by Anthology
And soon.
Someone was going to die so very soon.
My thoughts muddled. The pain. The darkness.
I tried to fight through it. I had to see. Had to see where they had her. The Little One. Had to get to her.
Had to save her.
And yet my brain was starting to melt. It was too much. He was fighting me. Fighting hard.
I wanted to protest. To find my blade. To stab him through the heart.
But my own heart had stopped. My lungs had quit drawing air. And the world was growing gray. So gray.
He’d slid inside. Inside my brain.
And he was shutting me down.
I was dying, and—
“Lily!”
“Lily! Your knife! Use your knife.”
The sting of a hand hard against my cheek. I gasped, and as reality returned, I thrust hard with the knife, finding the Secret Keeper’s heart. It was a kill shot, and while the demonic goo eased out of him, I sank to my knees, gasping like a fish out of water as the Secret Keeper’s essence flowed through and filled me.
“I thought I’d lost you. If I hadn’t been here . . . ” Deacon trembled with controlled rage. “If I hadn’t been here, he would have burned you up from the inside out.”
“I’m okay,” I said, clutching his hand. “I’m okay.” I sucked in a gallon of air. “Tank came to him. Gave him his secrets. I saw it all. They did need Alice’s body.” I shifted as Deacon helped me to my feet “She was the shell, and I was the soul. It was planned.” I met his eyes. “Egan fucking sold her to them. And all to make this prophecy come true.”
“Bastards.”
“And there’s someone else,” I said, fear and futility clogging my veins. “Unless we get to her in time, another girl will be sacrificed. Tonight.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“Who?” he asked as we raced toward the street.
“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. We have to stop it.”
Deacon stopped in front of a car, a sleek black Jaguar, and ripped off the driver’s-side door. I climbed in, scrambling over to the passenger side.
“Where?” he asked, pressing his hand to the ignition slot and setting the engine firing. The sun was fast sinking, casting the street in an eerie greenish gray.
I gaped, thinking that was one damn handy trick and realizing I didn’t really know a thing about this man I’d aligned myself with. “The pub. It’s closed today. Plumbing.” I snorted. “I’m thinking the real reason’s in the basement.” I remembered the metal plate I’d felt in the wall across from the stockroom. The odd symbols. Demonic, I assumed. Most likely a door of some sort.
Guess we’d find out soon enough.
“Was that where you woke up? As Alice?” Deacon asked, when I told him my theory.
I shook my head. “Probably moved me. Wouldn’t want me going to work at the pub and recognizing the alley. The room. That would raise questions they wouldn’t want to answer.”
I clung tight to the door as Deacon took curves at speeds that made NASCAR drivers look like pussies. “The whole thing makes perfect sense,” I said, once I caught my breath. “Those girls that went missing over the summer. That was Egan. He supplied the demons with sacrifices to get money to cover the pub’s debts.” I remembered what Rachel had said, and felt slightly sick. Did she realize what he’d been trafficking, or just that he’d been doing a demon’s bidding?
“And then one day they come and say they need a particular girl,” Deacon said. “His niece.”
“And he said yes. The bastard said yes.” I drew in a breath. “It makes sense now—that look in his eye when I walked in the door. He never expected to see her alive again. He knew she didn’t disappear on Saturday. He sent her to the stockroom and she was taken. And when I walked in, it was like he was looking at a ghost.” I snorted. “And here I thought he was being all nice and kind when he asked if there was anything I wanted to talk about. He was fishing, wondering if I remembered. Wondering if I knew what he’d done.”
“He sold her,” Deacon said. “He sold his own niece as a sacrificial lamb.”
“And now someone else is on the chopping block.”
“Not if we can help it.” I looked over and saw his hands tight on the steering wheel, his face tight as he struggled to control the rage he kept permanently at bay. I wanted to reach over and touch his arm, to tell him it was okay—go ahead and release the beast. Considering what Egan had done, he deserved to be consumed in fire and fury.
Fear held me back. The fear that once released, the beast within Deacon could never be harnessed again.
Instead, I sat there, hands tight on the armrest, every fiber in me willing the car to go faster.
“What I don’t get is why. Why sacrifice someone tonight?”
“A ruse,” Deacon said.
“That’s what I heard in the Secret Keeper’s mind,” I said. “But I don’t get it.”
“A cover-up, and it’s all for Egan’s benefit.”
I squinted at him, still not understanding. And then, as Deacon fishtailed into a parking space near the alley entrance to the pub, it all clicked into place. Egan had sacrificed Alice, but there his niece was, walking and talking. And unless the demons wanted to bring Egan in on the secret that was me, they needed Egan to think that Alice was a bust sacrifice-wise. That she was still alive and kicking with a big hole in her memory.
But Egan already had their money, and demons aren’t known for their generosity. Which meant they had to hit him up for another sacrifice so that he wouldn’t get curious.
This ceremony was a do-over. A sacrifice for no reason at all.
“Bastards,” I whispered, as we eased quietly down the alley. There might be guards, and I didn’t want us discovered before we even had a chance of saving the girl.
“She’s most likely a runaway,” Deacon said. “Living on the street. Easy to grab.”
“Boarhurst has a lot of them.” I remembered what Gracie had said about her uncle giving her pepper spray. Lot of girls around here went missing.
And then I grabbed Deacon’s hand, remembering. “The vision,” I said, fumbling in my pocket for my cell phone. It was still off, and I pushed the button to power it up, frantic now. “I touched Gracie and I saw a girl in a white gown in a ceremonial chamber. I thought it was because Alice had told her something. Something important hidden in her subconscious. It was so familiar—it was almost like seeing me in that room. I discounted it, because visions aren’t always clear, and she was Alice’s friend.”
“You think she’s our girl?”
“I think Egan was irritated when she gave notice.” I focused on the phone. I had five new calls, but I ignored them, dialing Gracie’s number instead. She answered on the third ring, and I sagged to the ground in relief. “Where are you?” I demanded.
“Alice?” Her voice was slow, groggy. “What time is it?”
“Where are you?” I repeated.
“I’m in L.A.,” she said, life coming back into her voice. “Can you believe it? For work! An emergency trip, and on my very first day!”
I hung up. I’d plead broken connection when I saw her, but right then I couldn’t talk. “She’s okay. It’s not her. We keep going.”
I started to put the phone away, but scrolled through the incoming numbers first. Clarence I recognized as three of the calls, most likely calling from in front of my apartment, waiting for his report on my massacre of Father Carlton.
The other two I recognized as well. Rose.
With a growing sense of dread, I called voice mail, heard Rose’s tentative voice.
“So, um, Alice. . . . . God, this is stupid. I don’t even know you. But I still feel like someone—Never mind. I dunno. Wanted to talk to you. Give me a call.”
She hung up, and I frowned, scrolling through to the final message, also from Rose.
“Things really suck right now. It’s just that, you said you were Lily’s friend, so I hope you’re not gonna be pi
ssed. Anyway, I figure cab fare can’t be too much, right? Hopefully you’re working. ’Cause I really want to see you. So I guess I will. See you, I mean. And I’m gonna take my dad’s cell phone with me,” she said, then rattled off the familiar number before signing off again.
I looked up at Deacon, horrified. “Here. She was coming here.” Frantically, I dialed Joe’s cell number. And when the damn thing went straight to voice mail, I had to stifle the urge to slam it against the wall.
“You don’t think he’d—a girl walks in off the street—”
“I think if he’d planned to use Gracie, then he’d be desperate. I think he’s taken girls off the street before. And I think we need to hurry.”
I nodded, tears clogging my throat as I struggled to get my key into the back door lock. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—fail my sister again.
“I’m killing the son of a bitch,” I said, my voice thick. “I swear, I’m killing him for what he did to Alice. For what he’s trying to do to Rose. And I’m going to make him feel every bit of the life as it drains out of him.”
Deacon looked at me, and for a moment I thought he was going to argue. I didn’t want to hear it, because there was nothing—nothing—he could say that would save Egan’s life.
“I’ll hold him for you.”
I met his eyes. Nodded. And pulled open the door.
Whatever was in there, we’d face it together.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
We raced down the stairs toward the basement, sunrise only minutes away, and searched the wall for the metal door I’d brushed my fingers over just the other day.
Nothing.
I swallowed, panic setting in. Rose. I couldn’t lose Rose.
I kicked the wall, willing the door to appear. Nothing.
“Dammit!”
“Egan,” Deacon said. “Go. I’ll stay here. Try to figure a way in.”
I was halfway up the stairs before the suggestion was out of his mouth. I burst through the kitchen doors into the pub area, relief welling in me as I saw Egan pacing the length of the darkened pub. He turned, saw the knife in my hand, and paled.
“Alice!”
“How do I get in? How do I find the door, you lying, murdering bastard?”
His eyes widened and he dropped the saltshaker he’d been cleaning, the white bar rag still in his hand like a flag of surrender. “I—what—?”
After that, he was fresh out of witty conversation and raced for the front doors. He didn’t make it, the knife lodging in his thigh effectively bringing him down.
I was at his side in an instant, my hand closing over the hilt of my blade. “Tell me,” I said. “Tell me or I twist the knife until I reach an artery. Any idea how fast a thigh can bleed out?”
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
I grabbed his collar and shook.
“How do I find her? Damn you, you son of a bitch. Where do they have the girl?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Alice, sweetheart, what’s gotten into you?”
I leaned forward, getting right into his face. “Someone who’s not Alice, you lying scum. That’s what’s gotten into me.” I slammed my hand over his heart and looked deep into those eyes. He tried to turn away, but it was too late—I’d been sucked into the hell of his thoughts, the crimes for which I’d come to punish him right on the surface—images and thoughts mixing and swirling, pulling me into a miasma of greed and desperation that confirmed all of my worst fears.
He’d killed his own sister when she’d refused to allow the pub to be ground zero for demonic activity.
And he hadn’t even hesitated when the demons had come to him and demanded a specific girl. They’d demanded Alice.
He’d sold her, thinking she was a traditional sacrifice. Thinking she was the same as the other girls he’d sold to finance the pub.
He’d sold his own niece to die at the hands of the demons, and planned the same fate for Gracie.
And when he couldn’t find her, he’d snatched a helpless, damaged girl who’d come in off the street, looking for a friend.
The bastard had sacrificed my sister to cover his butt with the demons.
I trembled, rage filling me and clouding my thoughts. I wanted nothing but my hands around his neck, squeezing tight.
I wanted him dead. But I couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not until I found her.
I forced myself to focus, desperate to find the control Madame Parrish had insisted I could use to navigate these visions. I couldn’t break away yet, not until I learned how to open the door.
“Come on,” I whispered inside my head. “Come on, you bastard.”
His consciousness shrank away from me, but I followed, down the dark corridors of his mind, filled with greed and regret and fear. The liquid image shifted, clarifying, and now I was in the basement, in the hall. He was there, but not there, wanting to escape, that want so vibrant it thrummed through my head, ricocheting through my body.
“Show me . . . Show me . . . . . .ocused, the effort of concentrating my energy, of keeping hold of him, completely exhausting. But I had him—and as I watched, he sliced his palm, then smeared the blood on the wall. The rock seemed to melt away, revealing a metal door with odd markings on it.
Got you.
I yanked my hand back, breaking the connection, wanting free of this man. Wanting out of his head.
On the wall, the clock ticked ominously. The ceremony would be starting, and I had to hurry.
Egan struggled when I picked him up, and I was grateful for the strength of all the demons I’d killed. I twisted the knife still embedded in his leg. His shriek split my eardrums, but he froze, staying still as I hauled him down the stairs and dumped him in front of the door.
“Open it,” I said to Egan.
He answered by spitting on my shoes.
“Then let me help you.” The time for games was over, and my patience had run thin. I grabbed his hand, ignoring his scream as I sliced deep into his palm. I pressed the bloody hand to the stone, trying to place it where I’d seen it in the vision.
At first, nothing happened. Then, in a freaky bit of déjà vu, the rock started to dissolve, revealing the now-familiar metal door.
I ran my hand over it, searching for a latch, found it, and pushed it quietly open. Another corridor.
“Bring him?” Deacon asked, hauling Egan to his feet.
I turned to face Alice’s uncle. “He’s deadweight.” I met Egan’s eyes. “I’m ending you.”
Egan swallowed. “Please,” he whispered, his body shaking under my hand.
I thought of Lucas Johnson, of the revenge that stained me.
I thought of Alice.
I thought of the travesties I’d seen in Egan’s memory.
I thought of my own redemption.
And then, God help me, I drew my blade across his neck and slit the bastard’s throat.
He sagged, and I stepped back as Deacon let go, the body falling to the ground like so much garbage. My eyes met Deacon’s, and he nodded, the slightest inclination of his head. No matter what anyone else thought, in his eyes—and in my own—I’d done the right thing.
We raced down the hall, trading silence for speed and hoping the demons couldn’t hear the pounding of our feet as we raced forward. Move with stealth and the ritual might be completed before we arrived. Clatter forward at breakneck speed and the ceremony might end prematurely with a knife through Rose’s neck, for no reason other than to punish her would-be rescuers.
With any luck, we’d found a middle ground: fast but not loud. With even more luck, the ritual chanting camouflaged our approach.
I had no choice but to hope for luck, because without it Rose was dead. Certainly, I couldn’t count on the angels to step in and save her. They hadn’t stepped in to save me, after all.
The corridor ended at a thick wooden door. Closed, but not locked. We yanked the door open, and Deacon and I rushed in together, side by side.
What I saw insi
de was enough to make me almost stumble. Rose, clad in a long white gown, bathed in an unearthly silver glow, strapped down to a stone table, struggling and screaming against a white cloth gag as a ceremonial blade plunged downward, held by the joined hands of two black-hooded demons.
A door on the far side of the room was open, and even as I lunged for the demons’ knife, I could see a figure disappear, the black cloak billowing as if in a breeze.
No time to worry about that now. I landed hard against one demon, sending the knife clattering to the ground. Deacon went on the other side of the table, tackling the companion demon, and even as I fumbled to keep the demon’s hands away from the ceremonial knife, I could hear Deacon battling with his own demon on the far side of that thick stone table.
I couldn’t worry about Deacon, though. The hood of the demon fell back, and I realized I was wrestling with Tank. I had my weapon out, desperate to kill the beast and get to Rose, but he was having none of it.
He thrust sideways, twisting over, then bending my hand back until he freed the blade from my grip. He straddled me, and as I used one hand to hold him back, my other hand struggled to find my blade.
I found the ceremonial knife instead, and, desperate, I thrust up, the blade sliding into his nose to embed itself in his brain.
He fell backward, and I struggled up, gasping. My knife was by the wall, and I lunged for it, then sank it deep into Tank’s heart. I heard a small hiss as the black goo seeped out, and as the strength and vile essence that had been Tank surged through me, I rushed to Rose, grounding myself by looking at her face. At her eyes.
“Rose,” I said as I pulled off her gag.
Whatever the silver glow had been, it was gone now. She stopped struggling, and those eyes went even wider as she stared at me. “Lily?” she whispered.
“I—My name’s Alice. Remember?”
“He was here. Lily. Lily, it’s him. He was here. He did something. He was here. Put something inside.” The words came out in a rush, tumbling over themselves, pushed out by the fear in her eyes.
I didn’t need to hear her say it to know who he was, but I asked anyway.
“Lucas Johnson,” she said.