Surrender to Dawn

by J. Kenner

  A sharp sound on the far side of the room had us pulling apart quickly, and I whipped around to see Rose standing there, her expression wary as she eyed the war zone that the room had become. "I—I heard—"

  "It's okay," I said. "We're fine."

  She shook her head. "No, not you." She frowned at the mess as if considering amending that statement. "I heard sirens. Outside, you know? And I decided to turn on the television in the bedroom, and—" Her voice broke, and I rushed toward her.

  "Rose?”

  She pointed to the television and I turned it on. Total coverage of disasters around the world. Earthquakes, fires, dormant volcanoes suddenly spewing forth molten rock from the bowels of the earth. Some of the stations had scientific commentators trying to expound a science-based reason for all of this. Others had brought on religious gurus, who either professed gloom and doom or concentrated on getting the audience to repent.

  I knew the real explanation, of course. Penemue. Kokbiel. And the horrific tug of the convergence coming closer and closer.

  Not our usual television-watching fare, but considering Rose already knew all that was happening, I wasn't entirely sure what the problem was.

  "Wait," she said, grabbing the remote and switching to a local news channel. "See?"

  I saw—and my mouth went dry.

  Riots at St Jerome's. Fifteen dead, including responding police officers. Forty-seven injured. And in the background, the battle raged on, and damned if I didn't recognize some of the faces brandishing weapons and cutting down humans. Damned if I hadn't served them pints and let them sit in my pub.

  "That's where he lives, right? That priest you talked to?"

  I nodded, my eyes glued to the television. "But the demons can't go there," I said, glancing quickly at Deacon.

  He frowned. "The convergence. As it gets closer, things break down, and even holy places become the most desperate of battlefields. Especially holy places."

  And wasn't that special?

  "Is that—?" Rose's finger was extended toward the screen, and I saw the monsignor amidst a crush of demons, his lips moving in silent prayer.

  "Oh, no," I whispered. I wanted to go to him, to help him, but I didn't know if I should. My battle was coming—could I risk the world for the sake of one man?

  "Him," Deacon said. "The demon right there." He tapped the screen, indicating a demon with white hair standing just behind the one who held the priest. "He's a Caller."

  I said a silent thank-you, because since we didn't have the knife, we still needed the Caller. Get the Caller, save the priest. It was practically a two-for-one special.

  "I have to go." I was halfway to the door before the words were out of my mouth.

  "Not alone," Deacon said, immediately at my side.

  I looked at him, then at the television screen. Then I shook my head. "It's too soon," I said. "And you're too exhausted from the fight."

  "The hell I am."

  But I knew I was right. "Stay," I said. "I need you to protect Rachel, anyway. I have a feeling that once she decided to mess with the demons, the protections on this place started melting away. The demons may not realize it yet, but—"

  "They will," he said. "And yeah, I think you're right."

  "You mean we're not safe here anymore?" Rose asked.

  I shook my head. "I don't think anywhere is safe anymore."

  She licked her lips, looking worried, as I turned back to Deacon. "Please," I said. "Don't fight me on this. I need you here watching Rachel. And I don't want you—"

  I couldn't finish, my words choking off instead.

  "I don't want you going alone," he said.

  I looked at Rose. I didn't want to admit she had the fight in her—didn't want to acknowledge that she was truly part of this world. But the time for wishful thinking was over. From there on out, it was all about action.

  "Don't worry," I said to Deacon as I held out a hand to Rose. "I won't be."

  17

  Thwack!

  The demon caught me dead across the jaw, and I lashed back, pissed off and ready for the kill.

  Rose got there first, thrusting her blade deep into my attacker's chest. It collapsed into a pile of goo, and she shot me a look of triumph despite the fact that we were hardly done yet. Hell, we'd barely even started.

  "Thanks," I said, because it wasn't the time to mourn the loss of the little sister I remembered or to remind her to be careful. We were in the thick of it, and the only truly useful thing to do was fight.

  Which we were doing. Hard and fast and furious.

  We'd arrived at the church in record speed, having taken the Tiger, which I'd brought back to the pub after we'd scoured Alice's apartment. I'd feared that we'd have to do some song-and-dance routine to get past the police and emergency services responders, but we hadn't, most likely because they were all dead, and I was terrified that the monsignor was as well.

  That terror spurred me on, pushing us into the fray, killing and fighting and battling demon after demon as they surged backward, gathering their forces in the bowels of the building.

  I'd called for Morwain when we'd arrived, and at first, he'd battled right beside us, his own blade out, his fingers elongated with razor-sharp talons. But now, as I watched in horror, he bent over the corpse of a teenage boy, peeled a strip of flesh, and ate it.

  I turned away, gagging, my mind swimming with what he was, this creature that so willingly did my bidding.

  "Mistress," he said, bowing low, his mouth bloody.

  "The demons," I said, forcing my voice steady and aiming my gaze in the direction the throng had traveled. "Cut them down, cut through them, but don't stop until you find the monsignor." I cast a gaze at the body on the floor. "Don't stop for anything."

  "Yes, mistress," he said, then disappeared into the dark. I watched him go, imagining him swallowed up by the belly of the beast. Imagining that we all were. I drew in a shaky breath and pressed my hand against Rose's shoulder. I told myself not to second-guess my decision to bring her, but I couldn't help it. I knew it was a mistake. I only hoped that my mistake wouldn't get my sister killed.

  "Do you think he's . . ." Rose asked, unable to give voice to the real question.

  "I don't know," I admitted. "I hope not, but we're not here just for him.''

  “The Caller," she said.

  "Come on," I said to Rose, then started stalking through the wreckage, following the path Morwain had taken. "Careful," I added. "And alert."

  "I know," she said, but there was no verbal eye roll, no hint of sarcasm. She was doing this right, and a tiny weight lifted from me. Maybe she'd get through unscathed.

  Maybe we both would.

  We found Morwain in the little garden area where I'd spoken with the priest. Although, to be perfectly accurate, we found him on the path, and on the flower bed, and in the trees.

  "Oh God," Rose said, clutching her stomach as she stepped back from the bloody remains of the demon that had pledged service to me.

  "Didn't much like the bloody bugger," a broad-chested demon said, stepping forward from a throng of dark, smelly demons of both the humanoid and the monstrous variety. He wore tattered pants, as if he'd been pumped up with the dark so much that the seams had burst. His chest was bare and covered with ancient symbols. His face was red and oozing, as though someone had pressed his head into a red-hot iron skillet. A thick dribble of puss oozed down his cheek before a lizardlike tongue whipped out and flicked it away. "Guess he was confused about where his allegiance should be placed."

  "He wasn't confused. His allegiance lay with this." I took a bold step forward, holding up the Oris Clef. "Pay it respect," I said. "Pay me respect, or in two short days you're going to find yourselves very, very miserable." To my credit, my voice didn't waver, and I kept my head held high. Behind the leader, a few beasties shifted, as if, maybe, they were questioning the wisdom of pissing me off. One of them, I saw with glee, was the Caller.

  I raised my voice. "Go now, and I'
ll forget I ever saw you. Stay," I added, lowering my voice to a growl, "and you'll soon learn how painful my displeasure can be."

  At first I feared that I'd gone too far. Then a cluster of demons broke off the pack, skulking out the back and avoiding the furious glares of the leader in front. I forced myself not to cheer, and instead stood tall and quiet, as if I'd expected nothing less.

  "Fool," I said. "You should have gone with your little friends."

  "And you," he said, with a growl, "should remember that you are neither as clever nor as strong as we who live in the dark." He stepped aside, revealing the demon behind him, the monsignor trapped in his arms, ready to be pulled apart limb by limb. "You can still save him, you know. All you have to do is give me that which you wear around your neck."

  “No." I spoke firmly, trying to hide the horror in my voice. But I knew it came through anyway. I knew because of the way the demon smiled at me with smug satisfaction. He'd won a round, he knew. And I was certain that he expected he'd win another.

  Fuck.

  The leader twisted his neck to look at the demons behind him, his hideous mouth pulling into a delighted smile. "You see? Did I not tell you she would come? The key, little bitch. Give us the Oris Clef, and this pitiful human can live."

  I took a step forward, not certain what I planned to do, but knowing I had to do something. I couldn't stand there and watch them kill a priest.

  Rose's hand on my arm pulled me back. "You can't give it to him," she said. "After everything Deacon did to hide it—after everything you did to keep it away from Penemue—God, Lily, you can't just turn it over now." She turned to look at the monsignor, and I saw the tears trickle down her cheeks. "It's war, Lily, and the demons can't win. You know what they're like. You know what they'll do."

  I could hear it in her voice. The terror. The memories. Everything she'd suffered at Lucas Johnson's hands coming right back to haunt her.

  There was no way I was giving up the Oris Clef, but neither was I giving up that innocent man without a fight. "We fight," I said, and even before the words were out of my mouth, my knife was out of my hand, spinning blade over hilt toward the demon that held the priest. It landed true, right in the bastard's eye, and as the monsignor fell to the floor, the demon's body dissolved into a thick, viscous oil that dripped down onto him, covering his arms and legs until it finally disappeared into the floor, a greasy stain the only evidence his captor had once been there.

  I'd brought a second blade, too, and I sent it flying as well, but that time, I'd lost the element of surprise. As the throng rushed forward toward Rose and me, the lead demon leaped sideways, even as the Caller raced toward the fallen priest. I whirled toward him, yanking the sword from the scabbard at my back, and shouted for him to stop.

  He did, but only once he had the priest in front of him.

  I froze, eyeing the knife he held at the old man's throat.

  "Do not fear," the priest said, and when he looked at me, it was Gabriel's face I saw. "My faith will keep me strong."

  I stumbled backward, then willed myself to stay in the game, not to react to the hallucinations, if that even was what they were.

  "Shall I do it?" the Caller said. "Shall I bleed him?"

  I hesitated, because Rose slid up beside me and pressed a blade into my hand. I recognized it as my own, and I held it tight. More than that, I saw opportunity.

  I could save the monsignor. I was certain of it. I could save him by killing the Caller, who towered at least a head taller than the priest I was sure of my aim, certain of my target.

  I could do this.

  And if I did, the Caller demon would die.

  If I didn't, the priest would.

  Did I sacrifice the priest for the slim chance of finding the blade?

  Or did I kill the Caller and have faith that somehow it would all turn out okay?

  So far, faith and I weren't the best buddies, but I was trying. And when I looked in the old man's eyes, I knew I had to try once again.

  I clutched my knife, took a breath, and sent the blade flying.

  It got the Caller dead in the eye, just as I knew it would.

  But it didn't matter.

  In the split second it had taken for me to contemplate my faith, the Caller had taken his own knife and slit the monsignor's throat.

  I'd lost them both, Caller and priest.

  I'd gambled on faith, and I'd lost.

  So far, I thought, that had been the story of my life.

  I saw the body fall, heard Rose's frustrated cry, and caught the scent of fresh blood on the air. Within me, the newly dead demons writhed and preened, gaining satisfaction from the massacre and screaming for another kill—demon, human, they didn't care.

  I did, though. I cared.

  I grabbed Rose by the arm and dragged her back toward the door.

  "The priest!" Rose called. "Can't you—"

  "He's dead," I said flatly. I could heal, but I couldn't resurrect. I'd lost him, and now I had the weight of another priest's death on my shoulder, counterbalanced by the weight of the whole damn world.

  Having lost their hostages and their leader, the demons were a disorganized mob, and though I wouldn't say they were happy to let us go, the battle to get back out on the street was quick and dirty, and ended with Rose and I both increasing our dead demon head count.

  All good and well, except once we were free and standing outside in the light of the almost-full moon, I could see a gang of demons marching toward us, the blades they held in their hands glinting in the soft glow, their faces—or what could reasonably be called faces—twisting with malicious purpose.

  "Forget fighting," I said. "Just run." We did, only to find the way to the Tiger blocked. "Fuck it," I said, then smashed in the window of a nearby car. "In!"

  "Hurry!" Rose said, bouncing on the passenger seat as demons reached through the hole in the window, trying to drag us back out.

  This model was harder to get started, but I finally got the engine going, and I gunned it, aiming that puppy not away from the demons but toward them. And I didn't take my foot off the accelerator for an instant.

  The sickening sound of flesh torn apart by metal echoed around us, accompanied by the slightly squishy sound of bloody body parts splattered on the hood and windshield.

  I pressed on, flicking the wipers on to see better, and trying to ignore the fact that none of this seemed to faze Rose, who took my Demon Derby approach to driving in stride.

  By the time we got back to the pub, I was frustrated and pissed, the burden of the monsignor's death weighing on me all the more because I'd lost the Caller demon, too, and time was running out, moonrise on the day of the convergence fast approaching.

  Fuck.

  I was moving to the bar to pull myself a Guinness when Deacon and Rachel came down. "Any demon activity while I was gone?" I asked, looking at each of them in turn.

  "I just woke up," Rachel said, ignoring the way Rose scooted over to make room for her in a nearby booth and instead settling onto a stool at the bar. "One for me, too."

  Rachel was more of a wine sipper than beer guzzler, but I wasn't going to deny her a fast slug of a thick brew, and I passed her a pint, then took a long draw of my own before pulling another for Deacon.

  "Well?" I asked.

  He looked at me, his eyes seeing more than I wanted. "What happened?"

  "What do you think happened?" I spat, slamming the pint down and sloshing beer everywhere. "Dammit." I got a towel and started mopping furiously, determined not to cry.

  Damn.

  I turned away, feeling their eyes on me. I kept my back pressed against the oak, my face turned toward the tower of bottles. I could see them, like modern art, reflected in the bottles and the bar mirror. Rachel and Deacon nearby, Rose curled up back in a booth. Rose looked a little shell-shocked, the way I felt. Deacon looked firm, resolute. Like a soldier, and I took some comfort in that.

  And Rachel . . .

  Rachel just looked lik
e she wished this whole thing were over.

  Well, I thought, don't we all?

  "He had his faith to the end," Deacon said. "And we will find the key even without the Caller."

  "How?" I said, rounding on him. "How are we supposed to do that?"

  "I don't know."

  That was all he said. Just, "I don't know." But I heard so much more in those two little words. I heard compassion and understanding. I heard the reflection of everything he'd lost in his time upon this earth. Of everything he wanted to gain.

  And I heard the promise that he would stand beside me as I fought my way through the pain. As we figured this out together.

  Maybe I was reading too much into those two little words, but as I looked at his face—at the warmth in his eyes—I didn't think so.

  And I damn sure hoped I wasn't wrong.

  18

  Time was ticking down fast, and without the Caller demon, I was beginning to fear we were completely screwed, and I was kicking myself for acting so rashly and not figuring out a way to save the priest and catch the demon. Or maybe I should have just sacrificed the monsignor. I didn't know.

  For that matter, all I did know was that the only thing in the whole world I needed was to figure out where Alice's mom had hidden the dagger, and as to that I was having absolutely no luck despite the fact that we all spent hours searching the apartment and the bar for any talisman that Alice's mom might have used to hide the key and Egan might have then taken and hidden himself.

  Nothing.

  "The book," I said as late afternoon rolled in. "It has to be. It's the only thing that makes sense."

  "It didn't work," Deacon said. "Worse, you were almost destroyed."

  I had to admit that was definitely a downside. "But what else can it be? Unless the portal's hidden in one of Alice's kitchen knives."

  "Or a letter opener," Rose added, in a distinctly unhelpful comment.

  "I have to try again," I said.

  Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. "I don't know . . ."

  "Right now, I'm the one calling the shots," I said. "And I am trying again." I pointed to Rose. "Go get the book."