Fall in Love

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Fall in Love Page 207

by Anthology


  He opened the pantry and shoved things aside, peering at all the shelves. “So?”

  “Huh?” It was the best I could manage.

  “Keep up, Lily. Now we’re moving on to the official debriefing. The poison. The guy who shot you. You wanna give me the lowdown or not?”

  “I—yeah. Sure.” I frowned. “Didn’t Zane already tell you?”

  “The basics. Now you tell me.”

  I did. Running him through the entire mission. “So how did they know I was there?”

  “That’s the question, ain’t it? And we may not ever learn the answer. Coulda been a guard. Coulda been someone lying in wait to take you out. Someone who doesn’t want you around.”

  “Who?”

  “Dunno,” he said, but I had a feeling he had a suspect in mind. “And we don’t need to know. Right now, we just need to do the job. Time’s running out. Gotta focus. Next time they won’t Call the Box until the last minute. Right before the ceremony, maybe even during it. Whole thing’ll be one hell of a lot harder.”

  “Great.”

  He slammed the refrigerator door shut in disgust, then started rummaging through the cabinets, finally coming away with a battered box of Hostess Twinkies. I snagged one, then ripped it open and took a bite of the preservative-heavy confection. “Why would anyone eat this?” I asked.

  “If it ain’t your taste, you don’t have to,” Clarence said, looking a bit bemused. “You only got her body, not her personality. Not her taste in food. And you don’t even really got her life.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That’s been eating at me.”

  “Come again?”

  I rubbed my temples. “I still want to know about Alice. I need to know.”

  He blinked amphibian eyes. “Alice? Why?”

  “What do you mean, why? Because I’m living inside her, and I don’t know enough about her. She’s the vessel, right? The vessel I’m stuck inside?”

  “Come on, kid. We got bigger things to worry about.”

  “I can worry about both. Whoever killed Alice is a risk to me. To this body. They try to take Alice out again, they could fuck up the mission.”

  He stared me down, clearly not believing that my motive was purely mission-oriented.

  “Or maybe I just need to know.”

  “Drop it, pet. Trust me. On that path lies madness.”

  I lifted my brows, and he shrugged.

  “Maybe not madness, but frustration. What does it matter what the girl was like?”

  “I’m trying to fake a life, here. Do you really want me wasting time trying to figure this out on my own? Time I could spend training or whacking demons?”

  “Whacking?”

  “Dammit Clarence! Just tell me.”

  “Okay, okay.” He moved the sofa and settled in. “Alice 101, here we go. Dad died of cancer. Mom fell down some stairs about five years ago. She was Egan’s sister, by the way. Left her share of the bar to Alice and Rachel.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yup. You’re a proud owner of one-quarter of the place. Apparently you come into it when you’re thirty. Until then, Egan runs the bar, and your cut goes into trust.” He shrugged. “Ain’t no story there, pet. Not one worth telling anyway.”

  “It’s a start,” I said. “But I want more than just the surface stuff. Like what do you know about the Bloody Tongue? About how it fits in?”

  He turned curious eyes on me. “Fits in to what?”

  “Rachel’s annoyed with me. With Alice. Said I shouldn’t have gone back to the bar. That I shouldn’t have gotten in with all that dark stuff again.”

  “Dark stuff?”

  “The pub, I presume. It’s got a rep. All the way back to witch trial days. And before, probably.”

  “Yeah, it’s got a rep, all right,” he said. “I don’t know much more than what you get on that Haunted Boston tour, but I do know that Alice’s parents dabbled in the dark arts. Her mother, primarily.”

  “Egan mentioned not getting along with his sister.”

  “There you go.”

  “Where?”

  “Rachel musta thought Alice was gonna follow in Mom’s footsteps. And if Alice was hanging with Deacon Camphire, that was a damn good bet.”

  “Deacon?” I was so surprised, I forgot to sing in my head, a little faux pas I immediately rectified.

  “You said he was there your first night, right? Maybe he was trying to make Alice embrace her mother’s beliefs. Persuade her to follow in Mommy’s footsteps with him. Explore that dark world.”

  I shook my head, emphatic. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, looking away, afraid he’d read the truth in my eyes even before he plucked it from my head, “I—”

  “And when she refused, that’s when he did it.”

  My head snapped up. “Did what?”

  “Killed her, of course.”

  All the blood drained from my body, and I stood there, frozen and desperate. “What?” I asked, barely managing to force the word out.

  “My sources tell me that Deacon Camphire killed Alice. I told you, Lily. He’s a bad one.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “No,” I said firmly. “No. That can’t be right.”

  Clarence cocked his head, examining me, his expression wary. “You got some special insight into the beast?”

  “I—no. But he saved me. That first night at the pub. He swooped in and saved me—saved Alice—from the Grykon. If he wanted me dead, why would he do that?”

  “Maybe because he knows that you’re more than meets the eye now. Maybe because he saw an opportunity to get close to you and learn what you’re up to. What you want. Who you’re working for.”

  “No.” I latched hard onto denial, clinging to it like a life raft and shouting out children’s songs in my head. I wanted to process this tidbit on my own, without amphibian interference. “It doesn’t make sense,” I said. “How do you know this? Who’s your source?”

  “I got ears all over this town, kid. All over the world. Trust me when I say that I put stock in this tipster’s info.”

  “Oh.”

  He examined my face. “Something you want to share, kid?”

  “No. I’m just surprised. It doesn’t feel like it fits.” I turned away from him and walked to the window, wanting a smidgeon of privacy for my thoughts. Because I was surprised. Deacon killing Alice didn’t fit the puzzle pieces I had in my head. If he’d killed her, wouldn’t he have been surprised to see her alive and kicking? Would he have tried to save me?

  Then again, maybe he had not only killed Alice, but had known that someone would be coming along to slip inside the body.

  But that made sense only if he was in line with Clarence and company, and he so definitely wasn’t.

  I turned up the volume on my inner Schoolhouse Rock serenade as I turned the problem over. Maybe the bad guys knew that a warrior was coming, and Deacon was supposed to stop it. But if that were the case, then wouldn’t he be trying to kill me rather than save me?

  I frowned, wondering about the times I’d almost died. Outside the Caller’s house. In the alley behind the bar, only moments after Deacon left me.

  I released a shaky breath. Maybe he had tried to take me out.

  Except that didn’t feel right. Trouble was, where Deacon was concerned, I wasn’t certain I could trust my own objectivity.

  “Quit singing ‘Conjunction Junction’ and give it up,” Clarence said, making me jump. “He’s a demon. What do you expect? Demons lie. It comes with the job description.” He dropped to the sofa and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. “Rest. Meditate. Don’t have a beer, since you haven’t bothered with a grocery run. But relax. You got work at the pub today, and you need to go. Stay normal. Stay busy. But when your shift ends, you go straight to Zane and train. From now on, that’s what you do in your spare time. You got that?”

  I assured him I did, and after he left, I wandered aimles
sly through the apartment, trying to get my head around Clarence’s revelation that Deacon had killed Alice. Could it be true? Was he really playing me for a fool?

  I didn’t want to believe it, but I couldn’t deny the timing of the attack in the alley. Deacon had essentially told me he was dangerous, and only moments later, I’d died.

  That was one hell of a coincidence.

  But he’d picked the wrong woman to play games with. He’d gotten past my defenses and under my skin, and damned if I didn’t want to make him pay.

  How convenient that fate had given me the tools to make that dream come true. I could end the son of a bitch, and I could do it for revenge and in the name of God.

  How sweet was that?

  Trouble was, it didn’t feel sweet at all. It felt bitter. Bitter and cold and wrong.

  Not for the first time, I had to wonder if I wasn’t all wrong for this job. What kind of prophecy hung the fate of the world on the shoulders of a girl like me? A fucked-up one, that was for damn sure.

  My mishmash of thoughts irritated me, reminding me of just how much I didn’t want Clarence to continue seeing inside my head. That meant I had two choices. I could quit trying to compartmentalize the demonic essence I took in, or I could look for this Secret Keeper that Madame Parrish had told me about. Because option number one was unacceptable, I went for door number two.

  As far as I knew, a Secret Keeper was something you bought at Target, so I tried the Internet first, punching in a broad search request. When that yielded a million entirely irrelevant results, I went hog wild and added “demon” to the request.

  Amazingly enough, I got a decent hit. A character in one of those role-playing games. A creature known as a Secret Keeper. I poked around and found out that in the game, the demon took in secrets from other players, shielding the secrets from the giving player’s enemies. Interesting.

  I did a few more searches, but found nothing else. Figuring that fiction often imitated life, I moved from the computer to an ancient, battered text that Clarence had given me. There was no convenient index, but I flipped pages, skimming the calligraphy-style text and getting more and more discouraged until, finally, my eyes caught the word secret as I was about to flip a page. I stopped, read the text carefully, then smiled broadly.

  I’d found my man. Or, rather, my creature. An Alash-tijard. Not a demon itself, but a demon’s servant.

  And to be fair, I hadn’t found him; I’d only identified him.

  But it was the first step. Because once I located one, I could kill it. And once I’d done that, I’d be a Secret Keeper, too.

  And there was no way Clarence would get into my head then.

  The thought made my smile even broader. Clarence might be my handler, and he might be one of the good guys, but I definitely didn’t like him in my head. And the knowledge that there was a way to keep him out that didn’t involve me losing my humanity went a long way to improving my mood.

  I decided to celebrate with another preservative-laden Twinkie, and as I headed back to the kitchen, I noticed that the message light on the phone was blinking. I punched the button to play, more for the distraction than because I cared. There were eleven messages, the first making my stomach twist with guilt. Gracie. Her frantic voice sounded choked with tears, and I wanted to kick myself for not thinking about her. Of course she’d be worried. Even though it seemed like a hundred years ago, it had been only a day, and because Wednesday had been my day off at the pub, I hadn’t seen her to reassure her. All she knew was that I’d been in a fight Tuesday night, I’d been freaked about my missing attackers, and then I’d raced the hell out of there.

  I glanced at the clock, wanting to call and let her know I was okay, but not willing to do that at almost two in the morning. I told myself she’d be just as relieved to learn I was okay at a reasonable hour, and that there was no point in waking her up. And the truth was that although I hated that I’d worried her, the fact that there was someone in this new life who did worry about me made me all warm and fuzzy.

  The next message was from Brian, also worried, but not as tearful as Gracie’s call. I smiled a little, sorry I’d worried them, but enjoying the warm feeling of having people who cared.

  After Brian came a hang-up, and the two after were from Clarence, looking for me after the mission. Obviously, he had both talked to Zane and found me, so I deleted them.

  After that, one more hang-up.

  I frowned, wondering if Alice was plagued by telemarketers, or if the hang-ups were something more nefarious. In a sudden burst of technical savvy, it occurred to me to check the phone log, and as soon as I did, my stomach clenched. I knew that number.

  My number.

  Rose’s number.

  With a shaking hand, I put the phone down, remembering how I’d called just to hear her voice. She must have checked caller ID, too. And she’d decided to call back, curious. And, possibly, a little scared. Why wouldn’t she be? She’d been stalked by Lucas Johnson, hadn’t she? And now I’d put that fear back into her. Me, the girl who’d gone to the mat to try to protect her.

  It was fucked up. All the more so because I couldn’t tell her who I really was, and I couldn’t really befriend her. Not if I wanted to keep her safe. But I could call her back. I could at least call as Alice and fess up to the earlier call. I could explain that I’d been looking out for her. That Lily would have wanted me to.

  The plan made me feel somewhat better, and I headed toward the bedroom, figuring that snuggling under the covers with a magazine was just the ticket. I never got the chance, though, because it struck me anew that it was early Thursday morning. Otherwise known as late Wednesday night for those of us not yet in bed (or who no longer needed to bother with going to bed).

  And I had a commitment for late Wednesday.

  I had an appointment with Lucy and Ethel.

  Damn.

  I changed clothes—the ones I’d been wearing were in tatters, anyway—then rummaged in Alice’s drawers until I finally found an address book with Rachel’s phone number and address. No key taped conveniently in place, but on my way out the door, I thought to open the tiny drawer in that little tiled table. Five keys, each with neatly labeled tags: Spare, Pub Bk Dr, Laundry Room, Noah, and Rachel.

  Thank you, Alice.

  Fortunately for my mood, Lucy and Ethel were indeed dogs and not plants or fish. They were so excited to see me that I felt a twinge of guilt for the irritation I’d felt during the ride over, being much more inclined to sleep and brood than to play babysitter to the pets. Still, after the day I’d had, I needed some TLC, and who better to provide some anonymous comfort than a couple of fuzzy, squirmy muttlings.

  The muttness of the dogs actually surprised me. Rachel struck me as the blue-blood type. The kind who would enter her dog in a show and then down a martini or three if she didn’t get a ribbon. Or if she did, for that matter.

  Apparently my assessment skills weren’t up to par, because her apartment didn’t reflect nearly the level of snobbery that her clothing suggested. Or, perhaps I was a reverse snob, making assumptions based on wardrobe and little hard evidence.

  In fact, the apartment was warm and eclectic. She had a variety of candles in various shapes and sizes, but they were all black. An interesting palette, especially considering that her striking red furniture screamed color.

  Above her mantel was a series of photographs showing her selling jewelry as a child at street fairs, then smiling at the camera as she strung beads on a necklace. The middle part of her journey to fame and fortune was missing, and the time line skipped straight to Rachel holding her first corporate sales check, enlarged about a hundred times, her smile thin as the flash of the camera caught her eyes.

  After that, the photos switched to pictures of family and the pub. There was even one showing the Haunted Boston tour guide with Egan, Alice, and Rachel. They were all decked out in Halloween attire, and Alice was grinning like a fiend under a gaudy witch’s hat while Rachel, in similar
garb, shot her little sister an exasperated look.

  I couldn’t help but smile. I’d aimed a similar look in Rose’s direction many a time, and I had to wonder what these two had been quibbling about.

  With the dogs following at my heels, I gave up my snoopiness and put out food for them, then poured myself a glass of wine while they indulged. When we’d all finished our snacks, I found their leashes hanging by the front door. “Come on, girls. Let’s go do your business.”

  I’d noticed that Rachel or her boyfriend had spread the bathroom with newspaper, but it was clean and dry. Presumably, the little girls needed out. And I definitely needed to walk.

  At that hour the park across from Rachel’s apartment stood empty, and that was where I headed with the dogs, letting them lead me with their churning legs and snuffling noses to all the good smells that littered the ground. They whined and tugged on their leashes, wanting to be set free, but because I didn’t know if they’d come back, I kept a firm hold. I still craved my long, hot bath—I really needed some thinking time—but standing there in the dark sufficed. And as the dogs snuffled and romped and did their doggy things, I let my mind wander. My curious fate. The darkness inside me. The mystery that was Alice.

  And most of all, Deacon.

  As if the whisper of his name in my mind were an incantation, he appeared, little more than shadow on the far side of the park. But it was him, there was no doubt in my mind, and when he stepped into dim light, what I already knew was confirmed. I could feel his eyes on me. Watching me.

  And I could feel the desire in him, too, and I hated myself for returning it.

  More than that, though, I felt a deep malevolence. An anger. No, a fury. That seemed to roll off him in waves. A rage, I realized, that matched my own.

  I needed to go after him. To end this.

  I needed to race to him. To draw my blade. And to sink it deep into his heart.

  He’d killed Alice. He’d betrayed me.

  Worse than that he’d played me.

  He must have; everything I’d learned pointed toward him.

  Everything except the way I felt in my gut.

 

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