Fall in Love

by Anthology

  Just like her big sister.

  I wanted to help her, but I didn’t know how. Not if sliding into her life would put her in danger. And the knowledge that I could do nothing but watch left me feeling sad and impotent.

  As I stood there, she glided toward the door, then paused, almost as if she could feel my eyes on her. She turned in my direction. I saw her forehead crinkle in recognition, and my heart skipped a beat before I remembered that it was Alice she now recognized as the woman who’d come boldly to her door. To Rose, Lily was gone forever.

  I managed to hold it together as she pulled the door open and disappeared inside. Then the tears started. Hot tears that poured down my cheeks and racked my body with sobs.

  A few stragglers from the bus looked my way, curious. But I wasn’t inclined to be inspected like a bug in a glass. Not now. Not with my heart breaking into tiny pieces. Rose existed as nothing more than a hollow shell.

  For that matter, so did Lily Carlyle.

  I wandered aimlessly, lost in a funk, letting my feet take me where they would.

  They stopped six blocks from my old house near the small Catholic Church we used to attend on Christmas Eve. My mom had never pushed us toward a particular faith, but I had believed in God. I’d had faith in the world, in the knowledge that good would win over evil, and in the certainty that God was looking out for us.

  I’d lost that faith when I’d lost my mother, and I realized now what a void that had left in my life.

  Standing here now, by the little church, I thought of my mom and the way she brought us here on Christmas. Joe never came, but my mother brought Rose and me, and we sat in the balcony. I could remember the weight of boredom as we sat there, waiting for the service to begin. And then the choir would sing, and it felt like their voices were lifting me up toward heaven.

  I needed that lift now. That spark of humanity reaching for something divine. So far, the heavenly creatures I’d met had a baser quality. A burning practicality I never would have expected, but that I had to admit I understood. Having looked into Rose’s eyes, I think I understood the spartan nature of the mission more than ever: eradicate evil. In all facets, in all forms. Take it out, no matter what the consequences, no matter whose soul was tainted in the process.

  Cut out the evil, and clear the way for good to ride back in, tall and proud and victorious.

  Without thinking, I crossed the street to the white stone church, my head tilted back as I looked at the spire that rose like an arrow pointing the way to heaven. Before I even realized I’d stepped into the street, I reached the door, my hand closing on the solid brass handle. I pulled it open and breathed deep of the scent of oil and wax, with just a hint of spice underneath.

  I stepped inside and found myself in a foyer with another door facing me. I hesitated only a moment, then closed the distance, passing through another set of double doors and into the sanctuary.

  A few people knelt in prayer, rosary beads held tight. No one turned to question me, and so I stood for a moment hugging myself, trying to get straight, to figure out what I needed and how I could find it here.

  Along one wall, I saw an altar with dozens of white candles in red votive containers. Intrigued, I walked there, then let my hand drift over the flickering flames, letting the heat dance on my palm and the warmth seep through me.

  “Are you okay?”

  I jumped, then turned to find myself facing a young man in a priest’s robes.

  “Would you like to light a candle?”

  I yanked my hand back as if the flame had burned, then shook my head, an inexplicable sense of guilt wafting over me.

  “I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “You’re very welcome here.”

  “No. I mean, I know. I—” I couldn’t get the words out, because they’d been blocked by an epiphany: I’d become the job. A killer. A tool. But it wasn’t a job Lily could do, and hanging on to her would get me killed. It was what Clarence had said: I had to let her go. She was dead already, after all. I had to let the old Lily go and find the new woman underneath. A fighter. A killer. Someone who could stand up against evil and not even flinch. Who could take it in and smother it, burying it deep inside her soul.

  A woman who understood the cost that had to be paid for the ultimate gain.

  The one, Clarence had said. She was in me somewhere.

  And now it was time for me to coax her out. To sacrifice the last remnants of Lily and welcome home the killer within. Welcome her, use her, and finish this.

  Defeat the demons, seal the gate to hell, and protect the innocent.

  Do that, and Rose really would be safe.

  Do that, and I would have finally kept my promise.

  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 wouldn’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.”

  “A what?”

  But she only smiled. “It is difficult, what you do. Being two people.” I gasped, but she didn’t slow. “That will change with time, too, and you will be only one.”

  I pushed up out of my chair. “I’m sorry. I should go.” I brushed past her. “I’m not even sure why I came here.”

  “Ah, but I am. You wish to know if you are doing the right thing. The right thing, for the right reasons.”

  I stopped, my hand on the door, then turned back to face her. “Am I?”

  She shrugged. “These questions of what is right and what is wrong. Of what is good and what is evil. They are not black and white. And sometimes we make the wrong choice for the right reason.”

  “And my choices? Are they wrong?”

  The lines in her face deepened with her smile. “My dear. Only time can tell you that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I can’t say I was thrilled by the discovery of Clarence sitting on a portable stool in front of my door. I’d spent the last two hours lying facedown on a tattoo table, an experience that was both painful and surprisingly relaxing. I’d de-stressed, pondered my problems, and now all I wanted to do was veg with mindless television.

  Alas, that wasn’t to be.

  “You over it? Centered? Got your chakras all lined up nice and neat?”

  I stared down at him. “If you mean am I feeling better, then yes. Thanks so much for asking.” I considered sharing the meandering path my mind had taken me on that night, but I wasn’t really in the mood. If he wanted to know, he could tug it out of my head himself.

  He shrugged, then stood up, folded the stool, and hoisted it under his arm. Then he barged past me, leaving the stool propped up against the hall table. I cringed, certain the aluminum would scratch the finish. Just in case, I moved it aside and rubbed my finger over the wood. Still pristine.

  By the time I draped my coat on the rack and made it into the living room, Clarence was already rummaging in the fridge. “Getting pretty thin in here. You can’t find time to schlep down to a grocery store?”

  “You been sitting outside my door for how long? You can’t walk to the laundry room and buy yourself a Diet Coke?”

  “They don’t got what I want in the laundry room,” he said, rummaging around until he came up with a beer. “Ha! Always check the vegetable crisper.” He popped the lid and chugged. Then he belched and sighed. Nice.

  I shoved past him to open the refrigerator door myself. Because I wasn’t inclined to have beer for breakfast, I grabbed a bottle of water. He was right about one thing—somewhere between training, waitressing, and visiting my past, I needed to add a trip to the grocery store to the agenda.

  “So what were you doing waiting in the hall?” I asked, once we were both comfortably settled in the living room, me on the sofa with my feet on the coffee table and him in an overstuffed armchair that gripped him like an enthusiastic lover.

  “Working up a thirst,” he said, then raised the bottle to his lips to prove the point.

  My reaction might well be considered gloating, but I couldn’t help it. I finally got it—he wasn’t allowed to come into the apartment uninvited anymore. I’d passed the test. I’d proved I really was Prophecy Girl, and that meant that my place was mine.

  “You can’t come in anymore,” I sang, holding off on going so far as to hum the “Hallelujah Chorus.” “It’s my place now. Not a loaner. Mine.”

  “Don’t get too cocky. I’m still your boss.” But I swear I saw a smile when he said it.

  “Mine, mine, mine.” I knew I’d crossed the line into irritating, but I couldn’t help it. I’d actually accomplished something in this freakish new life. I’d passed a test and made headway. And that my friends, was sweet.

  “Does this mean my head is off-limits, too?”

  “Heh. You gonna give me grief about that? Not like you haven’t figured out ways to keep me out,” he said, then started humming a bar from “Conjunction Junction.
”

  I blushed, which pissed me off. “It’s my head. You shouldn’t be allowed in without permission.” I cranked up a rousing chorus from Schoolhouse Rock and reminded myself of what Madame Parrish had told me: a Secret Keeper. Whatever that was, I needed to find one.

  Clarence swallowed a mouthful of beer, then shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’m getting into your head less and less. The song thing and . . . ” He trailed off with a shrug, then took a long pull on his beer.

  I narrowed my eyes, my antennae going up. “What? You can’t get into my head as easily anymore? Why?”

  He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, because right then I knew. I knew, and it sickened me.

  Clarence couldn’t get inside a demon’s head.

  And I was absorbing demonic essence. Every time I killed with a blade, I was becoming more and more demonic. Less me. Less human.

  Dear God.

  I sank onto the couch, then pressed my fingertips to my temples.

  “Eh, don’t get your panties in a wad. You’re safe. I still got a line into your head.”

  I looked up at him. “But I’m right. It’s exactly what I was saying at Zane’s. The demons I kill—they’re changing me.”

  “Kid, you changed the minute you ended up in Alice’s body. Don’t split hairs. You’re here doing a job.”

  “But—”

  “Dammit, girl. Didn’t we already tell you? You can handle this; otherwise you wouldn’t be who you are. You tuck it away. You don’t let it turn you. You use it. Use the demon inside for good and you’ve got yourself some damn sweet poetic justice. Capisce?”

  I considered what he was saying and had to admit that despite his typically irritating way of saying it, my froggy friend had a point. Take the demon in. Twist it around. Use the strength and essence to take out more demons. In with the bad air, out with the good. Sort of like money laundering for demonic essence.