Fall in Love

by Anthology

  I nodded, assuring him that I did, and filling my head with children’s songs so he couldn’t see the relief that flooded through me.

  The truth was, the revelation about Deacon had flummoxed me. That he was a demon, I believed. That there was evil inside him, I believed. And perhaps I was being naive, but I didn’t want to believe that was the end of the story. I’d seen the fight inside him—the struggle for good. More than that, I knew that Alice had gone to him. Had trusted him. Had believed that he could—and would—help her.

  Maybe he’d been playing Alice, too. Hell, maybe he’d planted the images in his head so that I’d think he was fighting evil, when in fact he was the very epitome of it.

  Maybe that was why Alice didn’t show. Maybe she’d learned that he was playing her.

  I didn’t know.

  But I couldn’t dismiss him out of hand as easily as Clarence could.

  I needed to poke and prod and learn and see.

  I needed, I thought, to know what made Deacon Camphire tick.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  You haven’t lived until you’ve transported a non-angelic amphibian mentor on the back of your motorcycle. My life, thank God, is now complete.

  Actually, I didn’t mind the trip too much. Talking on a bike is strictly for emergencies only, so I enjoyed a bit of in-my-head time. Or, rather, I enjoyed it once I let my mind wander to complete nontopics. I didn’t think Clarence could hold my waist that tight and mumble in fear while poking around in my mind, but I certainly wasn’t sure.

  So instead of thinking anything important, I thought about nothing. About the quiet Boston night, and the chill in the air, and the wind on my face. A world of possibility and purpose had opened to me, and I felt free and happy.

  At least, I felt happy for a moment. Then the guilt set in. A new world was opening up to me, but Rose was stuck in the same shit-hole, only now her sister was dead. I’d tried to protect her like I’d promised, but I’d done a piss-poor job of it. The only thing better about her sitch was that Johnson couldn’t hurt her anymore. But his death hadn’t really saved her. It had only kept him from damaging her more. I had seen that much just by looking in her eyes.

  My guilt was all the more pronounced because even though I cried for Rose, I couldn’t shake the giddiness that came from this feeling that I belonged. That I’d finally found a calling and all my past fuckups were about to become ancient history.

  The gig was dangerous, sure. But it was important. And despite the fact that it was scary as hell, it felt good to be me right then, even in someone else’s body.

  Good enough to bring on heaping shovelsful of guilt.

  “Turn here,” Clarence said, as I slowed at a blinking red light I followed his directions around twists and turns, until we finally parked my bike in a dim alley. I looked around at the Dumpsters overflowing with bits of rotten food and other odoriferous things, and wondered why we were in such a grim place.

  “Time to get you ready,” Clarence said, turning away and then walking deeper into the alley. Fetid water pooled in potholes, the surface still and oily. The smell of mold and fecal waste hung between the brick walls, and I followed carefully, hoping to avoid the actual source of the stench.

  My heart pounded as I picked my way carefully around the refuse. Not in trepidation, but in anticipation. I’d been in similar conditions mere hours before, and considering the odd circumstances of my new life, I fully expected another beast to leap at us from the shadows.

  Clarence hurried down a darkened street, then turned down another alley that was, remarkably, even filthier than the last. I picked my way around the piles of trash, debris, and biological refuse, trying very hard not to breathe in the process.

  He moved quickly, stepping around a pile of something slightly green and highly rancid as he moved closer to a steel door. He slid aside a metal plate to reveal an illuminated keypad. “And here we are.”

  “High tech,” I said.

  “You expected the door would open by virtue of a miracle? Our battle may be celestial, but our resources are state of the art.”

  He punched in a code, and the thick door swung silently inward, revealing a pitch-black hallway. “Shall we?”

  Reluctantly, I followed him over the threshold. What little light accompanied us in from the alley was snuffed out with the thunk of the door shutting behind us. The air around us lay still and stale, the lack of even the slightest breeze accentuating the claustrophobic conditions. I swallowed, my skin suddenly clammy as the memory of the last time I’d awakened in pitch black settled over me.

  Perhaps I wasn’t as ready as I thought—I heard Clarence in front of me, then heard the metallic clang of a breaker switch being thrown. Above us, a bay of fluorescent lights twinkled on and a fan at the far end of the hallway whirred to life, stirring the air and fanning away a few of my trepidations. Graffiti adorned the walls of the narrow hallway, but the filth and stench of the alley remained outside.

  We moved down the long hall, our steps echoing off the concrete walls and floors. Soon, the glare of fluorescents gave way to the dim light of yellow bulbs mounted at intervals along the walls. We continued through puddles of jaundiced light, turning, then turning again as we thrust deeper and deeper into the labyrinth.

  At last, we reached an ancient elevator door, I leaned close, my hands clutching the mesh of metal as I looked down the shaft that seemed to end in darkness. The cable hung in front of us, seeming quite inadequate for the job it was required to perform.

  “You were saying about high tech?”

  Clarence shrugged, a broad Gallic gesture. “Eh. Renovations. Who has the time?”

  I was tempted to point out that God did. Now, however, hardly seemed the time for jokes.

  “Good decision.”

  “You really have to stop doing that.”

  “Then you need to quit thinking so loud.”

  I frowned, but he only chuckled, then pointed to yet another access device hidden beneath a metal plate. “Your turn,” he said.

  I calmed my jangling nerves, then pressed my hand against the cool glass. A biometric scanner did its thing, and after a brief whirr and click, the tiny metal room began to rise from the pit, finally coming into view, then clanking to a stop in front of us. Clarence took the initiative and pulled open the gate. He stepped to one side and gestured broadly. “Ladies first.”

  I drew in a breath, looked upward toward the flimsy cable, and stepped inside.

  God was on my side, right? At least, he was for now.

  The elevator was controlled by an ancient dial mechanism, and Clarence took the helm, shifting the stick downward from 1 to B3. The car jerked, and immediately we started our descent, the world—or at least the building—moving vertically in front of us, like a dull filmstrip from second grade.

  Despite the high-tech entry procedures, there was nothing spectacular about the building. The floors we passed were abandoned, but clean, the debris at the entrance little more than camouflage. But there was no stained glass, no statuary. Nothing to suggest there was anything holy about the place. Instead, it was like a bunker, and I hugged my arms tight around me, feeling more out of place with each foot we descended into the bowels of the building.

  Though it seemed to take forever, the elevator finally creaked to a stop. I didn’t have to ask Clarence if we’d reached our destination; I could see clearly enough that we had. A raised platform, like a boxing ring, stood dead center in the massive room. Around it, various training accoutrements—a punching bag, an exercise bike, a weight bench. Were it not for the mace, the broadsword, and other various medieval-style weapons mounted on the wall behind the ring, the place would have reminded me of the cheap gym Joe had gone to before my mother died.

  The smell reminded me of my childhood, the tang of old sweat and leather. A hard wave of regret tugged at my heart, and I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting a longing so intense I thought my knees would buckle.

  I took a breath, forcing my
self to concentrate, to focus. My old life was gone. And if I wanted to keep whatever tenuous hold I had over this new existence, I needed to focus. I needed to fight—both myself and the demons that made the earth a living hell.

  “No rest for the weary, huh?” I asked Clarence, with a brief nod to the setup.

  He’d been watching me, his expression unreadable, and I wondered if he’d seen my memories, if he’d felt my loss. I didn’t ask, and after a moment, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Are you tired?”

  I considered the question, and realized that I wasn’t. Not at all.

  “I didn’t think so,” he said. “You might crave a nap, but you don’t actually need it. Not any longer. Not unless you get banged up pretty bad.”

  My brows lifted in surprise. “Really?”

  “Sleep is comfort, a luxury. What your body needs and what it wants are two entirely different things,” Clarence said. “Isn’t that right, Zane?”

  I turned, startled, and saw a man approaching from the shadows. I hadn’t noticed him before, which suggested that he’d come in through a side door. Because this was not a man that I would have overlooked. Not in a million years.

  His chest caught my attention first. Bare, with only a smattering of hair, his cafe au lait skin seemed to glisten in the minimal lighting. That perfect chest narrowed as his abs approached the gray fleece of sweatpants. They rode low on his hips, and I couldn’t help but notice the thin line of hair pointing down like an arrow to what was hidden below.

  I swallowed as he moved toward me, my eyes drawn to the bulge at the apex of his thighs. I forced my gaze to continue on its merry way, dancing down one of those exceptional legs until I found a leather thigh holster that sheathed a knife capable of gutting an elephant.

  I drew in a shaky breath, remembering why I was there, then mentally backtracked, examining not his body but the face and eyes that were focused on me. Rugged, I saw, with a strong jaw and penetrating green eyes. His head was shaven, and the single diamond stud he wore in his left ear twinkled as he moved silently on bare feet.

  A cat, I thought, then immediately amended. Cats suggest feminism, and there was nothing female about this man. I could practically smell the testosterone, and every female part of me was reacting accordingly.

  He carried himself tall, like a soldier, his muscles so tight I believed he could have tossed a pickup truck across the room.

  He stopped his advance right in front of me, eyes skimming down from my head to my feet and then back up again with an intensity that sent my already primed female parts spinning. To say I liked the sensation would be the understatement of the year. But somewhere, from the depths of a swirling sensual haze, a touch of sanity poked through. This isn’t me. I didn’t get all gooey for every attractive man I met. Was this Alice? Was it something about him? Or had my new circumstances brought me unexpected delights as well as unwanted dangers?

  “Isn’t what right?” the man called Zane asked, his words directed over my head to Clarence. Reluctantly, I left lust behind, realizing that though I’d been basking in this man for what felt like an eternity, in reality he’d crossed the room in mere seconds. Now, of course, he was answering Clarence’s question—a question about which I’d already forgotten.

  “Our Lily,” Clarence said helpfully. “I was explaining that there are some things her body craves, but only a few things it actually needs.”

  The man took a step closer to me, those cat eyes taking in every inch of me.

  Cravings. Oh, yes. I understood all about cravings.

  I clenched my muscles, forcing myself not to look away, to keep my breathing under control despite the way my blood burned in the wake of his gaze, as if he’d reached out and stroked me, his fingertips skipping red-hot over my skin.

  “Oui, ma chérie,” he said, the Cajun cadence thick in his voice. “But do not pay too much heed to this old fool.” He bent forward so that his face was near mine, his breath soft on my ear as he whispered, “You are alive, are you not? And sometimes, living is as much about the want as the need.”

  I swallowed, which represented about as much physical control as I had at the moment.

  Zane caught Clarence’s eye. “She is exceptional in many respects. You are certain she is the one?”

  The lusty haze that had settled over me began to dissipate. It was one thing to be the intense object of Zane’s attention. It was another thing entirely to be under such scrutiny for practical rather than prurient reasons.

  “I am certain,” Clarence said. “She wouldn’t still be with us if I were wrong, would she?”

  “I hope you are right,” Zane said, his voice almost wistful.

  “Who are you?”

  “I will be teaching you many, many things,” he assured me.

  I turned stupidly toward Clarence. “But I thought—”

  “I’m your main man, pet, but take a look at him. Who do you want honing your fighting skills? Him, or me?”

  “Right.” I wiped damp palms on my jeans. “Great.”

  “Where do you want to begin?” Clarence asked.

  “She prevailed against the Grykon?”

  “Eventually. In their first encounter she failed to terminate the creature. I’m happy to say that she rectified that mistake a few hours ago.” He scowled a bit. “And then some.”

  “She must learn not to hesitate. There is no room for error, no room for pity. Hesitation is an invitation, and the enemy has already claimed too many victories.”

  “She is standing right here,” I said.

  “So you are, ma fleur,” Zane said. “Standing proud and battle-scarred.”

  I winced, certain he knew about the slice on my arm, even though there was no way he could have seen it, hidden as it was under both a sweatshirt and my duster.

  “Your coat,” he said, nodding to a bench. “And the overshirt.”

  I grimaced, then peeled off the garments, leaving me clad in jeans and my tank top.

  “I see,” he murmured, his eyes trained on the wound that now marred Alice’s arm, courtesy of the Grykon.

  “You heal faster now, Lily, and most wounds will fade by morning. This, though,” he said, brushing his finger down my arm. “This was rendered with poison.”

  I rolled my shoulders, determined not to reveal any regret. “I’m a warrior, right? Now I look like one.”

  “I think we would rather you blend in. And I know that I do not wish to see you either dead or injured.”

  “Too late for that,” I countered. “On both counts.”

  His lips twitched in amusement, but that didn’t catch my attention nearly as much as what he was doing with his knife. He sliced the tips of his fingers, and then he stepped in closer to me, his eyes dark and serious as he traced that finger down the length of the wound. There was no need for me to ask what he was doing—I could feel my skin knit in the wake of his touch.

  “How—”

  But he pressed a finger to his lips and shook his head. “It is a gift, ma chérie. From me to you.”

  “Then I’ll only say thank you.”

  He inclined his head. “This creature who wounded you,” he began. “He had the chance only because you let him live when you first encountered him in the ceremonial chamber?”

  “Well, technically.” I said.

  “And why did you not kill the creature when you awakened?”

  “I had no idea what was going on then. I was trapped. I was terrified.”

  My skin prickled as I remembered the shock of waking up, of seeing that beast enter the room and bear down on me. “We fought, and I managed to lay it out with a candlestick. After that, I ran.”

  “Escape is not your mission.”

  “I didn’t know I had a mission,” I snapped back.

  “Your mind must be firmly in the moment,” he continued, as if I hadn’t said a thing. “Firmly on the goal.”

  “And that goal is?”

  “You must kill, Lily. You must complete each mission,
without exception. This is a take-no-prisoners war, and the only way to prevail is to win. Kill,” he said. “Or be killed.” He fixed me with a hard look. “Do you understand?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. Because right now, your mission is to kill that demon.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I turned sharply in the direction he pointed, and saw that a portion of the floor had opened up to allow the rise of a steel cage on a hydraulic platform. But where I expected to see a another Hell Beast with long teeth and cold, scaly skin, all I saw was a young girl. About sixteen, with a thick black collar around her neck. And when she lifted her eyes to mine, I swear it was Rose who stared out at me.

  I drew in a breath. “That’s not a—She can’t be a demon—”

  “She can,” Zane assured me. “And she is.”

  “But—but—Where? How? You have a stash of demons tucked away for—”

  I cut myself off. From the look on both their faces it was easy to see that was exactly what they had. A little demon collection, all hidden away, ready to be dragged out for training purposes.

  I swallowed, not sure if I was disgusted by the reality or impressed that the training was so damn serious.

  Zane was apparently oblivious to my mental meanderings. He held a small black device with a number of buttons. Now he pushed one, and the front panel of the cage descended into the floor, leaving three sides surrounding the wary teenager, looking ultra Goth in black with spiky silver jewelry.

  Beside me, Clarence pulled a notepad and pen from his interior jacket pocket. “I’ll be evaluating your performance, of course,” he said. “Try not to be nervous.”

  “Nervous,” I squeaked, gesturing toward the girl, who remained crouched on her haunches, unmoving, looking up at me. “This is insane.”

  “If that’s the way you feel, ma fleur, you have failed already.” He reached down and pulled a ten-inch blade from his sheath. He handed it to me, the blade landing cold and deadly in my palm, the blue stone on the hilt sparkling under the harsh light.