The Resurrection Game

by Michelle Belanger

  “I would never do that to you, Zaquiel.”

  His quiet fervor sobered me. I was being a jerk. Remy wasn’t the enemy—far from it. The soft-spoken Nephilim was a dedicated friend and mentor. When I awoke in this lifetime there were gaps in my memory, as with all members of my tribe, and Remy had dutifully shepherded me through the early years of confusion. My blood-sucking Obi-Wan Kenobi. That couldn’t have been an easy job, but he’d done it for several lifetimes, primarily because of an oath he’d sworn to me.

  I stopped struggling.

  Remy relinquished my wrist. Across the street, a light went on in the unit beneath mine, a pale testament to how late the night had grown. For some, it was already morning.

  “I know we’re not done talking,” I said, “but I really have to check my apartment.”

  Skeptically, he quirked a brow, but released the locks. I was out the door and starting across the street before his hand was off the button. The car chirped as he armed the security system. Quickly, he caught up, trailing only a pace or two behind.

  “Dare I ask what’s the crisis of the week?”

  “It’s complicated,” I muttered.

  “When isn’t it, with you?”

  Instead of heading for the main entrance, I altered course for the back, stepping between the side of the building and a line of decorative firs. Mud and damp mulch squelched under my boot, making the footing slick. It had rained here, too.

  “You’re skulking,” Remy observed. Mincingly he followed my path, somehow managing to avoid all the mud. “You said nothing about stealth. Should I expect a fight once we’re inside?”

  “Maybe,” I replied quietly. “I don’t know.” Pausing at the back corner, I gestured for him to keep his voice down. From this vantage point, I had a clear view of the small lot set aside for residents, as well as the alley that threaded between units to the next street over. Aside from one old Ford Taurus trailing exhaust as its motor heated up, the place was empty. The Taurus belonged to one of my downstairs neighbors—the guy with the brutally early work schedule. “Some asshole made off with my bike,” I explained. “And my keys.”

  “That would have been useful to know before now,” Remy chided. “But unless you keep your home address stamped upon your keychain, a simple thief shouldn’t end up at your door.”

  “This guy was anything but simple,” I said. “For one thing, he looked like me.”

  “How do you mean?” Remy hovered so close to my shoulder, I should have felt him breathe.

  “Like full-on evil twin,” I said. “Biker jacket and everything.” My voice was barely above a whisper, pitched for his ears only—the Nephilim had unnervingly keen hearing. “The cops had him, and he fooled even them. Skated right out of there like it was nothing.”

  Remy’s silence was so deep, I had to look over my shoulder to make sure he was still behind me. His features—normally porcelain-perfect and schooled into a pleasant mask—registered deep unease.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “It can’t be good, especially not paired with cacodaimons. I don’t know how he’s doing it, and I don’t know why, but it has to be personal. I mean, how can it not be?”

  “You really should have mentioned this earlier,” Remy said tightly. His lips barely moved.

  “You wanted to talk about oaths,” I replied, creeping forward so I could catch sight of the furthest corner of the lot—the dumpster. That part was in deepest shadow, the week’s trash spilling out of the battered metal bin. A weathered fence rose behind it, and behind that, a tall, leaning pole that should have held a security light, but didn’t. The damned thing hadn’t worked since I’d started living here again.

  “Doesn’t look like he ended up here, so that’s something.”

  “Unless he was smart enough to leave that motorcycle of yours on another street,” Remy suggested. “It’s a distinctive vehicle.”

  He had a point. I scanned the lot again, this time tipping my vision to take in more than the physical landscape. The shadows stretched and deepened as my vision spilled to the Shadowside, simultaneously becoming starker and more visible. The cars and other structures in the lot grew insubstantial as smoke. Only the wall beside me didn’t change.

  My apartment building was one of the few structures along this stretch of street that held solid weight in the realm of spirits. The faint gleam of wards shimmered along the façade—my work, worn into the bricks over years of residence. Convenient, because it meant the walls stood as barriers against threats from both sides of reality.

  Nothing lurked in the gray spaces that I didn’t already expect to see—a few restless spirits, the faded shuffle of imprinted foot traffic near the street. Nodding to myself, I rose from my crouch and stepped around the corner, gesturing toward the back door.

  “I think we’re clear.”

  Remy hesitated a moment, finally trotting after me. Softly, the leather of his boots creaked.

  “Without your keys, how do you plan on getting in?”

  “Like this.” I yanked on the back door. The rusted hinges squealed, but swung open uneasily. We stepped into the apartment’s shared laundry room, one dryer gently whirring. “Someone broke the lock, right after they installed that annoying buzzer system up front,” I said. “No one’s bothered fixing it.”

  “Charming,” Remy breathed. He stood backlit in the entrance. Framed in silhouette, the long hair draping his shoulders could have passed for a lush cape. I padded toward the door to the stairwell, and didn’t bother reaching for the light. I knew the route by heart. “What about your apartment door?” he asked. “I know the kinds of locks you typically keep.”

  Pausing at the stairwell, I shrugged. “I’ll figure it out once I’m there—assuming it’s not already wide open.”

  8

  My doppelganger hadn’t beaten us to my apartment—but someone else had. Halfway up the second flight of stairs, I spotted a familiar figure pacing outside my door.

  Lil.

  Fuming like a caged tigress, the Lady of Beasts traced a restless figure eight near the threshold, the legs of her pantsuit flaring with every step. She held her jacket folded over a little white clutch-purse, both tucked in the crook of one arm. Her clinging V-neck had a smear of mud across the rondure of one breast and her wild, red curls seemed unusually disheveled. The instant she caught sight of me, all her pent-up fury swung heavily in my direction.

  “Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.

  “Me?” I responded as I jogged the rest of the way up. “You’ve been MIA since Lake View. What are you even doing here?”

  “What’s it look like, Einstein?” she snapped. “I’m waiting for you.” With a disapproving scowl, she reached for the cut at my throat. “Mother’s Tears, what’s this? You lose a fight with a weed-whacker?”

  “Cacodaimons,” I said, slapping her hand away. “And don’t touch.”

  “Well, that’s just perfect,” she grumbled. “Now, open your fucking door.”

  Her voice echoed all the way to where Remy stood frozen a few steps down. His face was just visible from where I lingered near the landing, pale features caught uncomfortably between uncertainty and trepidation.

  “Lilliana?” he called up.

  “Damn it, Remiel,” she said, raising her voice. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Lil now.”

  I winced at her volume. “For fuck’s sake, keep your voices down.” If we didn’t attract the attention of my neighbors, it would be a miracle. “Normal people are sleeping.”

  Lil snorted dismissively, bulling past me to the top of the stairs. She planted her hands on her hips to glower down at my foppishly dressed brother. Her glinting gaze took in every detail of his elaborate costume—from the delicate swirls around his eyes down to the poured-on velvet pants. “Shouldn’t you be running an event?” she sneered.

  “I was,” he replied stiffly. His hand hesitated on the railing, long nails gleaming in contrast to the dark wood. At the top, Lil spread h
er stance, making it clear that he wasn’t getting to my floor without going through her first. With a pleading look, Remy flicked his attention to me, but there wasn’t much I could offer in the way of help. Their train wreck of a relationship was an on-again, off-again exercise in mutual masochism that left me feeling baffled that they hadn’t yet killed each other.

  At least with Lil here, I knew no one had gotten through that door.

  “Funny, Remington,” she spat. “I was supposed to be at that event.”

  Remy swallowed hard enough that muscles clicked audibly in his throat. He shot me that pleading look again. Guiltily, I turned away. I wasn’t getting tangled in their fight, not if I could help it. Instead, I studied the lines of wards around my door.

  Everything was solid.

  “Lillia—” he started, but swiftly corrected, “Lil. If you’re still mad about the burlesque troupe, I told you it was nothing personal.”

  A scent like spice and vanilla wafted through the hall, underscored by the sharp bite of ozone—Lil’s fatal mix of pheromones. In the backwash of her power, all the sigils scribed on my threshold lit up like Christmas.

  “Oh, it’s never personal with you, is it?”

  “I had to make room for local talent,” Remy insisted. “It wasn’t a good fit for the Windy City Vixens anyway. You would have found the formality… stifling.” Slowly, my brother mounted the stairs, stopping two down from where she loomed. With his height, this put them roughly eye-to-eye. Lil leaned in until their foreheads nearly touched.

  “I’ve danced for kings, Remiel,” she hissed. “You think my girls and I can’t do classy?”

  With effort, Remy kept his head high, but mostly he ended up looking like a condemned man staring down his sentencing judge.

  “I said nothing of the sort.”

  She leaned closer. “Which one of them are you sleeping with?”

  “Hey,” I said, interrupting. “We need to figure out how to open this door.” I reached toward Lil and almost grabbed her by the shoulder. Then I stopped myself short. I liked my fingers too much. Lil side-eyed my hand like it was something that slithered.

  “It’s your door,” she said. “Open it already.”

  “No keys,” I responded.

  That got her attention. “Why the fuck don’t you have your keys, flyboy?” Her mouth crimped like she’d just bitten down on something sour.

  “I dropped them chasing bad guys.”

  She looked to Remy for confirmation. He had backed down a couple of steps, the better to watch from a safe distance. He offered her an empty-handed gesture.

  “Fine,” she grumbled. “As usual, I have to do everything myself.” Seizing her little clutch-purse, she fished around inside and pulled out a slim roll of velveteen material. The item was longer than the purse was deep. Something inside rattled lightly as she unrolled the package on her open palm. Lock picks. She selected two slender tools and gestured impatiently toward my sealed door. “Take down your wards.”

  “You carry lock picks?” I marveled.

  “Of course I’ve got lock picks,” she said. “What do you think this is, amateur hour?”

  “But…” I fumbled. “Why didn’t you just let yourself in?”

  She lashed out with her knuckles so fast her hand blurred. The leather of my jacket caught the brunt of the blow, but it still knocked the breath out of me. With the kind of night I was having, I was tempted to reply in kind. But with Lil, it was a casual gesture. If she’d intended real harm, she’d have opened up my throat.

  “Wards, numbskull,” she said. “I’m not touching that door until you disarm them. I kind of like this body.” She did a little lift and wiggle. I stared away from her mesmerizing cleavage.

  At least, I tried.

  “Is that mud?” Remy asked. He lost the game.

  Lil rolled her eyes. “That’s why we need to talk. There’s a problem.” Her chin lifted suddenly. Remy and I exchanged puzzled glances. Canting her head like an attentive hound, Lil closed her eyes as she focused on whatever it was she’d heard. Her features grew both intense and distant.

  The lines of her body blurred as little tendrils of gleaming power stretched through the air. The spectral faces of animals manifested at the furthest edges of the bleed—fox and ferret, lion and owl. Lil’s spirit companions. From the azure fire that kindled in my brother’s eyes, he sensed them, too. With a sudden shake of her head, she snapped out of it, marching over to the banister to peer down the stairwell. Deep in her throat, she made a thoughtful sound, almost a growl.

  “Not out here,” she said, gesturing toward the door again, her hand trailing wisps. Whatever she’d done, she was finished—for the moment. “Get a move on, Anakim. I’ve wasted too much of my night already.”

  The thrum of Lil’s magic still buzzing in my head, I stepped around her to lay my hand flat against the door. Tiny rows of painstakingly etched sigils flared briefly at the contact, and I whispered the pass-phrase, framing the words more with my mind than with my mouth. Even Remy would’ve had trouble making them out.

  Power rode on my breath, flowing down my arm to connect with the complex mesh of magic barring the entrance. My head throbbed, but at least I had enough juice for this. As the spells responded to me, blue-white fire ignited every symbol in a brilliant burst visible only to those who could see past physical reality. Lines spun and twisted in my vision, rearranging themselves until the door was just a door again, all its otherworldly protections momentarily inert.

  The instant the wards were down, Lil bent to the locks, moving swiftly to open first one and then the other. She even got the deadbolt—which my highly paid locksmith had assured me could never be picked. With a flourish, Lil turned the knob, and the door swung wide.

  “Glad you’re on our side,” I muttered, reaching for the light switch to the right of the frame.

  “For now,” she replied. Primly, she tucked her lock picks back into her purse.

  9

  The apartment was cleaner than usual. Lil still clicked her tongue against her teeth, eyes skipping from the abandoned coffee mugs on the table, mantelpiece, and floor, to the spill of books and papers that nearly buried my laptop on the desk.

  “No time to play housekeeper,” I said.

  “That’s obvious,” she replied with a snort.

  Remy turned in a slow three-sixty near the back of my couch, his brows knitting as he gaped at the empty walls.

  “Where are they?” he murmured in a hollow voice.

  “Where are what?” I asked.

  He gestured stiffly. “The manuscript pages. The illuminations. The art.” With a glimmer of hope, he peered down the hallway that led to my room, shaking his head dolefully when he realized those walls also were bare. “What have you done with them?”

  “A night like this, and you’re worried that Zack redecorated,” Lil sighed. “Husband, your priorities have always baffled me.” She pivoted in my direction. “Get that door closed, and be sure to seal the wards again. I think he’s still out there somewhere.”

  “Who?” Remy inquired.

  “The imposter,” she spat. Her lips perched around more, but she refused to give it voice as she glared at the open threshold. Hurriedly, I shut and locked everything, then whispered the phrase that re-armed the wards. Gleaming lines of power flashed against my retinas as all the spells snapped into place.

  “You’ve seen him, too, then,” I said, shrugging out of my leather. I tossed it across the spine of the couch, angling the throw to avoid hitting Remy, so lost in his contemplation of my home. He didn’t even flinch, instead fixating on every surface of the numerous bookshelves, searching for some vestige of the missing art. He was going to be disappointed—I’d taken down all of my framed pieces to scour them for hidden ciphers. Pre-amnesia me had used them to leave notes to myself. More than a few were curled in the mess on my desk, partly decoded.

  “You knew about this joker,” Lil spat, “and you didn’t tell me?”

&n
bsp; “Tell you how, exactly?” I retorted. Moving to the kitchenette, I grabbed a dishtowel and waited for the water from the sink to run hot. Only a breakfast bar separated me from the living room, and Lil planted her hands on this, shooting me the stink-eye.

  “You have my number, Anakim,” she said.

  I gave the towel a good soaking and started dabbing at my throat. The cut stung like a sonofabitch. As I leaned over the sink, flakes of blood drifted down, running crimson to the drain.

  “You so sure about that?” I asked. “The number I have doesn’t work—hasn’t for a while.”

  “You actually tried to call someone without a gun to your head?” Remy sniped.

  With a grunt of irritation, I yanked the shirt over my head, wadding it up to toss it at my brother. He snapped it from the air with a frown.

  “What do you mean it doesn’t work?” Lil demanded.

  “Exactly what I said,” I replied. A sharp, raw sensation twinged my neck as the damned cut reopened. “Perfect,” I muttered. Disgusted, I chucked the stained dishcloth into the sink. “Hang on. This requires more than a band-aid.” Swinging out of the kitchenette, I started down the hall. All my first-aid stuff was in the bathroom, and I needed to get eyes on the wound. The fucking cacodaimon had tagged me good.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” she growled.

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, I got my ass handed to me,” I called as I ducked into the bathroom. “I’d like to stop bleeding all over the hardwood.”

  Huffing, she stormed after me. “Well, you can’t just walk away like that.” Remy hesitated, then remained in the living room. The Lady of Beasts scowled from the bathroom threshold—I’d known better than to try to close the door. Lil was like a cat that way. If you closed a door on her, she had to find a way to the other side. Easier just to leave it open.

  “Let me see your phone,” she demanded.

  “It’s dead,” I said, angling toward the mirror in an attempt to get a good look at the laceration. It was further back than I’d suspected, running from behind my ear in a clean slash that stopped just short of all the major blood vessels. Good thing, too. Half an inch further and just a hair deeper, and I wouldn’t have been around to argue with Lil. “Go check my pockets.”