guess he got away.”
Or, rather, his buddies had carted him away. I grimaced, realizing too late that I could have used the dagger on which I’d impaled him to cut myself. I could have made it my own.
I could have used it and watched his body dissolve into demon goo.
“Blood,” the other paramedic said, crouched down over where I’d dropped the human-looking demon. He dabbed at it with a latex-coated finger. “Definitely blood.”
I shivered, suddenly light-headed and edgy as he stirred up the scent. A scent I’d keyed off earlier, the lust for blood fueling my lust to kill. Now, again, it filled my senses, primed me. But it was the blood I wanted now, not the kill. To imbibe it. To devour it.
The desire—the need—seemed to consume me, and I wanted away from these people, away from everything, because I couldn’t stand it, and the craving disgusted me as much as it compelled me.
Dear God, what have I become?
“Cops are on their way,” Thom said, forcing my mind out of its surreal haze. “And you’re on your way to the hospital.”
“No,” I said, closing my eyes and trying to ignore the scent. “I’m fine. Honest.”
“You had no heartbeat for over two minutes. You’re going to the hospital.”
“But—”
“Don’t you dare argue,” Gracie said. “You died!”
“Holy shit,” I said, climbing to my feet. I had died. And I’d come back.
I’d come back just like Zane. I’d killed him, and then I’d watched him come back.
And he would have the answers I needed.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, before taking off running. “But I have to go.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I continued to walk the streets, lost in my own head, but my senses sharp. So far, I’d felt no one watching me. Perhaps the demons thought I was dead.
Or maybe they were regrouping, planning the attack that would finally take me out for good. I cringed, having grown rather fond of Alice’s head, not to mention the steady beat of her heart. An unpleasant direction for my thoughts, but this was my life now. I was a fighter. A shadow. And, yeah, maybe I was someone who could make a difference to the whole big-picture part of the equation. I was a weapon, Clarence had said, and the responsibility accompanying that pronouncement terrified me, especially now that I knew that the better I did the job, the more humanity I lost.
Not an ideal situation, but what was? Not Lucas Johnson and Rose. Not my mom dying. Not getting stabbed in the gut by a sociopathic asshole. And not even being brought back to life to go chase down demons.
Like my grandma used to say, nobody ever said life was fair. And if coping meant compartmentalizing, well, I could do that. I could shove away all the shit that washed into me after every kill. I could hide it. I could lock it up. I could ignore it. I’d focus on Lily. Not who she’d been, but who she was now. I’d focus on her, and I’d fight the rest of it.
And I knew I could because hadn’t I been doing it my whole damn life? Living in shadows and loss. Scraping for a nickel. But I’d never lost sight of me. And I’d always had Rose out there, a bright light pointing the way.
I still had her. This was about saving the world, right? The world, and everyone in it.
The streets were bright again, the sun a violent counterpoint to the gray shadows of my thoughts. I’d left the commercial district, moving down side streets until I’d reached a section of town where even the bright rays of sun couldn’t erase the shadows. Here, the disenfranchised loitered, the humans who were ripe to be recruited by evil, just like the human I’d killed in the alley. The human who’d asked for help too late. The homeless, the lost. Men and women on whom society had given up. They loitered in liquor store doorways, skulked into porn shops, and cut business deals through half-open car windows.
I wanted to tell them to keep themselves centered. To not take the easy route, and to trust no one who said they could help them. I didn’t, though. I didn’t say a word. Who was I, after all, to give advice to the damned?
Storefront signage flashed by in a haze, the colored signs sending a message that I was too stupid to get right away. When I did, though, I stopped and turned around, looking for the business that had finally registered in my hazy brain.
I found what I was looking for about twenty yards down the block. I’d passed it without noticing, and now I backtracked until I was in front of the window. Red neon announced Tattoos, and a smaller handwritten sign below informed the discriminating customer that the artist was on-site. And, as an added bonus, Madame Parrish, Psychic shared the space, presumably offering her services to anyone who wanted to know how their mother, father, lover, friend was going to react to the artistic creation our intrepid customer was bringing home.
I spent half a minute considering the door, reminding myself about infections caused by dirty needles, the possibly poor quality of the ink, and the painful process that accompanied the removal of tattoos. I ought to know. I’d had “Jimmy” and a heart removed at the ripe old age of nineteen.
Ignoring my own prior experience, I pulled open the door and stepped inside.
The dim interior was a shock, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light. When they did, I realized that the back section was brighter, and immediately beyond a curtain of beads, I saw a guy hunched over a woman’s half-bare breast, his long hair swept back in a ponytail. His attention stayed focused on his customer until he shut off the needle, and then he looked in my direction.
“Yo. I’ve got about five more minutes. You looking to get a tat?”
“Yeah,” I said without hesitation. “I am.”
“Cool. Got a design in mind?”
“I want a name,” I said. “Maybe some sort of picture, too. I don’t know what.”
“Look around. Anything in those books by the window I can do for you. Price is on the sheet.”
He turned back to the girl without waiting for my reply, which left me no place to go except to the books. I was looking at intricate angelic designs when I heard someone move behind me.
I turned, expecting the guy or his customer. Instead, I found myself face-to-face with a woman who had to be on the bad side of eighty.
“Forty-nine,” she said. “But don’t apologize,” she added, before I even had time to realize that I hadn’t actually spoken my remark.
“Another one,” I muttered, considering taking my business to the next tat house down the road.
“He’d never forgive me if I scared you off,” the woman said. She moved to a darkened corner and eased herself into a stained velvet chair. “Please. Sit.”
I eyed the hard folding chair opposite her, then listened as she laughed.
“I’m the one pushing ninety,” she said. “My bones need the cushions.”
“I’m so sorry about that,” I said, her casual demeanor drawing me in, if not making me downright comfortable. “I never would have said that out loud.”
“Of course you wou
ldn’t. You’re a good girl.” She leaned over to pat my hand, and when she smiled, I saw that her teeth were stained brown, her gums red and swollen. I wanted to ask why—what medical anomaly had made her this way? But despite her graciousness and my own raw edges, I couldn’t bring myself to be quite that rude.
“A disease would be the easy answer,” she said, her smile easing my embarrassment. “No, it is my gift. It preys on me.”
“You’re Madame Parrish.”
“I am.”
“So what can you do?” I asked. “Your gifts, I mean. Read minds, I guess. Do you also see the future?”
Her brows rose slowly as she peered at me. “You sound dubious. You, who have surely seen things much more curious.” She cocked her head, examining me. “You will learn to control it you know.”
“What?”
“What you see,” she said matter-of-factly. “It was an unexpected gift. Unknown even to the giver. A legacy from the one who came before. But you will learn, my dear. It will take practice and focus and great strength, but it can be done. I promise that you will learn.”
I licked my lips, suddenly not certain I should be there. Not certain I should be talking with this woman who could pick facts from my mind as easily as Clarence did, and who knew of my visions, and seemed to understand them better than I did.
“Not better. But I do have a different perspective. And, perhaps, I can help.”
“I don’t know how.”
Her smile was soft, grandmotherly. “You want to learn how to close the door on your thoughts. Even now, you wish you could.”
“I could if I wanted to,” I said, obstinately. “Children’s songs. Works like a charm.”
“On some. Perhaps. But there is a better way.”
I tilted my head, not sure whether I trusted her, but definitely wanting to hear what she had to say.
“A Secret Keeper. To do what you must to block your mind, you will have to find a Secret Keeper.”
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