by J. Kenner
"You trusted a demon to anchor us?" I spoke to Rose, then rounded on Deacon. "You let her? Are the two of you nuts?"
"Mistress—"
"No," I said, unsheathing my knife and pointing it at him. "Just, no."
He bowed his head and took two steps back.
"We didn't think we had a choice," Deacon said, casting a dark glance toward the still-open book.
"And I was watching him the whole time," Rose said, tapping the blade of her knife lightly against her hand.
"Great," I said. "That makes me feel so much better." I cocked my head toward Morwain. "I'm going downstairs. Do something with him, will you?"
I knew I was being moody and unreasonable, but considering what Gabriel had shown me, I thought I had a right to be. I left them to deal with the demon in the living room, then went down the stairs to the pub. The two televisions mounted to the wall were tuned to news channels, and the announcers were outlining the various freakish things happening all over the globe. I frowned, wanting Rachel to turn it off, but I figured that would cause a riot. Most of the patrons in the bar were looking at the televisions with expressions of smug anticipation. And, honestly, I wanted to smash their little demonic faces in.
Rachel looked at me curiously, obviously anxious to know what had happened with the book, but she didn't ask questions. Instead, she pulled me a Guinness, then passed it to me with a sympathetic expression. I slid into a booth, leaned back, then silently surveyed the little kingdom over which Rachel and I ruled. A kingdom filled with demons. Demons who were, even then, casting curious glances my way. Some looked at me with fear in their eyes. Others with hate.
I thought of Jarel. There were badasses in there, all right. And some of them wanted to lay me out. Some of them were vile. Dangerous. Utterly despicable, and they'd been coming to this pub for centuries.
The protections that Rachel described had protected the family and, I assumed, the place itself, and I tried to imagine what would happen if there were no protections on the pub. Would it even be standing? I doubted it. Just as I doubted that any of Boston would survive the coming hordes. Not Boston. Not the people in it. Not Rose.
I pictured the corpses that Gabriel had shown me, black and charred. The child upon whom the demons had fallen. I closed my eyes and tried to block the image, but it wouldn't go. That was what they were facing, the humans who dared to cross the demons once they covered the earth like locusts.
And no matter how much I told myself that I could stop it if I stepped in to be the queen, I knew that I couldn't. Not really.
Even if I could retain some sense of self—and that was one big, hairy if—who was to say that every demon would follow my rule? Some would seek to depose me. Some would flat out defy me.
And in the end, humanity would die.
Die, and suffer.
I took a long pull of Guinness, wondering if I numbed my body now, would the feeling last for eternity? Because I knew what I had to do. I didn't want to. I was fucking terrified.
But when I closed my eyes, I saw Rose standing there, a blade in her hand and an expression of delighted anticipation on her face.
I knew that I had no choice.
I saw Deacon coming in from the back, his long strides bringing him toward me. I slid out of the booth and moved in the opposite direction, away from Deacon and toward the front door of the pub.
He caught me only moments after I had slipped outside, his hand closing over my elbow.
"Don't," he said, his expression full of dark fury and deadly purpose.
I jerked my elbow free. "Don't what?"
"Don't do what you're thinking of doing."
I turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment in his eyes. Or the fear. "I have to." I tried to push past him back into the pub, but he grabbed me, then shoved me up against the rough brick wall, his body pressed close.
"No," he said, his voice as tight as a wire. "No, you don't."
"Let me go."
“Tell me you're not giving up on this. On us."
I didn't say a word, and I watched as something akin to fear flickered over his face.
He backed away, his muscles going slack, his body suggesting defeat even though his eyes still burned with purpose. "Dammit, Lily, is this really what you want to do?"
"What do you think?" I hissed, wanting to shove away, to hit him. Wanting to claw and fight and draw blood just so the pull of the dark would take me down, down, down, and I wouldn't have to think anymore. Because I was tired of thinking. Tired of plotting. And no—no, I didn't want it, but what choice did I have?
"Find the key," he said, understanding me though I hadn't uttered a word.
"It's gone, Deacon. Don't you get it? We found the book—we found where Margaret hid the knife. And it's gone. Poof. Gone. Just like that." I snapped my fingers. "And do you know what gone means? Gone means that I'm screwed. Gone means that if I want to save Rose, I have to—I have to—" I bit the words off with a curse, unable to say it out loud. "Fuck," I said instead, then stalked toward the door.
This time, he let me pass, which was a good choice on his part, as I was gunning for a fight. I marched across the public area, then through the kitchen and into the back. I weaved my way through the old stone corridor until I reached the heavy metal door that led to the alley. I pushed through it, then sucked in a lungful of air. Even in the afternoon, the alley was dark, hidden in perpetual shadows. Once, the place had creeped me out. Now it felt good. It felt like home.
I leaned my back against the filthy brick wall and scoured those shadows, searching for any creatures that might be looking to rumble. I saw none and had to wonder what was wrong with the local demon population. Wasn't there some big demon crime boss desperate to take my almost crown away? Some sick fuck of a demon who wanted my immortal head mounted on his wall? Somebody who'd step up to the plate and let me kick the shit out of him, then slide my knife deep inside. Because damned if I didn't want a nice solid shot of the dark right then. The more the dark absorbed me, the more likely I was to pick the Oris Clef.
My fingers closed over it, and I felt a raw energy surge through me. A hint of the power it had to offer. I sighed, welcoming it. I might not want it—might not believe I could control it—but at least it didn't terrify me the way the thought of going with Gabriel did.
Pain. Forever.
Honestly, that couldn't be good.
I closed my eyes, squeezing back tears, because I knew I had to do it. I'd seen what would happen. To the world. To Rose.
I didn't have a choice.
And still I feared that when the time actually came to act on that choice, I wouldn't be able to go through with it.
The door crashed open again, and Deacon emerged, dark and foreboding and focused on only one thing. Me.
"Whatever you're thinking, Lily, you can't do it. The knife is still out there. It's not gone, Lily. Margaret would have ensured that it was there—somewhere—for Alice to find."
"Yeah?" I said, the tears that had been welling now spilling out of my eyes. "In case you forgot, I'm not Alice. I don't know where the knife is, and I don't know what to do to find it."
I squeezed my eyes and clenched my fists so hard that my fingernails cut into my skin. "You did it for nothing," I whispered. "You gave up a chance for redemption for nothing at all. Because I can't help you." I reached out and pressed my hand to his face. I wanted to feel him. Longed for more than just the rough stubble of his beard upon my hand. "We're both screwed. You're smart. You have to know that. So why do you care so much?"
"Why do I care?" he growled, stalking forward until my back was pressed against the wall, and I couldn't move without generating friction between our bodies. "Why do I care?” he repeated. "After all this, can you really be that much of a fool? Do you not know the way you affect me? Did you not see? You're freedom for me, Lily. Freedom from the dark. With you, I can pull it back. I can control it. I can fight it."
His hands pressed against the wall, o
nly inches from my face. "You're mine. Lily," he said, his breath brushing my hair. "It's not about redemption anymore, Lily. It's about you. And I'll not have you sacrificing yourself. Not like this. Not when there's another way."
"I don't believe there is another way," I said. "And I do understand."
"You're wrong," he said. "And trust me when I say that you don't understand. You couldn't possibly."
And with that, he moved his hand from the brick and pressed it to my face, all while looking deep in my eyes. I wasn't expecting the contact, and the snap of connection startled me. I tried to look away, but he breathed a single word—No.
And then I was in.
"You wish to understand?" he said. "Follow where I lead."
"No!" I screamed. "I've seen it already! I felt it. I lived it! " And I didn't think I could bear it again.
But he wasn't listening. He took me down, down into the depths, the heat. The pain.
The flesh roasting, curling up off the bone. The animals, gnawing—ever gnawing—at the bodies of the living. Splinters shoved into skin and eyes and tender places. Bugs crawling beneath the flesh, worms living within. Rotting. Acid. Burns. And the stench and cry of the damned all around.
It was worse than before, as if that were even possible, and I realized that what I'd experienced with Penemue had been what the demon himself experienced. Not pleasure—because how could that word ever apply?—but a pain that he commanded, brought into himself, and reveled in.
Oh God, oh God, he'd soaked up the pain. Craved it. Wanted it.
And Deacon feared and despised it, and he'd suffered all the more for it. Even as I did now. Even as I suffered though I was hiding behind the protection of Deacon's thoughts.
He wasn't letting me out. He was forcing me to watch.
And so I did the only thing I could—I screamed and I screamed and I screamed.
I don't know how long I was out of the vision before I stopped screaming. All I knew was that my skin felt raw, as did my throat. My eyes ached, and the scent of burning flesh clung to me. I curled up on the asphalt, my knees up against my chest, my body shaking as I tried to catch my breath. As I tried to tell myself that I could handle that. That if I had to, I could step up to the plate and endure that suffering forever.
Oh dear God in heaven, I was such a freaking liar.
"I deserved that, Lily," Deacon said, the self-loathing in his voice as thick as oil. "For the things I did, I deserved it for one hell of a lot longer than I suffered it. But you don't," he said firmly. "You don't deserve it at all."
15
I lay there, trembling, trying to fight back the fear—the horrible knowledge that the thing that I should do—that I needed to do—this thing that could save the world—absolutely scared me to death. I'd felt it. I'd been it. And I didn't see how I could possibly endure it.
I hadn't even been in Deacon's head for five minutes, and I felt destroyed, as if my body had been ripped apart. As if I'd never be whole again.
How could I do anything but fight against that possibility? How could I do anything but run?
I hugged my knees and rocked, hating my own cowardice but unable to deny the sharp teeth of my fear. I'd faced killers and rapists. I'd faced demons. I'd thought that I knew fear.
I'd been wrong. Fear hides until you become complacent, then it jumps out at you. It sinks its teeth into you. And it takes away even the tiniest hope that maybe, possibly, you'd been working your way up to doing the right thing.
I couldn't. God help me, I couldn't.
"Dammit, Lily," Deacon said, his tone as hard as his eyes. "You don't have to." He reached a hand down for me. "We just have to find the knife."
But as that tiny kernel of courage had left me, so had my belief in miracles. And I knew that it would take a miracle to find that knife. Or, at least, to find it in time. Night was already starting to fall, and soon we would have only two days left. Two days until the end of the world.
Two days until I capped off my rather spectacular array of failures with the biggest one of all.
At least I was consistent, right?
“Take my hand, Lily," Deacon said, holding his right hand out for me.
I hesitated, but honestly, the time for self-pity was over. I either needed to go all out with the demon-queen plan (not), put on a white nightie for my sacrificial debut (big, fat, scary not), or get off my ass and look for the one thing in the whole universe that could save me. We had two full days still, right? And that's two entire lifetimes for some insects, right? Surely I could find one stupid knife with two lifetimes at my disposal.
I took his hand, feeling a little slaphappy. And apparently a little shaky still, because as I stood, the earth seemed to rumble and shake under my feet.
"Earthquake," Deacon said, and I realized it wasn't me after all. He held me close, then moved us into the doorframe.
"Penemue?"
He nodded. "That's my best guess."
"Is he out?"
Deacon hesitated, then shook his head. "No. It would take a massive quake to free him."
I licked my lips. "Then that's probably coming."
"I think we can count on it."
I drew in a breath, then nodded firmly, gathering my resolve. "Okay, then. Positive thinking. We find the knife. We lock the gate. And then I'm buying the whole damn world a round of Guinness." I cocked my head and frowned. "Where do we look that we haven't already?"
He was about to say he didn't know—I was absolutely certain of it—when Rose burst through the back door, gesturing frantically. "It's Rachel," she said, shoving a sword into my hand. "Hurry! Lily, please hurry!"
We raced through the pub, Rose leading the way, breathlessly telling us about how Rachel had stepped outside to clean up some trash that someone had left on the sidewalk right in front of the pub.
I could guess the rest. The pub itself was empty, not a demon in sight. And yet I could see a maelstrom of motion through the leaded-glass windows. She was out there, with the demons. And the demons were pissed.
"They learned," I said, sprinting toward the door and pulling it open. "Didn't they? They realized what she was doing. That she was pointing them out to me."
"I don't know," Rose said. "I don't. All I know is that they all got up after she went out."
I was peering out on them, at the manifest horror of a demonic mob. And what I was seeing wasn't about killing Rachel. It wasn't about taking her out of the equation so she couldn't point me at any more demons.
It was about payback. About making her suffer. Not a fast kill, but a slow, painful nosedive into oblivion. And only when she'd suffered enough would they end it for her.
At least a dozen demons made up the mob, and as the crowd shifted and turned, a living mass of writhing evil, I saw the demon in the middle reach down and draw her up. Her face was pale, and her eyes scared, but she was alert, and her expression was completely "fuck you"—and right at that moment I couldn't have been prouder if she were my own sister.
As I started to race forward, the demon grabbed an arm, offering her other limbs to three cronies, and they yanked on her as if they were going to quarter her right there in the streets of Boarhurst. Honestly, I wouldn't have put it past them.
Deacon's hand closed tight on my shoulder, pulling me back. "Think," he said. "That's Cryonic," he said, pointing to the tallest demon. "He's the one I bought the paralytic from," he said, referring to a rather unpleasant episode where my entire body had frozen up after being shot with the damn stuff. "I'd wager the damn gate key that if you rush in there to save her, he'll jab you with the stuff. We can't afford to have you out of commission, Lily. Not now."
He nodded toward the screaming mob, jeering and cheering, urging the four attackers on. "One quick throw of my knife, and it's over for her. She's out of the fight, and you're safe. She'd want that, Lily. She'd want you safe."
I turned to him, appalled, wondering which Deacon I was speaking to, the man or the demon.
"No,
" I said. "No way. She doesn't die. Not on my watch. No way. No fucking way."
He hesitated a moment, then nodded. "All right," he said, his voice all calm control. "We fight."
Darkness rippled across his features, and I welcomed it, even though I knew what it was. It was the same darkness that was welling in me—wanting the fight. Welcoming it despite the insane odds.
Deacon had said he feared we couldn't save the world and keep our humanity, and right then I was afraid that he might be right. I might not even be able to save Alice's sister and fight back the lure of the demons.
But I had to try. If I didn't, the demons within had already won.
"Now," I shouted, and as I raced forward, Deacon threw that blade, his aim true. But not for Rachel. No, he was aiming for Cryonic. And although the demon shifted left, the blade still sliced him, the force of that razor-sharp blade slicing off the demon's elfin ear.
The beast howled, giving Rachel's arm a hard jerk, but not so hard that it came off. The other three demons kept hold of her, and as Deacon rushed into the fray, fighting back the demons that had broken free of the mob and were lumbering forward to stop him, I bulleted forward, brandishing the sword and cutting down everything in my way that even freaking moved.
"Call Morwain," I shouted to Rose. "He wants to prove his worth to me, he can damn well start now. And you," I added, throwing the words over my shoulder as I raced forward. "You stay out of this fight."
"Lily!" Rachel's voice was pure anguish, and I saw that her three captors were positioned to rip her apart. I dove, leading with my blade, and cut one of them down at the ankles. He stumbled, dropping her, and throwing his compatriots off balance. The confusion gave me the opportunity to rush farther into the fray. I wasn't concerned about fighting skills or my training or any of it. All I wanted was the kill, and I lunged forward, skewering the other demon who'd had Rachel by the arm. He dropped her, and she hit the asphalt hard. As she did, the demon glanced down, taking his eyes off me for just a split second.