The Undoer

by Melissa J. Cunningham

  “You can stay with me if you want… to sleep,” he says. “If you want.”

  I put my arm around his chest and lay my head on his shoulder. He’s warm and his muscles flex as his arms squeeze me. He stirs something inside me, but I tamp it down. “Can we just lay here for a while?”

  He pulls me closer in answer and I lie there, soaking him in. Soaking us in. Until I hear a pounding on the door.

  Jag lifts himself reluctantly from the bed. I watch him saunter over to the door, sleek and catlike. He peers through the peephole, giving me a wry smile as he opens the door. My curiosity is piqued until Doug and Owen plow past him and jump on the bed to lie next to me like two rambunctious puppies. Owen props himself up on his elbow, not unlike Jag had done a moment before.

  I can’t help the giggles that escape me. Doug and Owen are like little brothers, and I can’t be mad at them for interrupting us. Exasperated, yes. Angry, no. “What are you two doing?” A twinge goes through me, knowing Dean should be here too. My heart aches for him because, like Jag, I’ve resigned myself to his death, and I mourn for him every time he pops into my mind.

  “Just hangin’,” Doug says, grabbing the remote and flipping through all the staticky stations.

  “I think we should order pizza.” Owen stares at me with pleading eyes, like I am the mother and have the right to veto their ideas. I actually like the feeling and wonder what it would be like to be a mother. Would Jag be a good father? I can’t picture him with children, but at the same time, it makes me smile. And then I laugh at myself. I’m picturing things too far in the future. Who knows where this new relationship will go?

  “He’s the one with the money,” I say, pointing to Jag. He stands at the foot of the bed, giving me a mocking grin that is way too sexy for our own good.

  “They don’t have pizza here.” Jag tosses Owen the room phone. “Just order whatever is cheapest.”

  That’s all the leeway Owen needs, and he starts punching numbers into the phone.

  “Get something safe,” I say, thinking of all the unusual things they probably eat over here, even though I’m not really sure what that would be.

  Doug throws his arms in the air. “Hello? Who cares about safe? If we cared about safe, we wouldn’t even be here!” He’s joking around, but his words cast a serious pall over the room. We all know our situation is life and death, but we need something to relieve the tension. Our playacting does that for a while.

  When the food arrives, Doug opens all the cardboard cartons. The smell alone starts my mouth watering, and safe goes out the window. Whatever it is, I’m eating it.

  The food turns out to be rice, lamb, steamed veggies, and some kind of flat bread. We dig in, sitting in a circle on the bed, moaning over the wonderful flavors. After a few moments, Doug asks me what I’ve been thinking for the last ten minutes. I’ve been quiet, methodically munching without conversing, watching these guys who feel like my boys. But one of us is missing.

  “Maybe we should invite Bret over.” I glance at him, wanting someone to extend the invitation. I risk a glimpse at Jag.

  Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can grasp what it is. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” He speaks with droll seriousness.

  “And that’s a yes!” Doug says, hopping off the bed to run two doors down to get Bret.

  Secretly, I’m happy. I hate excluding him, but I also don’t want to be the only one to suggest he participates. Not with my feelings so topsy-turvy. I don’t want to ruin things with Jag, but he’s put me in a terrible situation. Like I have to choose. And I can’t.

  How do I pick between my heart’s desire and the brother I’ve mourned over for so long?

  ***

  Five minutes later, Bret is sitting on the bed with the rest of us, chewing his food with a wary eye. He keeps glancing at Jag, who never stops watching him. The air is static and chilly. The cold war becoming a simmering boil. Do Doug and Owen sense it yet? I search for something to say instead of cautiously watching the other two.

  Surprisingly, it’s Bret who breaks the silence. “So, I guess the rest of you have windows in your rooms? Actual windows?”

  “Huh?” Doug stops eating with a look of total confusion on his face. “It’s a fire hazard not to have a window.”

  “Oh, I have a window… of sorts,” Bret says with a chuckle. “Made out of plastic. It doesn’t keep the flies out.”

  “Seriously?” Owen hops off the bed and holds his hand out to Bret. “Let me see your key card. I want to check that out.”

  Bret chuckles and shakes his head. “Knock yourself out.”

  Doug hurries out with him and then it’s just Jag, Bret, and me on the bed, staring at one another in the most uncomfortable silence I’ve felt since I found my dad trying to murder my brother.

  “So, how’s the rest of your room?” I ask.

  “It’s good. You should see for yourself.”

  Jag’s eyes narrow at his comment, but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes flick to mine, waiting for my response. I don’t want to be the middleman here, pulled from both sides.

  “Yeah. Maybe later.” I smile and dip more rice. Who knows? It might be our last chance at a real meal.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Brecken

  By four in the morning, I’ve ripped the plastic down, opting for quiet rather than protection from the elements. I’ve hardly slept, and I feel like the walking dead. Soon, my mood will need a massive overhaul. Maybe breakfast will help, but I doubt it, knowing I’ll most likely have to eat with Jag, who’s plotting my demise.

  I rise by seven and pack all of my things, not planning on wasting another night here in the city. Shouldering my bag, I head down the hall to Owen’s door. After knocking, I shove my hands into my pockets to keep from fidgeting while I wait. It takes a few minutes for him to open the door, and when it opens, it’s only Heidi in the room.

  “Where are the boys?” I look around, suddenly filled with relief—she didn’t sleep in Jag’s room. But if the boy’s aren’t here, I’ll have to search for everyone individually just so we can get out of here.

  “They already went down to eat.” She gives me a tired sigh, and I take in her hair, which is a mess, her pajamas—a gray tank top and plain pajama bottoms, men’s, with a fly. Typical. She hasn’t changed much.

  I sit down on one of the beds, watching her gather up clothes and head into the bathroom. “I don’t want to stay in Tehran all day. We need to find a car.”

  “Okay,” I hear from the bathroom.

  “It’s going to be dangerous from here on out. There are tons of demons here, and it will only get worse the closer we get to The Door.”

  “There were a ton in L.A. too,” she answers.

  “Not like here. Just wait. It’s going to get rough. We need to stay as incognito as possible. They surely know we’re here by now, which means we can expect all hell to break loose. Literally.” I pull a thread on the quilt. It undoes the entire seam.

  When she exits the bathroom, there’s a black hijab covering her head. She could almost pass for Middle Eastern except for the bright blue eyes. As blue as mine.

  I motion to the shawl. “You look awesome. Glad you thought of it.”

  “Jag did.”

  He’s smarter than I give him credit for, but I don’t admit that out loud. A lot has changed in the world, but culture hasn’t. Women in the Middle East still need to be covered up, and with all the devastation in the last five years, it has only gotten worse as people try to hold onto what is familiar.

  Heidi grabs her bag, and we shut the door behind us. Doug and Owen are in the cafeteria eating dates, cheese, and some kind of grilled meat. I pick up a date, letting its sweetness explode in my mouth. When I plop down on the bench seat, Heidi slides in next to me. We order a bit more and wait for Jag.

  “Do you know where he is?” I ask Doug, who sits right across from me.

  “Yeah, I saw him leave.”

/>   “Leave? The hotel?”

  Owen nods, his mouth full. “Yeah. About a half hour ago. Said he was going to look around.”

  This is just the kind of thing I wanted to avoid. Did he even bother to let me know where he was going? No. Is he safe here, where he doesn’t know anyone? No. I try not to let it darken my mood further, but I feel a familiar emotion simmering deep in my belly. Jag would rather sacrifice our safety than be controlled. I keep my thoughts to myself, the grit of my teeth the only thing that declares outwardly how I feel.

  “He’ll be back,” Heidi says. “He knows we’re leaving early.”

  I don’t bother to answer, because it will only turn into an argument, which is no way to start the day. The conversation turns to the weather, which is already sweltering and it’s only eight-thirty in the morning.

  “I don’t know if I can stand this scarf all day.” Heidi adjusts how low it sits on her forehead, loosening the neck. She’s wearing a long-sleeved, white cotton blouse. It’s the coolest material here—everyone wears it—but I doubt it’s as comfortable as her usual tank tops.

  The rest of us are dressed in jeans and T-shirts. Men have a lot more freedom here. We just can’t wear shorts. Owen wears a baseball cap, and with that, we look pretty American.

  It isn’t long before I feel the energy in the room shift, growing sharp and intense, hotter, if that is possible. I glance up and notice two guys staring malevolently at us from across the restaurant. Within moments of catching my eye, they stand up and walk directly to our table. They aren’t waiters and their scowls remain fixed as they stride over.

  “Can we help you?” I ask when they stop next to our table, glaring down at us. I kick myself for not sitting on the outside edge of the booth. I grab Heidi’s hand under the table, hoping she’ll keep her eyes down and stay quiet.

  “You aren’t welcome here,” the guy on the right growls. He’s tall with a black goatee, wearing black slacks and a black, long-sleeved button-down shirt. Fierce is the only word I can think of to describe him. He’s also sporting a shiny new gray man inside and is probably unaware of our unique abilities, but he might sense something different about me. Most demons do… and some demon hunters. He’s probably newly arrived. Most seasoned demons don’t pick a fight unless they know they’ll win, but they’re also pretty arrogant, so I’m not surprised.

  “We’ll be on our way in a moment.” I hold his gaze. Heidi keeps her eyes on her plate, but I see her hand slide to the dagger in her belt. I nudge her leg.

  “Dude, we’re almost done,” Doug says, scowling up at the guy. He doesn’t seem the least bit afraid, but I’m sure he sees the gray man as well as I do.

  “I think you should leave… now,” the second guy says to us, his tone polite and calm. He waits next to his friend, not quite as tall, with softer features. Also wearing black. His long hair is tied at the nape of his neck. He watches only me, conveying something deeper in his gaze, as though he knows exactly who and what I am.

  I’m not sure if the others pick up on it, but his message is clear. He doesn’t want problems and if we leave now, there won’t be any. People are beginning to stare.

  Slowly, as though the ticking of the clock has stretched and lengthened, Heidi raises her eyes, glowering straight into the eyes of the tall, angry man. “We’re still eating.”

  The guy looks down to see the tip of her dagger pressed against his belly, just above his belt. She adds pressure, and it digs in a little deeper. His eyes narrow and the muscles in his jaw flex, but he doesn’t step back.

  “I don’t think you want to bother us at all,” she says. “I think you want to walk away and mind your own business.” She smiles, but it isn’t friendly, and I couldn’t be prouder or more mortified.

  Polite Guy raises one eyebrow, but he seems completely unperturbed. “May I ask who you are and where you’re from?” He directs his comment to Heidi now, clearly fascinated.

  “We’re from your worst nightmare,” Jag whispers into the guy’s ear from behind. He snuck up so silently that I didn’t notice him until the last second. I catch a glimpse of the edge of his dagger pressed to the demon’s side. “And if you don’t want trouble, I suggest you walk away, and make it fast, because I’m dying to see some demon dust.” Jag’s lips pull back into a feral grin, like a wolf… or a jaguar.

  “Ah. I see. I bid you good day then,” Nice Guy says. “I’ll be seeing you.” He directs this last comment to me, nodding, and then backing away, Jag giving him room. Angry Guy seems torn. He doesn’t want to bow down or lose face. He’s itching for a fight, but this is not the place, and Polite Guy presses a hand to his arm. They back up until they are far enough away to turn and scurry out of the cafeteria.

  “Whew! That was close!” Doug exhales a tension-filled laugh, his eyes wide. “I thought for sure we were going to have to take them down right here.” He glances back over his shoulder at the door.

  “I wouldn’t have minded,” Heidi mumbles as she pushes her food around with a fork. “I had it covered. You didn’t need to swoop in and save the day,” she says to Jag, who’s still standing next to the table, mainly watching her eat. There isn’t room for him to sit, but since we’re all pretty much done, our appetites ruined…

  “That’s not what I was doing,” he says, an expression of dismay flitting across his face. “I saw them threatening you guys, and I just did what I always do.”

  “Yep. Take over,” I say, without thinking.

  I wait for a caustic remark, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he says, “Whatever,” and turns and walks away. Owen takes a breath as though he’s about to contribute, but Doug nudges him and his mouth snaps shut.

  There’s nothing left to do here, so we all slide out of the booth and pay for our meal with newly traded money. Just outside the restaurant is the concierge desk. The same guy who was there last night is there this morning. He looks absolutely delighted to see us with his grim expression and hooded eyes.

  “I’d like to rent a car.” I try to look as non-threatening as possible, but after our run-in at the restaurant, my nerves are running high. Not to mention my lack of sleep. I’m ready to snap, but I hold it in. I’ve gotten good at holding things in.

  He nods and opens a notebook, searching through the entries. “I’m sorry, sir. We have nothing available.” He glances up and gives me a Machiavellian grin. A smile that says he can’t wait for us to leave.

  “Really?” Jag asks, pushing forward. “Because I was just walking past your rental hub, and I saw a bunch of old jalopies out there.” He stares at the man with the arrogance that only he can pull off, and I’m tempted to say “down boy.” I wish he’d just shut up and let me handle it. His interference is starting to drive me crazy. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my mouth shut just to avoid an argument.

  The concierge never loses his smile. “Let me check again. I could have missed something.” He takes a moment to look through his notebook, pretending to actually read the listings. “Ah, yes. Here’s one.” He jots my name down and calls a young boy over to take us to our car. “And here are your keys.”

  The boy leads us outside to a parking garage where a section has been roped off and designated for their rentals. The cars all look like they’re ready for the scrap yard. None look completely dependable. He leads us to an old Jeep 4x4 that actually looks better than the rest. It’s a five seater and has room in the back for our stuff. I’m relieved and hope it gets us where we need to go. We just might make it.

  We pile in and quickly learn that the air conditioning doesn’t work. There is only one radio station. It’s staticky and in Farsi.

  Heidi shuts it off with a smile. “We don’t need the radio,” she says. “The boys can sing.” She winks at Doug and Owen in the visor mirror as she adjusts her scarf and hair.

  Jag sits right behind her. His hand is stretched forward, resting on her shoulder. He smiles at me as if he’s daring me to say something. I don’t give him the satisfaction and a
ct like I never noticed at all.

  We drive through narrow streets with all sorts of maniacs weaving their little cars in and out of traffic. There are no rules, and no one to enforce them if there were anyway. The few police I’ve seen don’t seem to care.

  Heidi shrieks as I hit the brakes, narrowly missing an elderly man who shakes his fist at my stupidity, as though it was my fault he walked right in front of us on a green light! Slowly, we make our way out of town and into the country where the roads are mostly straight, black, and hot. All around us, the region is wide open, making us easy targets. I felt safer in the city. These dusty hills provide too much cover for demons and gangs.

  The afternoon wanes, and we stop at a little vegetable booth on the side of the road. Local farmers are selling their wares. Off to one side, an elderly woman is selling rice with some sort of meat in it. I don’t ask what it is because it smells heavenly, especially with my stomach growling. I buy a plate for each of us.

  We sit on the side of the road in the blazing sun, shoveling hot rice and meat sauce into our mouths, and I have to ask myself, could this be more ridiculous? We’re cooking ourselves from the inside out.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Dean

  I sit in one of the nicest restaurants in downtown L.A. The Mozza. A posh Italian joint. I’ve never been here before, let alone in this part of town… in a suit. We have the whole place to ourselves because, yeah, Coem has contracted it for the next two hours. Guards are posted at every door. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s afraid the Cazadors might find him or that I might try to escape.