by Anthology
I wanted to feel the heat of his touch and taste the saltiness of his skin. I wanted to consume him, and be consumed.
Even now, his voice echoed in my head. You’re mine, he’d said. You’re mine.
There was something there—something between Deacon and me. But whether it was between Deacon and Alice or Deacon and Lily, I didn’t yet know.
Right then, I really didn’t care.
No. I closed my eyes, mentally lecturing myself. Don’t fuck up. This second chance was, literally, the answer to my prayers. I had a real chance to do some good here, to make up for a life that had taken a wrong turn toward crappy jobs and shady deals. And I wasn’t about to screw this opportunity by screwing Deacon.
I was making this work, and I was going to ask all the questions I needed, and I was going to be Über-save-the-world-chick.
I just wasn’t quite sure how.
“Alice!” Egan’s heavy voice boomed back from the front of the pub, saving me from my morass of thoughts. “What the hell, girl? You gone and get yourself lost again?”
I closed my eyes and drew in one deep breath as I tried to find myself in the mental mist. With some relief, I took stock, feeling like myself for the first time since I took down the demon.
I pushed away from the wall, mentally pushing Deacon away as well. Time to abandon the mysteries of that man and my reaction to him for the more immediate problem of sliding seamlessly into Alice’s real life.
I pulled on the sweatshirt I’d earlier removed, needing to hide the long gash on my arm. Then I assured Egan that I had neither gotten lost nor abandoned my duties, and hurried to assist with the final closing chores. He’d sent everyone else home, and we went through the routine in companionable silence. If he noticed my hesitation as I considered the proper way to accomplish each task, he didn’t say.
I stood awkwardly when we were done, unsure. Would he offer me some bit of affection? A peck on the cheek or a pat on the shoulder?
When I’d been waiting tables earlier that evening, things had gone smoothly. Or, at least, smoothly enough to let me believe I’d fallen convincingly into the role of Alice. Now there were no shouted orders, no spilled drinks. Only me and this man who was supposed to be my uncle. A man who’d known Alice since she was born. Couldn’t he see? Couldn’t he tell?
As if sensing my fear, he looked up from behind the bar where he was gathering his things. He rested one beefy arm on the polished oak, then caught me firmly in the net of his gaze. “You in some sort of trouble, girl?”
“I—no. Nothing.”
He rubbed a callused hand over his beard stubble, his eyes never leaving my face as I forced myself not to squirm under his intense inspection. “Befuddled,” he finally said.
“Excuse me?”
“All night. You been out of sorts. And what with the way you ran out of here on Saturday, I can’t help but wonder if there’s not something you’re wanting to tell me. Like maybe you weren’t sick? Like maybe something happened to you on Saturday.”
I swallowed, then shook my head a fraction of an inch.
He exhaled loudly through his nose. “Have it your way. I ain’t gonna let my sister’s girls down. So if there’s something on your mind . . . ”
I hesitated, fighting an unexpected urge to find an ally in this man. He was Alice’s uncle, after all. Who better to help me fit into her life? The words, however, eluded me as much as trust did. I wasn’t Alice; he wasn’t my uncle. And the job I now had was a solitary profession.
I managed a shrug, trying to look bored and unconcerned. “There’s nothing. Honest. I was sick as a dog. So sick the weekend’s a blur, you know? I hardly ate, did nothing but sleep, and now I’m dead on my feet. I’m tired, Uncle Egan. That’s all.”
“Lost weekend, huh?”
I pressed my lips together and nodded.
His eyes narrowed. “You got the sight back?”
“What?” I swallowed, hoping the shock didn’t show on my face.
“You ain’t had a vision since you were a kid, even before your mama died. If you start seeing again, you need to tell someone. Don’t try to deal with it on your own.”
“I wouldn’t,” I said. “I’m not.” But my mind was whirling. Alice’s visions must have come back, because Deacon had known. But she’d kept the return of the visions secret from her family. Why? And had Alice told Deacon? Or had he discovered the visions on his own? Maybe even when Alice was poking around inside his head.
None of these was a question I could answer, so I fell back on that old standard. Denial. “I haven’t seen anything,” I said, meeting Egan’s eyes. “I swear. And if I did, I’d totally tell you.”
For a moment, I thought he was going to argue. Then he gave me a curt nod. “Then what the hell you hanging around for? Go on. I’m ready to go upstairs and crash,” he said, referring to the apartment he occupied above the pub. “Get home. And don’t be late tomorrow.”
“Right. I won’t. Right.” I hurried toward the door, more than ready to be out of there, even if that meant walking five blocks before I finally found a cab.
I started walking, warm in the red leather duster I’d found among the riot of pink in Alice’s closet. I kept my eyes open, searching the shadows, because now I knew what hid in the dark.
The velvety blackness seemed to shimmer as I moved, and I imagined dozens of yellow eyes peeking out at me, watching and waiting. I stepped up my pace, the boots I’d shoved on my feet clomping on the pavement. In my mind’s eye I saw the goblins gathering in mists, creeping up from sewers, soaring down on the backs of vultures. They were coming for me, and I wasn’t ready. Lord help me, I wasn’t ready.
In the distance, a taxi turned onto the street, and I stepped off the curb, my arm raised high. I stood there, willing the driver to see me, feeling naked and exposed as the devil’s minions watched me from the shadows.
Thankfully, the cab pulled over, and I climbed inside, wrapping the illusion of safety tight around me.
Because the reality was, I was never truly going to be safe again.
CHAPTER NINE
The cab pulled to a stop in front of Alice’s apartment, but I didn’t get out. That was a new life in there. A new name, new friends, and new rules to follow.
The truth was, I’d never been much good at following rules.
“Miss?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, sliding away from the door and back to the middle of the seat. “I need—I mean, can you take me to the Flats?”
He turned in his seat with a frown, an old man with skin the color of chamomile tea.
“I have the fare,” I assured, him, then rattled off the familiar address. “It’s home,” I added, though why I felt compelled to share that tidbit I didn’t know.
His forehead creased before he turned back to the wheel and reengaged the meter. A town on its own before Boston annexed it, Boarhurst—called “the Boar” by the locals—sits at the south edge of the Boston metro area. The Flats was north and east, a low-rent area near shipping channels. Industrial, blue collar, and utterly lacking in charm. During the day, the monotony of dismal facades was broken by splashes of washed-out color—laundry hanging out to dry, children’s toys broken and abandoned, potted flowers struggling toward the sun. At night, the entire area was monochromatic. I sat back in the cab and watched the black and white blur into gray.
The trip was pretty much a straight shot down the expressway, and at ten-fifteen on a Monday night, traffic was light I leaned back against the upholstery, trying to ignore the hell and damnation nipping at my toes. After all, it wasn’t like I’d promised not to go to the Flats, right? All I’d said was that I wouldn’t tell Rose what had happened to me.
I’d never once said I wouldn’t watch her.
“Here,” I said, leaning forward and pointing to the next exit off the expressway. “Then a left and a right at the light.” I fed him directions, weaving the cab through the dark streets to the shabby neighborhood that had been my home f
or so many years. “Anywhere’s good,” I said, my eyes on the gray clapboards that covered our nondescript house.
Once upon a time, the gray had been trimmed with bright blue and the yard had been awash with flowers. But that had been a long time ago, when my mother was still alive. Now the yard behind the chain link was dust. Two recycling bins stood like sentries, one on either side of the porch steps, overflowing with whiskey bottles and crunched-up cans of beer. A single planter—now brown and crumbling—remained as the only evidence that the residents had ever tried to bring life into that grim yard.
I’d tended those plants myself—robust lilies and dusty pink roses. Not the typical fare for a container garden, but I hadn’t been aiming for aesthetics. The plants were for me and my sister, something Rose could look at even when I wasn’t home. Something that would remind us both that even if I was away, we would always be together.
I couldn’t offer that reassurance any longer. At least I had the cold knowledge that I’d ended Lucas Johnson to comfort me, but Rose, my sister, had nothing.
I paid the driver and got out of the cab, then stood on the sidewalk until he drove away. The house was dark, and I wasn’t sure what I intended to do. My hubris and determination had fizzled, leaving me feeling unsure, afraid, and just a little bit guilty.
“Get over yourself, Lil,” I whispered. Then I took a deep breath, opened the gate, and marched to the front door. At almost eleven, the neighborhood was quiet. Late, but not late enough to send me walking away, especially because I could see the light and shadows from the television playing behind the frosted glass of the front door.
I lifted my hand, took a breath, then rapped four times on the door. No point ringing the bell—it had been broken for years.
At first, I heard nothing. Then someone crossed in front of the television, temporarily casting the interior of the house in darkness, as well as the porch. I shivered, my skin prickling as I twisted back toward the street, suddenly certain I was being watched. Nothing jumped out from the dark, however, and no creepy golden eyes peered from behind the bushes. If something was waiting out there to drag me down to hell, at least it was polite enough to let me finish my business.
Still unnerved, I turned back to the door, then gasped as it burst open and my stepfather’s weathered face peered out at me.
“Wha?” Joe asked, bathing me in the scent of bourbon, the scent I’d always associated with his failure. Now it seemed like home.
I swallowed, and fisted my hands at my sides, determined not to reach out to him. “I—I—Is Rose home?”
His eyes narrowed, then he moved away, shouting down the hall for my sister as he lumbered back toward the den, never once turning to look at me again.
I fidgeted in the doorway, not sure what to do, but certain a piece of my heart had just shriveled up and died. I almost walked away, afraid I’d made a mistake by coming here, then stopped as my sister stepped into view. Fourteen years old, her skin so sallow she might as well be pushing fifty. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and she moved with a heartbreaking wariness toward the door. The bruises Johnson had once put on her fragile skin might have faded, but my sister was still damaged goods, and that knowledge sat like lead in my gut. She wasn’t healed and happy. Joe hadn’t stepped up to the plate to be a good father.
My sacrifice hadn’t worked any magic in her life.
I told myself it had been only forty-eight hours since I’d gone out to kill Johnson, and that nothing much would have changed in such a short time. I told myself that Rose needed time to get over my death and that Joe needed time to step up to the plate. In a month or two, things would be better around here.
I told myself that, but I didn’t believe it.
“Who’re you?”
“I’m . . . Alice,” I said, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans so I wouldn’t throw my arms around her. I waited until I was certain I could hold back the tears, then added, “I was a friend of your sister’s.”
She cocked her head, the way she did when she was thinking. “I hardly ever met Lily’s friends.”
I cringed, hearing the reproach, wishing I could go back and undo everything I did wrong—including the fact that most of my so-called friends had been shits. Shits who could get me cash, but shits nonetheless.
“She talked about you all the time,” I said, truthfully. “And I wanted to come by now to make sure you’re okay. She’d want to know that you’re doing okay. Are you?”
Her large eyes blinked, and my heart skipped in my chest, so desperate was I for good news. For the assurance that my death had made this world a better place for her. That I’d somehow managed to keep my promise.
Instead, she only shrugged, her eyes as dead as I remembered. I’d wanted a fairy-tale ending, but no matter how much I wished for one, it just wasn’t happening.
Johnson had left his scars, and erasing his presence had not erased them from my sister’s soul. If anything, my death piled on top had made them worse.
The bitter comfort I’d latched onto when I’d learned that he was dead shriveled in my stomach.
From the den, Joe hollered for Rose to shut the door. She started to, not bothering to say good-bye.
“Wait!” I yelped. She paused, and I rattled on. “I—I’ll be at the funeral.”
She stared at me, then nodded. Then the door clicked shut, leaving me standing like an idiot on my own front porch. “Right,” I said, but this time only to myself. I pressed my fingers against the glass and whispered a quick “I love you.” Then I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin, and walked across the beer-can-littered yard toward the street.
I knew I should head back to Alice’s apartment, but before I could do that, I had one more errand. I turned right down the sidewalk, still haunted by the sensation of being watched. I stepped softly, listening for footfalls behind me. I heard none, but twice when I turned quickly, I saw shadows slipping over the sidewalk, disappearing into the trees and sliding down into the sewers. By the time I reached the video store, I was sweating, and my heart was tripping to an unfamiliar rhythm.
The overly bright fluorescent lighting seared my eyeballs as I stepped inside, the posters of a dozen movies staring back at me.
“Help ya?” Jeremy slouched behind the counter, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. I’d never been sure if that was his way of complying with the no-smoking rule, or if it was his way of saying Screw you. With Jeremy, sometimes it’s best not to ask.
“I’m a friend of Lily’s,” I said, taking a Kit Kat bar from a candy display on the counter. “Was, I mean.”
His eyes narrowed, and I could see the wheels in his greasy little head spinning. Jeremy did a nice business illegally copying DVDs, and I got a cut for any customers I shot his way.
I stood there, letting him size me up. More important, letting him wonder if this new chick was there to rat him out. Trust me when I say that it’s a lot easier to get what you want if your mark thinks he’s avoiding something worse by giving in to you.
“So?” he finally asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other so that he teetered behind the counter.
I casually lifted a shoulder as I opened the candy. “No big. I was hoping you could do me a favor.”
“Yeah? What kinda favor?”
“You got some cash on the books you owe Lil, right?”
“Who’re you? Her accountant?”
“If it makes you happy.”
“I don’t owe her shit. I only work here. You gotta talk to Sean.”
“I gotta talk to you, dickwad,” I said. “Cause I’m not talking her piddly-ass minimum-wage paycheck. I’m talking commissions. And she’s got about three seventy-five coming her way.”
He hesitated, and I could see denial on his face. Fortunately, he made the wise choice and didn’t try to go that route. Instead, he tried diversion. “She’s dead. Dead girls don’t need cash.”
“Her sister does,” I said.
“So, like, what? Now y
ou’re social services, too?”
“If it makes you happy. But probably you should think of me as the problem that’s going to be perpetually up your ass. Because I know where you get the vids to copy, and I’m thinking Sean doesn’t have a clue.” I took one long step toward him, so that I was right there, the thin plywood of the counter the only thing separating us. “And I know your customers, too.”
“Bullshit,” he said, but sweat was beading on his forehead.
“She told me, dude. She told me a lot.” I put my hand on the counter, palm up. “So fork over the cash.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, but that was all he said, because I thrust forward and caught him around the scrawny little neck, pulling him toward me until my face was right there in his.
“You listen to me, you little shit. You open up your wallet. You give me what you’ve got. And if it’s not three seventy-five, then you get the rest of the cash to me or to Rose by the end of the week. Otherwise, we’ll have to have another chat. And honestly, I don’t much like talking to you.”
“Feeling’s fucking mutual,” he said, lurching back as I let him go, then smoothing his shirt as he glared at me.
“Now.”
For a second, I thought he was going to hesitate again. And, honestly, I don’t think I would have minded. Because I really was in the mood to kick some ass. But then he got wise and pulled out his wallet. He laid two C-notes on the counter, then followed that up with a fifty, a twenty, and six ones.
“And the rest?”
“I’ll take it to Rose,” he said. “I woulda, anyway. Kid needs a break.”
“Right,” I said. “You’re all about spreading the good feelings and sharing the wealth.”
“Damn straight,” he said. “Not like I had a chance to say nothing with you going all Mojo Bitch on my ass.”
“Rose,” I stressed, deciding to ignore the bitch comment, especially since it seemed rather accurate. “Not her dad.”
“I got it,” he said. “Now, get the hell out of here.”
“Pleasure talking to you, too.” I slid a dollar back toward him. “For the candy.”