Fall in Love

by Anthology

  Frowning, I grabbed the knife off the table where I’d left it beside the computer, then stalked to the front door. I knew it wasn’t Clarence—he wouldn’t bother to knock—and I tried very hard to stifle the tingle of anticipation I felt at the possibility that Deacon stood beyond that door. After all, it could be anyone. Just because I and my demon-killing baggage now occupied the apartment, there’d been no announcement to that effect in the local paper. Which meant that this visitor was most likely calling for Alice. The original Alice.

  I gripped my knife even tighter, realizing that Alice’s killer might be a little perturbed to see her up and walking around. And the crack of dawn seemed like a good time to remedy that little problem.

  Then again, a potential killer probably wouldn’t be polite enough to knock.

  I pressed my face to the peephole, then grimaced when I saw a tall woman with raven-black hair, familiar eyes, and an impatient expression. I’d seen that face before, but it wasn’t until she pounded on the door again, calling out, “Alice! Dammit, open up,” that I recognized her from Alice’s picture and the newspaper article I’d seen.

  This was Rachel. Her—or, rather, my—sister.

  “You are not going to avoid me,” she yelled through the door, loud enough for the neighbors to get an earful. “Ignore me all you want, but I’ve got a key and I’m not afraid to use it.”

  I considered the possible advantage of slipping onto the fire escape, but ruled it out. This was Alice’s sister, and sooner or later, I’d have to deal with her. Might as well do it now.

  One more solid bang and then the rattle of keys. “Okay. I’m coming in.”

  I snapped the lock, turned the doorknob, and pulled the door open, sending Rachel tumbling into the entrance hall, led by her key, now stuck in the lock.

  She glared at me, righted herself, and then yanked the key free. “Could you move any slower?”

  “It’s early, Rach,” I said. “You woke me up.”

  “Rach?” she repeated. “What’s the matter, Al?”

  I managed a weak smile. Apparently this was not a family that was big on nicknames. “It just slipped out.”

  “Slip it back in.” She dropped her purse on the little inlaid-tile table by the door, then moved without preamble toward the kitchen. I lagged behind, taking stock. I recognized the Prada purse right away, and I could tell by the incredibly put-together look that Rachel didn’t have an item of clothing on her that didn’t come complete with a famous name. Alice, I’d noticed, was well put together, but the pieces were mostly discount cute. With Rachel, though, I caught the distinct whiff of money.

  “Are you sleeping in your clothes now?” she asked from the kitchen.

  “Huh?”

  Her brows lifted and she nodded pointedly toward me. I looked down, then realized I was still in jeans and my tank top, the stench of blood on me, if not the stains. It had been one hell of a day. Literally.

  “Nice jammies.”

  “Oh, right. I fell asleep watching television, and, well, you know.”

  “I think I do,” she said, but before I could ask her what she meant by that, she disappeared from view behind the counter, then popped up again with a blender. She plugged it in, gave me an eagle-eyed stare over the breakfast bar, then turned to inspect the contents of my freezer.

  “What are you—”

  “I know you, Alice. And you’re not eating right. I’m making you a smoothie.”

  I was quite ready to argue that I had a pathetically balanced diet when I realized I’d eaten nothing except a few bites of fish and chips in the last twenty-four hours. My stomach chose that moment to growl, Rachel looked at me triumphantly, and I realized two things. One, a smoothie sounded pretty good. And two, I had absolutely no experience in the younger sister role. So far, I had to admit it wasn’t too bad. Invasive, but tolerable.

  “What?” Rachel squinted at me. “What’s wrong?”

  I rubbed my eyes, scrubbing away the tears that had threatened as I thought of Rose. “Nothing. I told you. You woke me up.”

  She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she was too busy scooping out globs of yogurt to call me on it.

  “So what are you doing here at this hour?” A risky question for one so clueless, but I figured I’d take the chance.

  “Can’t a big sister want to pay her baby sister a visit?”

  I cocked my head, hoping I looked either irritated or resigned.

  It worked. “Oh, stop it. I promised I wouldn’t go there again, and I meant it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s a piss-poor idea to start working at that place again.”

  “I know,” I said, then shrugged in a manner that I hoped invited a longer diatribe.

  The deafening whirr of the blender put a kibosh on that hope, and by the time she was pouring smoothies, I could tell she’d worked her way off the subject. With any luck, I could work her back on. Clearly, she hadn’t wanted Alice working at the pub. Did that have something to do with it being a demon magnet? Or was there some other reason?

  My thoughts circled back to Deacon. Had something she’d seen at the pub prompted her to go to Deacon for help?

  I didn’t know, but I needed to find out. Because when you added it all up, Alice had ended up dead. And I needed to figure out why. Not only because I felt like I owed her, but also because I wanted to protect my own new hide.

  “So why are you here?” I repeated when she handed me my smoothie.

  “I was worried, okay? And don’t get all huffy and tell me you’re grown-up and can watch out for yourself because I know how you can be.”

  “How’s that?”

  She shot me the kind of irritated-sister look I well recognized. “And since I have to fly out again this morning for London, I wanted to swing by and check on you. Remind you not to do anything stupid. Or anything more stupid, I guess I should say, since you’ve already gone back to work with Uncle E.”

  “It’s a good job,” I said, hoping to goad her into telling me why it wasn’t. “I make great tips.”

  “A good job? The pub’s always this close to shutting down, and you know as well as I do how Egan manages to get that extra little influx of cash every time.”

  “Yeah,” I said, pretending I did know, and wishing there were an easy way for me to figure it out. This had to have something to do with the hints and whisperings that the pub had connections to the dark arts. But how? More important, how could I ask while at the same time sounding like I knew?

  “Dammit! You promised me you’d stay away from all that dark stuff.”

  I took a sip of smoothie to cover my reaction. Alice wasn’t as pure as she appeared, and I was beginning to think the little dagger tattoo on her breast was more telling than the pink wardrobe. But what exactly had Alice done that had landed her dead and me in her body?

  I shook it off, cleared my face, and forced a smile. “I’m not dark,” I assured her. “Only light here.”

  “Alice . . . ”

  “Sorry. But I’m fine. You’re worrying too much. Or is there something in particular you’re worried about?” Great, Lily. That was subtle.

  “Why do I always get drawn back into this same conversation?” She started to scrub out the blender with a soapy sponge. “You got accepted to Harvard, Alice. You don’t have to work at the pub. You don’t have to slide into the family business. It’s a one-quarter ownership in something you’ve told me over and over that you don’t want. That you were perfectly content to walk away from.”

  “Like you did?”

  Her eyes narrowed, her glare pure fire. I stepped back, surprised by the reaction to what I’d thought was a good question for digging a bit further. Hadn’t realized I was using a pickax. “Don’t be glib,” she said coldly. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered, genuinely contrite.

  Her shoulders slumped and she exhaled loudly through her nose, then slammed the blender in the dish drainer. She dried her hands on a towel, then s
tood there, flailing a bit, as if she were at loose ends without a prop. Finally, she shoved her hands into the pockets of her formfitting jacket.

  “Just promise me you’re being careful rather than stupid.”

  “I promise,” I said, vowing to figure out what exactly Alice had been stupid about.

  “Okay, then.” She moved around the breakfast bar, then pulled me into a hug. I stood there awkwardly for a second, then put my arms around her and sank into the comfort of being loved. By proxy, maybe, but right then I needed it however I could get it.

  When we pulled away, she smoothed my hair back from my face. “I kept my taxi waiting downstairs, so I’ve really got to run. If I miss this flight, I’m completely screwed on the London end of things.”

  I nodded sagely, as if I understood completely why she’d be going to London in the first place.

  “Can you do me a favor? Rick’s popping down to D.C. on Wednesday, which means he can’t watch Lucy and Ethel. I know it’s a pain, but it’s just the one evening. Do you mind? Rick’s not leaving until lunchtime, so you can come late.”

  “Um, sure. No problem.”

  “Really?” I assured her that Lucy and Ethel would be in the best of hands, and was immediately pulled into another hug. “You’re the best.”

  She clicked back to the door in high heels, gave me yet another kiss and hug, checked her hair in the mirror over the table, then disappeared into the hallway.

  I stood in the doorway, watching her go and wondering what I’d gotten myself into. A great big mess, I figured, especially now that I belatedly realized I had no idea where her apartment was. Or, for that matter, where she kept her key.

  Come to think of it, I wasn’t even certain about the genus of Lucy and Ethel. I’d assumed dogs, but for all I knew, I’d be babysitting two hungry Venus flytraps.

  I stepped into the hall, planning to chase after Rachel and ask her . . . what? I stumbled, realizing I couldn’t actually go with that plan. Not and keep my cover story, anyway.

  I was, I thought, going to have to wing it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Here is an unexpected truth: shoving a knife deep into a demon is one hell of a lot easier than tapping a keg. Or maybe it was just me. After all, I’d spent the morning slaying demon after demon, tossing off the ones Zane threw at me like so much rubbish, my confidence growing with each ounce of praise he let leak out. I’d pored for hours over ancient texts, learning about various types of demons, studying more than I had in high school, and doing a pretty good job keeping the basics in my head.

  But now here I was, befuddled by a beer contraption. Honestly, it all made my head spin.

  This was only my second day on the job, but so much had happened to me, I felt like I’d been living this life for weeks. Months.

  Which only underscored my frustration. Considering the time I felt like I’d logged, you’d think I would know how to tap one stupid keg. But no. So there I stood, befuddled in the pub’s basement in front of a long row of kegs tapped by long hoses that led upstairs to terminate behind the bar where Egan happened to be waiting to dispense pints of Guinness to the riot-ready men upstairs. Separate an Irishman from his stout and trouble inevitably follows. That was one of those facts I was fast learning.

  “Problem?”

  I jumped, managing to knock my head on the overhead shelving through which the tubes ran. “Uncle Egan. Hey. I’m—”

  “Dicking around and pissing off the customers?”

  “I just can’t quite get this thing to . . . . . .railed off, gesturing helplessly at the contraption that reminded me of a sci-fi movie prop, the tubes sending goo out to anesthetize the victims.

  “First time I ever seen you fumble down here. Ain’t like it’s brain surgery.” He squinted at me, barely paying attention to the hoses and clips as he handily retapped the keg. “Something on your mind?”

  “No. No, nothing.” I shook my head and managed a wan smile. “Just distracted, I guess.”

  He nodded vaguely, his eyes on me the whole time, as if he were sizing me up. “You got second thoughts about coming back to work here?”

  “Of course not,” I said, wondering if that had, in fact, been part of Alice’s problem.

  “Good, kid. Glad to hear it. You know I love you like a daughter. Rachel, too, even though she’s got too big for her britches. Your mom, though . . . ”

  “What about her?”

  “No way. Uh-uh. We ain’t going there again tonight. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, get your ass upstairs and take care of the customers.”

  I nodded and started scurrying toward the stairs, but stopped when he called my name. “Something else?”

  “Just a sentimental old fool,” he said.

  I stood there, not sure what I was supposed to say to that.

  “When you were little, you used to crawl into my lap. You’d tell me stories—things that had happened to someone else or someone you made up—but I always knew you were talking about you. You needed to get stuff out, and I was the one you shared your secrets with.

  “You told me about the sight,” he continued. “You told me even though it scared you to death. But you knew you could trust me to stay quiet. To help.”

  I licked my lips, not sure what I should say to that, finally deciding that the only thing I could do was take a chance. “I told you when it stopped, too,” I said, then drew in a breath. “And good riddance.”

  But Alice hadn’t told him when the visions had started up again, and I had to wonder why. Why had she run to a demon instead of her uncle, this man who loved her? And why was Rachel worried about what she was getting mixed up in?

  The only answer that made sense was that Alice was getting mixed up in dark stuff, and she was turning away from her family. Not an unfamiliar story, really. But instead of drugs, Alice was dabbling with demons.

  I had to believe that her dabbling had gotten her killed.

  She’d chosen the wrong path, trusted the wrong people.

  And one of the people she’d trusted had been Deacon. Or, at least, she’d trusted him until she’d stood him up. So what had changed? What had she learned that had kept her away? That he was a demon? Or something even more sinister?

  I shuddered, not liking the direction of my thoughts, but unable to dismiss them.

  “Alice,” Egan said gently, his eyes searching mine. “I know things were rough there between us for a while, and it about broke my heart when you run off last year. But, Alice, you came back. And we were talking, and last week, I thought . . . ”

  “What did you think?” I whispered.

  “I thought you were finally treatin’ me like a dad again. Now, though . . . Well, you barely said two words to me since you ran outta here the other night. I don’t know if you got yourself in trouble, or what’s going on. I worry, Alice. That’s all. I worry about you.”

  I’d never known my real father, and even though Joe had been around since I was little, that absence had left a hole in my heart. And now I found myself enveloped in Egan’s arms, my face against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of hops and grease as he patted my back, his touch filled with concern.

  He deserved to know the truth, and I wanted to tell him, but so help me there was a silent, shamed part of me that was glad I had to hold the secret close to my heart. Because it was that secret that let me slide into this life—this family and these friends—and at least have a taste of the world that I’d lost.

  And it was that secret that pressed a new wave of guilt down on me. Because I’d been given a second chance and a new world. But Rose, whom I’d promised to protect, was still lost in the old.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “You fly all the way to Ireland to get that, little girl?” the bear in black asked as I slid the pint of Guinness onto his table.

  I conjured a sweet smile, the kind that ensures a decent tip. “Sorry it took so long.”

  “Sit on my lap, sugar
pie, and I’ll forgive you.”

  “The thing is, sugar pie, I sit on your lap and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. Besides, I don’t fancy a shot of penicillin today.” I turned on my heel as the bear’s companion guffawed and revealed to everyone within earshot exactly where he’d like to see that sassy little mouth of mine. God.

  I kissed my tip good-bye and headed back to the bar, checking on a few tables as I did. Egan was back there again, and I looked at him fondly, happy to have found someone to ground me in this new life. If you wanted to get down to the rough-and-tumble details, I had no more information than I’d had a few moments before. Still clueless, still no idea who killed Alice or why. I’d asked a few questions but had been unable to get any helpful information from Egan. There’s simply no elegant way to ask someone to reveal to you things that you’ve already confessed to them. Gee, Uncle Egan, I’ve lost my memory—what exactly was I worried about last week? wasn’t the approach I wanted to take.

  And so I’d drawn no information from our encounter. Even so, I’d walked away with something valuable, and as he smiled at me now, I felt warm and safe. But I remembered the way Rose’s eyes had looked when she’d peered out the door at me, at Alice. She wasn’t warm and safe, and the nice feeling that had been growing in my stomach shifted toward dark guilt and regret.

  I was working the front section of the pub, Trish taking the tables in the back. Gracie was off today, having called in sick, although Egan had roughly commented that she sounded damn perky on the phone. I’d forced my features to remain bland even as I wondered if today was her interview for the job Alice had lined up for her.

  With only two of us on the floor, we were running ragged. The Bloody Tongue draws the five o’clock blue-collar crowd, and that crowd comes in hungry and thirsty. Someone from the back section called out to me, insisting they needed their cheese fries right then, and I glanced around wildly for Trish.

  She wasn’t on the floor, but after a moment, I saw the kitchen door swing open. She rushed in, looking frazzled, a shaft of light arcing over a two-top tucked into the corner. I gasped as the light hit the face of the man sitting there. Deacon. For a moment, our eyes met, my stomach doing one of those butterfly numbers I remembered from junior high. And, like junior high, I turned and started straightening the salt and vinegar on a nearby table.