Fall in Love

by Anthology

  And the weird thing? It didn’t hurt at all.

  As I watched, a thin line of blood rose from the wound, and he pressed the edge of his knife against the blood, smearing it down my arm. Some stayed where the knife placed it, but some seemed to move of its own accord, forming a strange pattern on my skin.

  I stared, confused, and then I gasped. Because now the pain was starting, and not from the wound but from the blood now burning into my skin. “Clarence! Shit! It’s like acid! Get it off me!” I tried to shake my arm, but he was having none of it.

  “One more moment, Lily. Just one more moment . . . there!”

  Once again, he dragged the knife down, covering the burned area with a fresh smear of blood. All at once, the pain ceased, and he released my arm. I fell backward onto my ass, my arm clutched to my gut. “What the hell was that about?”

  “Look at your arm, Lily.”

  “What? Look at my newly mutilated flesh? Screw you!”

  “Look.”

  Damn me, I did. And what I saw was pretty amazing: a circle with strange symbols around the edge, like something Aztec. Or, I don’t know, equally old. “What is it?”

  “A locator,” he said.

  “But what’s it doing on me?”

  “The prophecy,” he said, smiling up at me. “It’s you, pet. And this is one more sign that proves it.”

  “Some freaky prophecy turned me into a map?”

  “A locator,” he repeated. “But it’s pretty much the same thing.”

  “Fuck,” I whispered, because this was not the kind of thing I could easily wrap my head around. “Fuck. Okay. Right. Fine. How does it work?”

  He tapped the center of the circle, the one place not covered with images. “If the Caller had already retrieved the Box, then its symbol would be here.”

  “But it’s not, so what does that mean?”

  “The Box is still in a nether region,” he said, then frowned. “They’ll not retrieve it until the time for the ceremony is close. Reduce the risk that way.”

  “Of what?”

  He looked at me hard. “Of you.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t feel particularly threatening at the moment.

  “Right.” I frowned at the design on my arm. “What about the rest of the symbols?”

  “Some will become more prominent and it is those that you’ll use to find the Box’s location.”

  “I will?” I was beginning to begrudgingly admit that this was pretty cool. Freaky, but cool.

  “When the time is right, yes.”

  I decided to wait until the time was right to ask how exactly I’d do that. Right then, I was too overwhelmed by the fact that my arm was now the equivalent of a Shankara Box LoJack. “So what if it shows that the Box is in Tokyo?”

  “The bridge would get you there,” Clarence said.

  “The bridge?”

  He waved my question away. “Not to worry.”

  “But—”

  “The odds of the Box appearing elsewhere are slim.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the gate is here. At the convergence, the portal between worlds will open right here in Boston.”

  “No shit?” So much for all the hoopla in the Middle East. “Guess I’m glad I never bought real estate.”

  He shot me a hard look, and I shrugged. “Just keeping it light.” I cleared my throat. “So, um, what now? I mean, since there’s nothing in the center of my exciting new body art?”

  “The circle will fade,” he said, and in fact it already was beginning to disappear. “But when the Caller utilizes his skill and brings forth the Box, the mark will burn, and we’ll know where he has summoned it.” He met my eyes. “So pay attention.”

  “Roger that. And in the meantime, what? I just sit around watching my arm?”

  “In the meantime, you train.”

  “Right,” I said, realizing that at the end of all this arm-watching was a big battle with demons. Yeah, training sounded like it definitely needed to be on the agenda. “So, I’m training with a team, right? And when my arm burns, we’ll all go in together?”

  “Sorry, kid. This is a solo act.”

  “Sorry?” I repeated. “Sorry? Are you insane? What is this, a suicide mission? I don’t think so . . . ”

  He snorted. “As strong as you are? I don’t think suicide’s in the game plan.”

  “But . . . but . . . a team. Why can’t I have backup?”

  “That’s just the way it’s gotta be, kid.”

  “What? Why? This prophecy comes with an instruction manual?” Did prophecies work that way? My knowledge was limited to television and movies, probably not the most venerable of sources.

  He chortled. “No, that’s the big guy’s mandate. Because what if we send you in with a team, and one of them is a mole? A plant for the forces of darkness? Pretty nasty result all the way around.”

  “A mole in heaven?”

  “I know, kid. Hard to even stomach the possibility. But this is war. And we gotta be careful.” He shrugged. “So that’s the bottom line, pet. You find. You destroy. The Caller and the Box.”

  “Oh. How?”

  “Your blood destroys the Box,” he said.

  “No shit?”

  “That is the lore of the prophecy. As for the Caller . . . ” He trailed off with a shrug. “The Caller you simply kill.”

  I drew in a breath, my I’m-a-cool-Über-chick hubris fading in the cold light of reality. It was one thing to want to go out there, battle evil, and score big ticky points on the side of good. It was another matter altogether to realize just how much was riding on me not screwing up. Like, oh, the entire fate of the world.

  “You got strength, Lily. Speed. All sorts of handy skills and tools. Comes with the prophecy. You’re good, trust me. And with training, you’ll be even better.”

  “Training,” I repeated, taking a deep breath. Okay. Training was something tangible. Something I could latch onto.

  I glanced at my arm—at the funky symbol now fading from my flesh—and shivered. How much good was training against demons? Against the forces of darkness and the Apocalypse? That was big, scary shit, and I was only one girl. One girl not allowed to have backup. A fact I pointed out to Clarence, in an embarrassingly whiny voice.

  “Don’t underestimate yourself, Lily. You can do this.” He looked at me seriously. “For that matter, you’re the only one who can.”

  I started to pace, my thoughts bouncing from saving the world to what had gotten me here in the first place—trying to save Rose.

  “I want to see her,” I said. “I want to see Rose.”

  “Can’t help you there, pet. You’re dead, remember? Can’t have you running around telling folks you’re not really Alice, now can we? You can’t tell anybody. Not your stepdad. Not Rose. Not anybody.”

  “But he’s out there. He’s going to start up again, Clarence. I know he will. And I’m not going to stand back while my sister’s tormented.” I met his eyes dead-on. “I won’t do that. Not for anyone.”

  “Yeah, pet. I get that. But it ain’t a problem, is it? The kid’s safe now. You took care of that.”

  I blinked at him. “What?”

  “Johnson,” he said. “That plague on humanity is dead.”

  I plunked my ass back down on the sofa. “No. No, I shot him, but he kept on coming.”

  “Maybe it was a second wind,” Clarence said. “But he blew through it. Trust me. The worm is dead.”

  “Really?” A sense of relief flooded me. Along with a disturbing hint of disappointment, and I realized I’d actually been looking forward to facing the bastard again. “You’re not shitting me?”

  He crossed his finger over his heart. “Would I lie?”

  I licked my lips, trying to process the information. Johnson is dead. Rose is safe.

  She’d lost her big sister—and that really did break my heart—but I hadn’t been so naive going into it to think that I might walk away unscathed. I’d always understood the
risks. But if I took Johnson down with me, then I’d been prepared to call it a victory.

  Which meant I’d won. Rose was safe.

  I’d actually, really, truly won.

  “You know what, Clarence,” I said, smiling so broadly it hurt. “My crappy day is turning out to be not so bad after all.”

  He chuckled, then dropped down on the couch beside me. “Glad to hear it, kid. So we’re clear?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “Rose will never know her sister’s alive.”

  “She’s not, you know,” he said, looking at me earnestly.

  “Not?” I asked, assuming he was talking about Rose.

  “Alive. Rose’s sister isn’t alive. You’re not the same Lily that you were. You’ve been reborn.” He patted my knee. “It may seem a minor thing, but trust me when I say it’s the key to adjusting.”

  “I’m adjusting just fine,” I said, then pushed up off the sofa. “I’m some prophesied superchick, right? So come on. Let’s take me for a test-drive.”

  Clarence stared at me for a moment, and I found myself wishing I could read his mind like he could read mine.

  “You know what? You’re right. Time for you to get to work.”

  “Yeah?” I couldn’t keep the eagerness out of my voice. “So, what does that mean exactly? I get a sword? A secret decoder ring? Fencing lessons?”

  He eyed me sideways. “There’s your work, and then there’s Alice’s. And for that, you’re running late.”

  “Oh.” I could feel the excitement levels spiraling downward, and I eyed him warily. “So what do I do?”

  “You’re a waitress,” he said, and then he grinned. “Wear comfortable shoes.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I have to admit that the ride to Alice’s work in the limo was pretty cool. I’d ridden in it before, obviously, but the ride was much sweeter when I was conscious.

  Tucked in near the cemetery and Torrent Park, the Bloody Tongue had been founded back in the 1600s and, according to local lore, had been owned by the same family ever since. It’s remained in its original location and now was on the cusp, straddling a not-so-great neighborhood and an urban redevelopment area that was drawing in the young professionals. Haunted Boston tours ended there, which was how I knew about the place. Right after I’d started working at Movies & More, my manager had taken me out for drinks and screams. The tour had been more interesting than the guy, which made for some uncomfortable late shifts until he decided that the exciting world of video rental wasn’t for him.

  As the limo idled in a loading zone, I stared nervously out at the facade. I’d changed into the traditional waitress garb I’d found hanging on a hook inside Alice’s closet. Black pants. A black tank top under a white sweatshirt with the Bloody Tongue logo. Not a drop of pink to be found—thank goodness. But though I looked the part, I didn’t feel it, and I was stalling.

  “So tell me about Alice. I get the kudos and she gets the knife? What’s up with that?”

  What I didn’t ask—what I wanted to ask, but couldn’t—was whether Alice had died because I’d chosen life. The mere thought made me want to spew chunks. But what really got my stomach twisting was that even if I’d known that my words would have nailed Miss Pretty in Pink, with death and hell on the line, I would have made the same damn choice.

  I closed my eyes, hating my cowardice even as I owned up to it.

  Clarence eyed me from under his fedora. “Her death had nothing to do with you.” I looked down pointedly at my new body.

  “Ain’t what I meant,” he said. “She was murdered.”

  I hugged myself. “Who did it? And how did I end up . . . you know . . . in her?”

  “I don’t know who did it—honest Injun—and hers was the only available body when the opportunity arose.”

  “She’s not like me, is she? Alive in another body, I mean.” A horrifying thought struck me. “She’s not in my body?”

  Clarence chuckled. “Your body’s tucked in at the morgue, and Alice’s soul has moved on. Don’t worry. You ain’t gonna run into your own body on the street one day.”

  “Oh.” Said that way, the scenario seemed rather silly. Still, I was glad for the reassurance. “Do they know? Rose? And Joe?” I asked, referring to my stepfather.

  “Yeah. Neighbor found you in Johnson’s basement. Cops came. Whole nine yards. Joe identified your body.” The compassion I saw in his eyes almost brought me to tears. “Sorry, kid.”

  I nodded, afraid to try to speak right then. After a moment, I drew in a breath. “So why couldn’t I just get my body back?”

  He looked at me patiently, as if talking to a child. “You died, Lily. You did a dumb thing, and you died. Not like we’re gonna just give you your old body back. It really doesn’t work that way.”

  “Right. Forgive me for being a little hazy on the details of how resurrection or whatever it is does work.”

  “Eh. You’ll figure it all out,” he said magnanimously.

  “And you really don’t know who killed her? Isn’t he going to be a little pissed to find out I’m still alive?”

  “He? You didn’t strike me as the sexist type.”

  I stared, wanting an answer.

  “I really don’t know, and I really couldn’t say.”

  “I thought that God knew everything,” I countered.

  “He may, pet. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to tell me. Now, quit stalling.” He nodded at the limo door. “Time to go.”

  As if on cue, the door opened, and I saw our tall, thin driver on the sidewalk.

  I slid to the door and started to climb out. “But don’t I need a cheat sheet or something? A primer on How to Be Alice?”

  He tapped his head and grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”

  And as he said it, the driver took my arm and gently tugged me the rest of the way out of the limo. Then he slammed the door. I stood there, gaping, a cry of “Hey!” hanging on my lips.

  The driver, however, was uninterested, and though I knocked on the window and tried the door, Clarence didn’t emerge.

  I stood there seething as the limo pulled away from the curb, and then, as it disappeared around the corner, I turned to face the doors to the pub, remembering what he’d said only moments after I’d met him on the sidewalk near the alley. About being thrown into the testing. This was a test. Prove I was clever enough to play Alice, and I got a gold star. Screw up, and I’d be up close and personal with a blade. Again.

  No pressure or anything.

  I took three deep breaths, said a quick prayer for courage, and pushed through the battered double doors, still accented by the original stained glass. On my first visit, the place had been bustling, filled with the late-night crowd. Now it was early Monday evening, with only a few patrons nursing beers or snacking on any number of fried delights. Most looked up as I entered. A few nudged each other and pointed, and a smattering paid no attention at all.

  The knot in my stomach tightened a bit, and I wondered how I’d manage to pull this off. I’d waited enough tables over the last few years to know the general routine, so I figured I could muddle through the forest of pints, fish and chips, and Scotch eggs. It was the friends, coworkers, and regular customers that were worrisome.

  I took a deep breath and forced myself to move before I got arrested for loitering. Two stairs led down to an uneven wooden floor, and I managed them without falling on my face. On the whole, the place looked as it had on my last visit. Tables dotted the dim interior, all the more dark from the oak-paneled walls and the red velvet booths that lined the south wall of the establishment.

  There were no booths along the back wall, but the area bustled with the activities of serving drinks and food. To the right of center, metal doors swung open and shut, revealing glimpses of a hopping kitchen and giving the corner a feeling of hyped-up energy. A few yards over from the kitchen commotion, at dead center, a dark hall led into the back of the pub, the cavernous entrance marked by a neon sign announcing Lavatories.r />
  A massive stone fireplace filled the space to the left of center—part of the original construction and highlighted by an ornately carved mantel now littered with framed photos of celebrities and politicians who’d stopped by the pub over the years. A couch on spindly legs with cloven feet dominated the area in front of the flames, and the two dark-haired women who sat there took a moment from their intense conversation to turn in unison, their curious eyes drinking me in.

  I swallowed and looked away, now focusing on the U-shaped bar that commanded the center of the room. Dozens of bottles in varying degrees of emptiness cluttered the tiered center display area, and sparkles danced off the glass in a poor man’s version of a chandelier.

  The U itself was made up of polished oak, tall bar stools spaced every two feet or so. In the U, behind the bar, a white-haired man stared at me. His brows had lifted as if in surprise as I’d come through the door, but now he watched my approach with flat, expressionless eyes.

  “You’re late,” he said mildly, when I was about ten feet away. “You okay, girl?”

  “I—I’m sorry.” I rushed forward. “I wasn’t feeling well, and—”

  “That why you disappeared on Saturday? I send you to the stockroom and you never come back?”

  Saturday. That was the night I’d gone after Johnson. Which meant it must have been the night Alice died, too. And if she’d run out, then maybe she’d known she was in danger. More than that, maybe it meant that the danger was at the pub.

  I glanced around the bar, checking out the faces, trying to discern whether anyone seemed surprised to see me alive. As far as I could tell, everyone was more interested in their beer than in my living, breathing presence.

  “Yo. Whatsa matter? Your ears stuffed up?”

  I snapped to attention. “Sorry. I was, um, sick Saturday. I shouldn’t have run out like that.”

  “Damn straight. Shoulda called in on Sunday, too.” His brow furrowed and his mouth pulled down into a frown. “Let me know you were okay.”

  “I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.”

  “Better not. You okay now?”

  “I’m fine. Promise. Just a little fuzzy-headed.” I managed a weak smile. “I didn’t really eat much the last day or so.”